Where Everybody Knows Your Name

So today I’m thinking about my name, in part because of the message on my Starbucks cup yesterday. First and foremost, it’s a sweet compliment, for sure. I love my SB baristas and we have such a playful relationship as I frequent the place. Being there actually feels a bit like the 1980’s television sitcom Cheers, when Norm walks through the doors and they all yell, “Norm!“

The magic of those moments made Norm feel like he belonged there, on that same bar stool, where he was among friends! It’s kind of like that when I go to my local Starbucks.

So it makes me feel really special when they write on my cup, a small gesture, I know, but a tiny thing that feels big to me, and I’m grateful.

Now, here’s where the conflict comes in. You know what a barb is, right? I looked it up and capture a screen shot, so we can see why Barb isn’t my first choice.

I touch on it in Birdie & Mipps, when Mipps asks if Birdie is a nickname for Barbara.

To be fair, it is a common practice in Wisconsin (perhaps all of the midwest?) to shorten names; in my family of origin Timothy became Tim, Barbara was Barb and Debra went by Deb. That’s just how it was, really until I moved to Texas and my mentor Cynthia called me Barbara. It sounded so elegant, so Southern, so fancy when she’d say it, and for the first time in almost three decades, I liked the sound of my name, which didn’t sound like a barb on a fence when Cynthia said it.

So, in my 30s, I changed it back to Barbara. But close family and friends, especially those from back home, still call me Barb and that’s endearing, but when I meet someone new, I don’t care to be known as Barb.

Monikers matter, so if you meet a Barbara, instead of dropping three letters from her name, ask her first if she goes by Barbara, Barb, Barbie or something else. It’ll honor her in ways you may not be able to imagine, until you get the backstory.

It just feels good to hang out with people who know your {preferred} name.