Carter. Traceable back to the British Isles. The name, despite it’s simple spelling and pronunciation, has a profoundly deep meaning.

Carter - “The Driver of a Cart”. 

Like I said, profound. The name—strangely given to people who drove carts around—is also the noise that leaves your mouth used to identify me.

Carter. Actually, Ignacius. Well, almost Ignacius. Sensing the impending birth of their firstborn son, my parents debated who this newborn boy should be. Dad, a History nerd, took time from sounding off about the impending return of our Lord and Savior Jesus H. Christ to advocate for a historically significant name. Ignacius. Maybe Iggy in a more casual environment.

Well Iggy must’ve lost track of time because he was a no show. Instead out came Carter

“The Driver of a Cart”. Although a noble profession to aim for, I doubt it factored into Mom’s decision. Carter. Chosen because it sounded nice. 

Maya. “A Good Mother.” Greece. 

Bella. “Beautiful.” Spain. 

My sisters were assigned a meaning at birth. Something to strive for. A quality your child hopefully will possess. Being a good mother can take you a long way in the world. Being beautiful even farther.

Carter. “The Driver of a Cart.” British Isles.

There is no meaning. We’re so scared of the eternal nothingness awaiting us at our grave, that we try to squeeze in as much purpose into our lives as possible. Even when we’re explicitly told “There is no meaning”, we still assign some significance to the idea.

Lest I seem like an Egomaniac, I would like to think my name is representative of the entire plane of existence. My name is eternal and incomprehensible vanity. Like the endless emptiness of space, my name reminds me that some things simply have no discernible meaning. Some things just exist.

Carter. A fun reminder that life doesn’t have purpose.