Who am I anymore?

I have to do something about my name.

beTHany. 

Does not compute. 

Not here, not in Mexico.

Honestly, in most countries I’ve visited, FEW can comprehend my name. Brazil is the outlier, where I am blessed to have a name similar to the famous and revered singer Maria Bethânia. A look of confusion from a Brazilian of ANY age and I can simply refer to Maria Bethânia, at which point I usually get an “Owww, Bet-HAN-ya!” and from that moment on, I’m golden.

But not here.

I’ve gotten: Brithany, Brittany, Bet, the occasional Beth, Patty, Pathania, Patsy, the list goes on. One (shall I repeat, ONE) yoga teacher (of the 8+ teachers whose classes I have taken in this city) has nailed it. Bethany. There’s a little space in between, so it sounds breathy. Bet-Hany. It’s beautiful. It sounds, dare I say it, sexy. 

But so far, I’m one for about 450+.

This morning I came to a cafe to write and find more things to write and find convincing ways to write to YOU about coming with me to Patagonia in December.

I’m at a coffee shop called Tierra Garat (which is similar to a Mexican Starbucks but justifiable because it’s not actually Starbucks and it’s in Mexico) where you go to the counter, order your drink and the barista writes your name on the cup so someone can scream it out 5 minutes later when your beverage is ripe and ready. 

I give the barista my beverage request.
- Cual es tu nombre?
I hesitate. (According to my last email, I’m NOT a fan of hesitation but in this case, I am simply weighing my options.) I think about this. Yesterday, the aforementioned yoga instructor Sophie (omg she’s so adorable I can’t stand it, and her name is Sophie) got it right on the first try. Feeling confident, I decide to go with my full name, in all its glory.
- BETHANY I say with conviction.
Only the response is not the same as delightful Sophie. Instead of acknowledgement, I receive a look of sheer bewilderment. 
- BET-HANIA I say instead, this time with less conviction.
Further disorientation. This is not working.
- PATHANIA? She says to me, eyes wide with black sharpie in hand, ready to scribble something, ANYTHING, on the paper cup meant to cradle my almond milk cappuccino (to which I am completely addicted and yes I know there is sugar in the milk and yes I find a way to justify drinking one almost every morning by saying “It’s my last one for a while” or “It’s cold” or “I’m sure what they’re using is sugar free” when I know full well that it’s not).
I take a deep breath. 
And then I take her pen.
B-E-T-H I write in big, black letters.
-Bet, she attempts out loud.
Good enough.
I smile, she smiles. I think anyway, because like everyone else in Mexico she is still wearing a mask and my mind can’t wrap around this fact.

I sit down for 5 minutes with my computer.
- BBBEEEETTTTT!!!
I laugh on my way to the counter. Perky and satisfied, the same barista hands the cup to me.

I have nothing wise to tell you in this blog. This is simply a call for help. 

Who am I in Mexico? Which version of myself do I want to be? Is this a clear and definitive opportunity for reinvention?

So I will ask YOU, lovely reader.

What is my name now?

All suggestions welcome.

With love,

Bethany