I hate my name. Who would name their daughter Tiffany? I even read a joke about it in a David Sedaris essay. Apparently he has a sister named Tiffany. I have complained about my name so much to my parents that they even confessed to me on my 29th birthday that I was indeed given the wrong name. Of course they wouldn't tell me what they should have named me, but at least they agreed with me.
The Saturday before Thanksgiving I was at Starbucks in the fashionable neighborhood of Buckhead in Atlanta. I stood in line with for roughly 10 minutes before placing my order which was 2 grande iced coffees. The girl behind the counter asked for my name and I lowered my voice a bit and told her, "Tiffany." She smiled and told me that she always believed she should be a Tiffany. I quickly told her my disdain for the name. She told me that the name was great and that it is a part of me for a reason. "Be kind to yourself and learn to love yourself." she said. A calmness came over me, something I only feel when I am in prayer. I looked into her warm brown eyes and said, "Thank you, I think I was supposed to speak to you today." It is odd to think that since that time I have not thought of my name once. Perhaps she was an angel.
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