My family history (on both my mother and father’s side) consists largely of immigrants from Sweden. On my mother’s side, my grandmother was the first American. On my father’s side, my family has been here since the very late 1800’s to early 1900’s. Something happened when they came to the United States, and the spelling of their last name changed. Because of this, everyone with my last name is related, even though we don’t all know each other.
Today, my last name yields barely 80,000 results in a google search. I am the only person alive with my first and last name. On one hand, this is great. It means I am easy to find on Facebook, and I never have to answer any “Which one of these results is you?” questions.
I love the fact my last name is so rare. It’s cool. I like being original, and I like my last name, even if it isn’t spelled the way it was spelled back in Sweden.
On the other hand… every search result for my name leads back to me.
Privacy is important these days, and if you have a rare name, that makes it harder. There is no doubt something with my name on it is actually mine because I’m the only one in the world. I’m a lone wolf, and I have always been incredibly proud of that.
It also made making a new e-mail address extremely easy.
While it may be cool being “unique” and “an individual,” having a name that always leads back to me has created some issues for me. I have always dreamed of writing. My ultimate dream is to publish a fiction book at some point. However, even if it became a massive hit, I have absolutely no desire to be famous. I’m introverted, and the idea of fame makes me want to crawl under a rock and live there for the rest of my life. That’s why I finally decided to write under a pseudonym (Hello, Wickberg). Authors do it all the time, so I figured, why not?
I also rarely hear my real name pronounced correctly the first time. My first name is easy, but the last name? Not so much. Almost everyone says it the same way the first time they say it, and that way is wrong. Sometimes I don’t even bother correcting people on how to pronounce it because it just isn’t worth it.
In school, it was almost always mispronounced by my teachers, unless they knew my parents or had one of my siblings prior to having me. “Do you have an older brother?” was not an uncommon question in school for me, but the kids with common last names were never asked that. I idolized my siblings, so having a teacher make the connection was always cool to me.
I must admit I live for the rare gems who say it right the first time. They bring me a special kind of joy.
I may not be able to trace my family back any further than 1890, which is disappointing, but where I lose my family history, I gain something else. I gain a unique identity, even on the internet, which is impossible these days. I never have a problem making a username or e-mail address if I use my name, and my name is something people recognize if they have heard it before.
My name is different, unique, and most importantly, mine.
