My name means “gift of God” like I am a light to behold.  But I’m far from noticeable.  I’m no gift to behold.  And frankly, my name isn’t special or unique enough to put me in that unattainable category. 

The seven letter word has no ancestral importance.  I’m just me, with no standards to uphold because of an important legacy left behind.  No expectations to break down with my never ending failures. 

My birth-given label is something shouted, whispered, smiled even, to my face during the day, but dropped out of the minds of others as soon as trouble occurs.  As soon as they turn the corner.

I like to say I’m one with Mother Earth.  The one who dances among the eagerly falling drops of rain.  The one who graciously takes Earth’s offerings.  A name should reflect just that.  Mine does not. 

But in the end, I reflect my personality, not my name.  It’s just a name after all.  Just the name Madison.