My name, Clair Ellyn, means clear bright light. I am told this meaning suits my person quite well, as I seem to look under the dishonest grime of things and shed light upon the truth. I, however, am apathetic to the meaning of my name. I am Clair, Clair I am; neither does this immutable reality grace me with a sense of pride nor does it weigh me in shame.
I would not change my name- no, any other just would not do. One grows into one’s name, just as one grows into expectations, and were I an Elizabeth, or an Abigail, I would be far less myself. Of course, this is not the only reason I prefer my own christening to the countless others I could call my own. With what other name can I trace my own backwards, to my namesake, the moon? My mother adored the Debussy composition, “Clair De Lune,” which of course means moonlight. Does there exist a more delightful namesake? Far too many worship the garish sun, and far too many sprout their names from a rose; the moon, however, represents that which is unique and slightly askew. And of course, I hold far more frivolous reasons for preferring my name over the numerous others I could claim. Clair, derived from Claire, springs from French rooting, a detail over which I giggle in delight- I absolutely adore the sound, the ebb and flow, of the French language.
My name, when spoken, does not bring to mind the memory of a startled screech; one does not open one’s mouth wide when pronouncing the single syllable, as in exotic names such as Akaya and Dalia. Nor does my name sound as if it should spring from the lips of a heavy set German; one does not make a guttural sound within the five simple letters, as one would when pronouncing names such as Gertrude and Bridget. Rather, Clair is spoken with a careful, close movement of the lips and palette, not unlike the measured motion one would invoke when whispering intimately in another’s ear.
