I’ve never felt any particular way about my name-- partially because sometimes I forget it’s mine.

Growing up there was always another Ava. Pre-school there were three, kindergarten through third there were two, fourth grade there were three, and fourth through either there were four. Mind you, there were only seventeen girls in my class.  

So many people are identified by their names. You can yell their name down the hallway and they would turn their head. You could talk about them and people would know who you were talking about. But that was never me. If someone brought me up in conversation, there would be a bit of a sidebar. “Anyway, so Ava-”

“Which one?”

“Huh?”

“Ava H?” They’d try.

“No.”

“Ava K” they’d guess. Or wait, “Ava C?”

“No, Ava P.”

My name literally meant nothing. You would get to the point faster if you said the clumsy tall blond one and everyone would know who you were talking about. 

It’s not that I don’t like the name, Ava. I think it’s a pretty name, but it doesn’t fit me. I go to the grocery store and I hear Ava, I go to school and I hear Ava, I go to the movies and I hear Ava. Everywhere I go I hear Ava. So, if you ever need to get my attention I don’t recommend calling my name because I won’t even flinch.

Just about the only place that my name feels special is work. The other day I had a conversation with someone. “What’s your name?” she asked.

I replied, “Ava.”

“Oh, like Ava Gardner?” 

“Just like it!” That was the end of the conversation… until 10 seconds later of course. 

“What’s your name?” She asked again.

“Ava.”

“Oh, you don’t hear that much.” Given a second to think she’d continue, “Like Ava Gardner?”

“Sure thing!” I’d say with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

The conversation continued like this for the next 20 minutes. Just a constant loop of “Oh that’s pretty,” and “Like Ava Gardner?” Now for context-- I should mention I work in a nursing home, I don’t meet people on the street that happen to have dementia. When residents ask my name they get a little excited. Like they are remembering something they knew when they were young. 

At work, my name feels like just that, my name. It doesn’t feel like a word I hear 100 times over when people are talking in the halls. It is mine. And maybe that’s just it. Maybe it doesn’t matter who else has my name, but that it is also mine. Just because other people have the name Ava doesn’t mean it is theirs but that it’s ours. If the name can bring joy to some people’s lives, then maybe the name doesn’t have to fit me perfectly, but just a little.