In Greek my name means everlasting life. It’s bold but simple. It’s pink. Vibrant but calming to the eye. It’s a sugar rush. A burst of energy followed by a long afternoon nap. Like the lake at dusk on a holiday weekend. Party cove is empty. No tubing. No water skiing. No loud music. Just boats sitting on the silent, still lake watching the stars as the night dances away.

Zoe. My parent's second choice for my name. They were confident I was a boy. But as it turns out I am a girl and they had to choose a name quick. Zoe it is. A second choice name.

The Z makes my name sound loud. Like a buzzing of a bee. Or a zing from an electric guitar. I am not the energetic cheerleader throwing flips on the football field. Or the outgoing class clown. I am the calm that is getting lost in a good book while sitting in the silent, secluded library. 

To me my name is childish. Zoe is the silly little girl playing at the park laughing uncontrollably while playing tag. Zoe is the bubbly little blonde-haired blue-eyed girl that is friends with anyone that will talk to her.

Zoe is a pet name. A teacup Yorkie yapping and barking until they tire themselves out and fall asleep. Zoe is the little Yorkie with a bell collar on. Always ringing and bouncing around as she plays. 

Zozo or Zo. My uninvited nicknames. Even more childish and pet-like than my name already is. At school, I get called Zo most of the time—which isn’t my name. My name is Zoe with a long E, not a silent one. Are my parents the only people who realized that? 

A name that fits my personality better would be great. Something calm and beautiful like a lavender garden on a cloudless sunny day. Or a rainy day where there’s nothing to do but sit inside and read a book. A name that will grow with me through life. Something sophisticated and mature. 

To everyone else, I will always be Zoe.