008 Onomancy / The Forest

My name is Mason. I am lost in the woods, though I am finding my way to the center. 

For the past six months or so, I have used the name “Moribund” as much as I could. At first, people ignored this desire, or refused to use it altogether. Now, most people here at my school call me that. My intention for using this name was to find myself. 

“Moribund” is an interesting Latin word. It means “dying” or “on death’s door.” I chose it because it is grim, but the phonetics of this word are whimsical— almost, well, bouncy. Whimdark. 

When I first chose it, all I had was that whimdarkness. Over the summer, while doing esketamine treatment for depression, I began to gain more meaning over it. 

The day before Matthew Perry died in his hot tub, my mother (who had been studying Eastern medicine at the time) had told my sisters and I how it’s less dangerous to drown in cold water than hot. Heat accelerates biological functions, so if you drown in hot water, you’ll drown faster. 

No one would say that a newborn baby is in the process of dying. And no one would say that living a more energetic life is dying more so than a less energetic person. But Death is just an ending at the conclusion of a story. You live, and as you live, you are approaching that conclusion— but Death is just an afterthought to a lifetime of, well, living. You are only dying throughout your entire life if you factor in that ending. 

“Moribund” is not “dying.”

“Moribund” means “living.” 

Recently, when people ask about that name, I tell them this story.

When someone in my family dies, it is tradition for the person closest to that deceased relative to change their name— to honor the fallen. My grandfather died, and though I was not fond of him, nor even that close by most standards, he endowed me with an inheritance that I could not refuse, and that I cannot return. No one else in my family received this gift. So I took the name “Moribund” to honor him. 

It’s not an entirely true story— but who let the truth get in the way of a good story?

It’s not an entirely false story, either. 

My grandfather died years ago, and he did gift me something of the described nature. However, it is not currently family tradition to change our names when someone passes. I do intend, though, to introduce this tradition once I have kids of my own. 

Names are power. 

I’ve decided that I will name my children at birth, but those names will be placeholders. It will be immediately taught to the children that, once they achieve a certain age, education, and maturity level, they will be able to pick their own name, and I will legally change it for them.

Names are power. 

The only two times since spring that I have willingly introduced myself as “Mason” happened in the past month. The first was in a letter to my now-ex. I put my soul into that letter, and it may be one of the best things that I have ever written. I signed it “Mason.” I wonder if she caught that. I wonder what that meant to her. 

The second time was this past week. I reconnected with another ex, and I told her that she could call me “Mason.” In fact, I told her that she could call me anything— preferably it would start with an “M.” 

I trust both of these people.

In Eragon, there’s the concept of a “true name.” In that fiction, if someone knows your true name, it gives them power over you. I gave these two people “Mason” as a demonstration of the trust that I have in them.

My mother thought that I did that as a wax seal-goodbye; I did it as a forwarding address.

These two people will always be able to find me.

My old gymnastics coach, Jonny, has this mentality. He says that if you’re perfecting a new move, any new data point is a positive. As long as you are gaining more unique data points, he says— it’s like mapping coordinates in an unknown forest, in order to isolate the tree in the very center.

Each data point is a tree; the central one is perfection. 

I began the story of “Moribund” as an intentional new data point. I had thought that if I had spent the past ten years— instead of developing my social skills— if I had spent that time finding myself, where would I be today? Because social skills are inherently an “other” skill. They aren’t intrinsically about the person using them; they’re about the people that I have sought to influence. 

I gave these two people the name “Mason” because I have been finding myself. Because “Moribund” is a lovely name, and I appreciate all that it has done for me, but I’m ok just being known— not known as. 

If you’re reading this, feel free to call me anything (preferably starting with an “M”). I can’t reliably tell you that I’ll respond to it the first time, but names are power.

I give that power to you.