It’s taken me years to come to terms with my name. Being a product of the ’80s, I was the only one in my classes christened with a name whose popularity peaked in 1960. With my sand-colored hair and freckles, I’ve always been told that I simply “look like a Sandy.”
(Technically, my given name is Sandra–but Sandy stuck.)
Over the years, I’ve come to accept that my name is unique, especially for my age group. For some, I’m the only Sandy people know–which means I can make the name my own.
Which is awesome…until a tropical cyclone hits the Atlantic.
Enter Hurricane Sandy. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s just the largest Atlantic hurricane on record (in diameter). Just a tiny little storm that caused several deaths and major destruction in the Caribbean and the East Coast (as well as spurring President Obama to declare New Jersey and New York disaster areas).
Sandy quickly gained celebrity status worldwide. All of a sudden, I’m top of mind–getting texts from friends about my destructive path and trending on Twitter (#Sandy). That also means endless allusions to my “disasterous” qualities.
My name, as unique as it is, will unfortunately forever be associated with death and destruction. Maybe we (Sandys) should form a support group with the Katrinas of the world? In another 6 years, this cycle will begin again (with hopefully less of an impact), unless the Hurricane Sandy name goes into retirement.
Word of warning to all Tonys–you’re next!