“Who am I” is a question I find myself asking often lately.
But I’m not talking philosophy or spirituality here -- I’m taking literally.
I’m in need of the answer, often quickly, because I’m on the phone, or in mid-conversation, or filling out some type of
Who am I, and while we’re at it, what’s my address?
You see, my identity is fragmented at best right now. My legal name was changed with my signature on my marriage license, back in March, and when it finally arrived here in May I managed to change it at the
I’m my former name at the hospital, doctor’s office, on my drivers license, passport, and on most of my credit cards. In addition my water, electric, cable, and other utility bills sport my former name. My new name appears on my business cards, my work pay stubs, my 401k, as well on a single credit card that includes a photo, at the elementary school my daughter attends, and on a few new bills.
I’m selling my condo using my new name, but just ran into a snag when I realized my bank still has all my former information. Getting this squared away (from bed) required two letters from me, one letter from them, and three phone calls, but they say it’s done. I’m officially the new me -- at least there.
You’d think that all this rest in bed would afford me time to straighten this all out, but people want to see PROOF of the name change, and they just don’t seem to be willing to come by to visit.
I know that this, like being able to leave the house, will all work itself out in time, but time is moving about as fast as my kids do when it’s time to brush and floss.