Strength to be Named Cowboy

From the moment that we are born, (usually before) we are given a name to label and identify ourselves. Through our entire lives, we are represented by this name, and at times guided by it. So how do we define what we call ourselves before it defines us? Where do we get the strength?

When I first moved to New York, I was invited to a party through a friend of a friend. Although there was something exciting about being surrounded by real New Yorkers, there was also something terrifying. These were the people spoken about on television and in magazines. I was an unemployed Cajun with a strange accent that former co-workers had described as sounding like Celine Dion with a head cold.

I stood by the food table, and used cheese, crackers and seafood to guard me from vulnerability. But I was only able to eat one shrimp and brie saltine sandwich before a man in his mid-twenties walked towards me. He was wearing sunglasses, (inside, at night) jeans, and a blue and white t-shirt that said, “Smooth move, Exlax.”

“Somebody told me that there was shrimp,” he said.

His t-shirt made me smile, but also made me self-conscious about the denim shirt and khaki pants I was wearing. It made me feel uptight, overdressed and square.

“They taste great with cheese,” I said. “I’m Jacques by the way.”

“Super Fly DJ Number Eight,” he responded.

It took me a few seconds to understand what he had said. I understood each word, but together they made no sense. It sounded like a different language.

“So you’re a D.J.?” I asked.

“No, I’m an accountant,” he said. “My name is Super Fly DJ Number Eight.”

When he didn’t laugh, I realized that he was being serious; dead serious; stone cold serious that his name was Super Fly DJ Number Eight.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before,” I said. “How did your parents come up with it?”

This time he smiled and said, “My parents didn’t come up with it. I did when I moved here. I just wanted a different name.”

For the next few days I thought about Super Fly DJ Number Eight and his bold move to wear sunglasses at night and give himself a name like no other. Years earlier, I might have made fun of it. But at that time, I wanted to be like him; to be so cool and confident about my choices that I could re-invent myself and wear t-shirts with clever sayings about laxatives.

I couldn’t help wondering though, why he hadn’t picked something a little less unusual like Kevin or Bruce. But I did understand why he wanted to be someone else. I had been Jacques for thirty years and was beginning to get tired of it. My move to New York was sparked by a need to figure out who I was on the inside. I’d never accomplish that by continuing to be the same person.

So for an entire weekend, I stared in a mirror and practiced introducing myself as general objects around my apartment like books, lamp and end table. But as much I wanted to sound as cool and confident as Super Fly DJ Number Eight, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Then one day a name popped into my head that didn’t make me laugh. It was short, confident and somewhat pertinent considering my Cow Island origin. From that moment on, I became Cowboy.

I got a charge out of that and began emailing friends and family to let them know about the name change. From then on, whenever I met people out and about, (except job interviews) I introduced them to the new me.

“What’s up?” I’d say. “I’m Cowboy.”

“Where’s your horse?” They’d ask. “Shouldn’t you be wearing chaps?”

“To be clear, I’m not a Cowboy,” I’d reply. “It’s just my name.”

Although there was plenty of laughter, the conversations were interesting and made me feel more relaxed about who I was and who I was becoming. But what I especially liked about the new me, was that I had created him.

But that all changed a couple of months later when a friend and I worked as bartenders at a party. We were required to wear nametags, and my friend wrote, “Cowboy,” on mine.

Throughout the night, when people came up to the bar for a drink, they’d comment on my nametag. Some would simply say that it was strange, while others would ask me the usual questions about my horse and chaps.

Unlike before, when I controlled what I revealed to people, that night I was labeled. Others had an opportunity to judge me before I’d even spoken, and I wanted to scream out that there was more to me than just a name.

The next day I went back to being, Jacques, because I didn’t have the time or money needed to be Cowboy (Horses and chaps are expensive). Instead, I spent my resources searching within to define my name. Through exploration, passions are revealed. With self-discovery, there is strength.