When I worked in New York a number of years ago, the staff where I worked decided I was important, competent, and interesting. To this day, Delta Airlines knows me as Dr. Sedgwick thanks to a secretary who wrangled my plane reservations. When I worked for a similar organization in another city, the identity I was given was, “Who are you? Prove you’re worthy to work with us.” Needless to say the first position was a lot easier and, actually, more effective for everyone involved.
Naming. How we see each other and verbalize the labels, the ideals, and the perceptions we have about those labels and ideals makes a difference. Perfectly competent adults visit parents and immediately become needy. It’s not just their falling back into codependency or old patterns. Their parents need to be needed. It’s their identity when they are around their children, and so everyone obliges. And we all know how people with serious issues like addictions behave and are wary when we’re around them.
Naming, in my experience, can be positive as well as negative and positive naming makes the world work better and is a lot more useful. It’s important to remember, however, that this isn’t magic, although sometimes it seems as if it is, and that naming doesn’t always work.
But it’s fun when it does. A couple of years ago, I was on my way to an unfamiliar Brooklyn street corner in the pouring rain, trying to figure out where I was supposed to meet my son. At night.
When I ducked under a bodega’s awning, a tall guy who I’m pretty sure (one learns these things) was going to ask me for money was already there. “I’m so wet,” I said. True. By the time we figured things out, he was 1) mad at how inconsiderate my son was and 2) offering to walk me the several blocks to my son’s apartment. Money was never mentioned, and when my son did show up, my new friend glared at him. We had named each other as peers.
Perhaps a more dramatic example involved my friend Valerie who taught third grade. Her classroom included many non-white students who had been “named” by their previous teachers as unteachable, slow, and/or stupid. These teachers promoted these students just to keep the system moving. Valerie saw, that is “named,” them as third graders, who could learn third grade material. As a result of her naming everyone in her classroom was reading at third grade level by the end of the year.
We do this with friends too, sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. We put each other in boxes. For example, we say so and so is always late. I’m usually pretty much on time (ask my friend Su), but my friend Marilyn has named me as always late. Even if I’m early she’s there first. It maintains her perception that she’s accurate and keeps her naming of me intact. I have friends who name me as intelligent and interesting. As adventurous. And as boring and antisocial.
So there are two parts to this:
1) How do we respond to how others name us?
2) How do we name others?
Awareness of how others name you is fascinating once you realize what’s going on. The positive part is usually energizing, although occasionally you may be named as someone you don’t want to be. For instance it may be positive to be perceived as intellectual, but sometimes it just feels like pressure. There are multiple people who name me as an excellent professional communicator (as in press releases and newsletters), even though I’ve never done that sort of work and don’t really want to.
Naming also has multiple sides. To be seen as friendly and fun may cause pressure when you really just want support. On the other hand that naming may help you generate enough energy to be friendly and fun despite your mood.
What do we do with negative naming? It’s often evident in bullying. Perhaps people use negative naming to increase their sense of self importance. Can we make it a game? (Just how early do I have to show up at my next “date” with Marilyn? Nope, that idea didn’t work!)
To not live into the negative part of naming is a challenge and sometimes not worth it. I quit the second job mentioned earlier. Oh, I learned a lot from it and could have probably set the right boundaries, now that I look back with 20/20 hindsight. I named those coworkers as gifted as well as highly respected and appreciated for their work and I’m pretty sure how I named them took before I left.
If you don’t like how you are named, it may be time to change friends—or jobs.
But it’s important to realize that naming isn’t usually instantaneous, or, as I said, magic. To decide that the kid on drugs is fine or that your mother will stop being needy is a bit more complicated than just deciding. Perhaps there is need for a serious intervention (or several), for the addicted kid. Perhaps the parent has to be told a thousand times that it’s not up to you. But naming always creates change.
Ultimately, however, what naming changes is yourself. In many fantasy books, among other sources, to name is to wield power. Certainly some of the power is over and for those named. But beyond this the naming is for ourselves. I can accept the good names and offer more positive names to others. The more I do this, the more the world will gradually change. So I’ll stay important, competent, and interesting. And intelligent and inspiring while I’m at it.
So, what about you? Together, we’ll be more powerful and joyful and creative and alive.
Who do you need to name?
Who have you named?
How are you named?
______________________________
Photo:
Blurred nametags — Spirit Moxie
FarmVille 2 Country Escape away, having completed the quest. My score is still firmly in the middle in Gummy Drop!, which I keep playing because I do know the player ahead of me, even if I never see her these days—and because it is a puzzle. Both of these games are on my iPad. Because I’m currently computerless, two online friends are keeping Farm Town going on Facebook. (I met one of these friends once face to face although it is through the game we became friends.) And, there are 3 or 4 unknown people who clearly depend on me to play Pet Hotel on my phone. Plus certainly I need to play Sudoku, usually on the phone. Doesn’t that count as Alzheimer’s prevention?
I’m reading the most recent volume of 
If ease is the answer and being present is the road map that I keep foisting on everyone else, what am I called to right now? First not to beat myself up about it. And next? Well, there’s one thing to be handled in Country Escape. I’m waiting for two phone calls and a text re finances and plans. The book has been read, along with two more in a different series, so those must be returned to the library. We’ll see if replacements show up. A cat is demanding to be petted. And apparently I’ve dithered long enough and so am finishing writing this.
“Well they don’t want to come here. We’re not perfect.” If I hadn’t promised to be part of the committee, I’d have fled from the room. When did we become self-righteous about not being perfect? And what the heck is perfect anyway?
Does claiming yourself as perfect mean you won’t/can’t change? Of course not! Look at a peach. It’s a little hard – a perfect not quite ripe peach. Then it gets a little softer. How perfect! Ooops! No one ate it. It’s a perfect peach showing how things decay, or maybe ready to be planted for new growth. Oh, all you have is the seed? Perfect.
Following my 
As part of the last, I started following Mike Dooley’s 
But I soon realized this same stuff was keeping me stuck and preventing me from those “unexpected adventures” I wanted. I could move across town one more time and seriously miss the incredible view that is literally one wall of my apartment. It’s always changing. I am looking at it now as I type, unexpectedly misted with February snow. White roofs. The river.
Exploring options, I found an auctioneer who says he will take everything I want to get rid of. Today, one of his people came and packed all my glassware and china. Yesterday, I sent a chair that had been a wedding present to my ex-husband via our older son. And so on. 
Yeah, yeah. What about the miracles you say? Nothing about a concussion and lying low fits that. Well, the day I woke up with instructions to do nothing all day the sky was just, simply grey. It was a perfect fit that didn’t demand anything of me. Yes, you say. Another coincidence. Well, the nagging past/future conversation that has been bothering me is when people either discount miracles or assume they are so obvious that they don’t delight in them. (“Delight” is a moxie trait. Really.) My most recent complicated example of feeling discounted was being with people who, if you’d asked them, believed in miracles. I love shrimp, and finding new styles of shrimp-and-grits cooking has become kind of a quest. But on my most recent trip, it wasn’t happening. The last night of the conference I went off by myself and sat at a deserted bar for a salad (since there were no shrimp on the menu and I wasn’t super hungry) and a local bourbon. The manager asked if it was OK if he joined me and brought his plate of the staff kitchen dinner a couple of seats away. Shrimp and grits. “Oh,” he said as I shared my love. “I’ll go see if there’s some left–think there might be some grits.” And a perfect bowl of grits–and shrimp to go with it–appeared in front of me. All at no charge. Miracles. What are the chances? Telling my friends about this experience (“I created shrimp and grits!”), I got an “of course” response. Where was the delight? The joy? Such events are never matter of fact for me, but I felt the miracle was discounted by those I told about it. [Just for the record, that picture is of the best shrimp-and-grits I’ve had, not the miracle ones!]
