As my wedding day approaches in just six months, my fianc and I find ourselves in a unique quandary: we are contemplating the creation of a new last name to symbolize our union. This decision is not merely about choosing a name but reflects a deeper exploration of identity, heritage, and personal values.

My journey with the surname 'Lane' began with my great-grandfather, who immigrated to the United States from Ukraine when he was in his twenties. A man of remarkable tales, he spun stories with such fantastical exaggeration that his claim of changing the family surname from 'Olynyk' to 'Lane' due to a flight from the law remains a family legend. We never uncovered the truth behind this tale; perhaps he altered the name to assimilate more easily into American culture or simply chose it for its simplicity and ease of pronunciation.

This narrative of renaming, however, leaves me feeling detached from my ancestral roots. The surname 'Lane' feels entirely fabricated, lacking any significant ties to family history. Adding to this disconnect, my father's relationship with his own father was fraught with estrangement, which has further distanced me from my family lineage.

As I stand on the brink of marriage, I face the decision of whether to relinquish a name that feels so devoid of meaning. I have long envisioned my wedding as a pivotal moment for changea perfect opportunity to shed 'Lane' and embrace a name that resonates more deeply with who I am and what I aspire to be.

However, my fianc Miles, whose own surname 'MacClure' has a similarly convoluted lineage, shares my reluctance. His ancestors hail from Syria and Turkey, yet his last name was adopted from a stepfather, creating a sense of disconnection from his heritage much like my own experience with 'Lane'.

Our discussions around this topic have brought us to several possible options. One intriguing idea is to adopt Miles's mother's surname, 'Alwan,' which carries a Turkish legacy. My mother, whose roots are Austrian, has a maiden name thatthough uniqueoften proves to be a linguistic challenge for many: 'Windisch'.

In a more adventurous vein, weve even considered the possibility of inventing our own surname. An online search for endangered last names revealed a fascinating array of last names that have dwindled down to fewer than 20 bearers, sparking a sense of creativity and potential uniqueness. Furthermore, we could delve into our family histories to find something that resonates, allowing us to breathe new life into our name choices.

Yet, sticking with our current surnames is also an option. Both of us have established careers, bank accounts, legal documents, memberships, and numerous other aspects of our lives that tie us to our existing names. Miles argues that this connection makes it impractical to change, suggesting that the hassle may outweigh the benefits. I, however, see this as an unparalleled chance for self-definition.

It weighs on me, the thought of bringing a child into the world while attaching a hyphenated surname that stems from two distinct lineages, neither of which carries meaningful symbolism. Why should 'MacClure' and 'Lane' become the burdens that our future children carry throughout their lives?

Friends have offered their perspectives on this dilemma. Some view the retention of our last names as a reclamation of our identities, allowing us to infuse new life into names that once felt stale. Others caution against overthinking the issue, insisting it is merely a name. Yet, I cant shake the belief that names wield profound power in defining who we are. As Dale Carnegie famously noted in his book, 'How to Win Friends and Influence People': 'Remember that a person's name is to that person the sweetest and most important sound in any language.'

Names should evoke pride, serve as reminders of our ancestry, and symbolize the future we wish to build. For now, though, the decision regarding our surname remains suspended in uncertainty. With the myriad of wedding planning tasks looming before me, I fear that in the whirlwind of preparations, I may ultimately resign myself to keeping 'Lane'. A name that feels like a thorn in my side, an albatross that I can't seem to shake off. But, at least it is minetied to my past, albeit fraught with complexities.