Ana. Pale greens. Lush grasses. Soft like the moss in the forest near my home. It’s like the sound of twigs breaking gently underneath my hiking boots. Like fresh rain, or splashing in puddles. 

Ana. Not Anna. Not Anja. Not Ava. Not Ann. 

My parents thought spelling my name with only one ‘n’ would make it easier to pronounce, but I’m not sure it helped much. It’s the type of name that makes me surprised if somebody pronounces it right on their first try. Every time somebody in my class has a similar name, my head turns instinctively, thinking the teacher’s trying to call on me. 

Dozens of my ancestors had similar names to mine, so my parents thought this was an excellent source of inspiration for the German-sounding name they wanted: Anamarie. However, my name sounds substantially less German after I shorten it (but it still has enough of a cultural influence to make my name uncommon). Uncommon enough to rarely see on magnets in gift shops, that is. 

I only went by my full name at school for one year—Kindergarten. My name has been mentally tainted ever since. “Anamarie” (paired with a groan and an eyeroll) is what I heard whenever I did something ignorant. I’d walk through the middle of a kickball game. Or sing karaoke in the bathrooms so the entire hallway could hear me. 

By first grade I’d shortened my name to avoid remembering the humiliation. It was refreshing to have a new name; something that felt more me. 

It was not formal or stuffy sounding like “Anamarie.” Instead, it was much more casual and relaxed. It sounded more like a little piece of nature—a curious bird chirping in the forest, or perhaps a sunset cutting through pines, or a waterfall that catches a rainbow in its mist. Ana is something unique, interesting, and reflective of who I am as a person—curious and ready to explore. (It’s even short, just like me!)