Shakespeare was wrong.

My Oldest Friend and I had dinner Tuesday.  We don't often spend time together just the two of us.  I was significantly othered for a lot of years, and she's been married to a wonderful man for a little over two.  It's hard to steal a few hours to muse about life over a cheese plate and some wine when 45 miles separates us, and things like work, school, or spouses are big parts of our individual lives.  But we manage as best we can.

And, I admit, it's easier for me to stay away from people when I feel like I do right now.  I can tell my Oldest Friend anything there is to tell her, and I feel confident she wouldn't hold it against me.  But I don't.  Because, as I explained to her Tuesday night, then I'd have to name it.  We had a whole discussion about naming, and it got me thinking about this:

What's in a name? that which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;

It's a pretty famous quotation; Romeo and Juliet is arguably one of the most well-known plays of all time, a stolen story retold with a talent only Shakespeare possessed.  But I think, just this one time, he did Juliet a disservice. The name of something matters.  That not-rose might still smell as sweet, but without a name, what good is it?  How will you reference it to others?  Where do you catalog it? What should you ask for the next time you need it?  

There is power in a name.  It changes things from subconscious thoughts and memories to real depictions and true stories.  That's why sometimes we name things faster than we should; it lends credibility to feelings that exist without experience. Other times, I think we avoid naming things at all, because as I said to my Oldest Friend, things that don't have power are unable to cause us pain. I much prefer to leave things unnamed.  

Incidentally, she agrees, though she takes it a step further. If you name it, she says, you wed yourself to the story that you're telling. You lock it in stone. It become immobile, unchangeable, inflexible. Maybe then, you'll never escape it.

Maybe that's true, but I don't think so. I think it's only when we name stuff, when we become wedded to something, that we can truly understand it's effect on us. It defines an experience that can sometimes change everything. But until that point, you can't ever set it free.

After my conversation with my Oldest Friend, I realized that everything she said really did change everything. I'm not ready to explain all the ways the last 12 years have changed, and maybe I'm not even ready to accept it. I don't know if or when I will be able to do either of those things, but she said the sort of things that caused me to stop breathing for a minute to absorb.

I believe she said what is true, what is reality, what I could never see. And if she hadn't named it, I would never know it.

I think, my friends, that just this one time, Shakespeare was devastatingly wrong. What's in a name? Everything.