The name can be a curse

Image by Gabriele M. Reinhardt from Pixabay

Grace, I disliked my name when I was a child. The name meant that I was cursed to love people I didn’t like, look over what bothered me, and be friends with those who hurt me. The name felt like a big job, a job I didn’t want.

I was at a coffee shop years ago. It wasn’t busy inside and the outside drive-thru was dead at six-thirty pm on a Saturday night in June. I ordered a classic white mocha and waited by the Pickup order sign. Fifteen minutes passed and there was no classic white mocha in sight. I tried to make an excuse as to why three employees were huddled together in a corner chatting. I could find none.

I was rarely assertive in those days even when the time called for it — I tended to let everyday annoyances flood my thoughts. My foot tapped restlessly. I re-focused my discomfort from my foot to a painting on the wall. It was patterned abstractly with hues of bright yellows and calm blues. After I took in another five minutes of wait time, I was ready to reveal my frustration to the baristas. Before I muttered a word I heard, “White Mocha for Grace.”

Grace, the sound of the word cleared away my maddening displeasure. I smiled at the barista in her black apron and took my latte without a word. The word Grace means:

  • Politeness
  • Elegance
  • Favor
  • Charming
  • A virtue coming from God
  • Reprieve

The name has many meanings. For me, it was once a curse that is now a precious reminder to care for others. I am Grace.

Writer of Non-fiction, Memoir, & Opinion Articles. Philosophy & Psych alumni. NASM Certified Trainer. Dance Educator. With a great love for hiking.

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