Ornoth

It’s time to come clean and clear up a falsehood that I’ve been telling for decades. Ornoth is not my birth name.

I changed my legal name back in 1994. But ever since then, when someone asked where the name “Ornoth” comes from, I told them it was an old family name with no particular meaning or history or derivation other than prior use. I didn’t think it would be flattering or to my advantage to admit that I’d changed my name or to reveal its origin, so I very purposefully kept it hidden.

Why am I revealing this now? Well, at my age I no longer feel compelled to protect a career, a reputation, or a fragile ego. And in this time where people are allowed to redefine all aspects of their identities, a simple name change doesn’t carry the stigma it once did. And having first started using Ornoth as a moniker fifty years ago, there’s no question that making it my legal name was a good long-term decision. Looking back on it, it was one of the best decisions of my life.

Coat of arms of Orny (Switzerland)

If you want to know the whole story, you’re gonna have to sit down and allow your author to relate this story in the third person, present tense…

Journey with me back five decades to 1976: to a 6th grade English class. An awkward 13 year old kid named David listens attentively as Mrs. Bernier reads J.R.R. Tolkien’s children’s fantasy novel “The Hobbit” to the class. Within a year, the boy enthusiastically plows through Tolkien’s more ambitious three-volume followup: “The Lord of the Rings”.

By chance, around this time he sees a newspaper article about a slightly older kid named Gary: an internationally-known Tolkien fanatic who lives an hour away. They meet up, start recruiting others, and create the New England Tolkien Society: a group of adolescent fans who regularly get together for events that feature discussions, trivia, music, camping, cooking, contests, and costumes.

Along with their costumes, everyone’s got a Middle-earth alter-ego persona. Gary dresses appropriately as a Hobbit called Hidifons. There’s Elven maids named Lothiriel and Therindel, a bard named Dæron, a pack of irascible Dwarves, and a few dozen others.

So David needs to come up with a Tolkien-inspired persona and his “Hobbit name”. Consulting Ruth Noel’s book “The Languages of Tolkien’s Middle-earth”, he mashes together the Elvish words “orn” (meaning “tree”) and “loth” (“flower” or “blossom”) in an attempt to capture the image of the fragrant lilac trees that herald Maine’s brief spring. Thus, he announces himself to his fellow fans as “Ornoth”.

By nature extremely analytical, introverted, and solitary, a curious thing happens as our protagonist proceeds through his high school years. At Tolkien gatherings, he starts making friends, clowning around, acting silly, and flirting with the girls, who playfully shorten his nickname to “Orny”. Being outgoing is so completely out of character for him that he thinks of himself as having two separate and distinct personalities: one named David, who is a quiet, jaded, introverted loner; and the other named Orny, who is impulsive, energetic, and gregarious. “Ornoth” is also the name and persona that he carries with him when he begins attending medieval recreationist events put on by the Society for Creative Anachronism.

The awkwardness of maintaining two separate names and personalities comes to a head when he leaves for college, where he repeatedly winds up living with roommates who share the given name David. Partly out of simple convenience and partly to lean into his outgoing persona rather than the introverted one, he uses “Orny” throughout his college years. After using it for more than a decade, he has become more comfortable identifying as Ornoth – or Orny – than as David.

However, he has to revert to using his given name during the decade following college graduation, which brings marriage and a budding professional career. After several years of early success, both these endeavors flounder, as he is forced out by new management at work, and undergoes a divorce that is partially attributable to the cold dispassion of his predominant “David” persona.

The year was 1992; I was about to turn thirty, my life had fallen apart, and I longed to return to the carefree ease of my days in college and Tolkien fandom.

But this misfortune was also the watershed moment that spurred tremendous changes in my life. I reached out and reconnected with some of my old friends from college. I re-assumed leadership of the electronic writing project I’d left six years earlier. I grew my hair long for the first time and started hanging out in the Boston nightclub and music scenes. I got involved in the local BDSM and polyamory communities. I got an exciting and profitable new job at a cutting-edge consulting firm near M.I.T. where my skills were highly valued. I briefly lived with my old high school girlfriend before finally moving from the distant suburbs into the heart of the city. And I took up cycling again after a decades-long hiatus.

In all these different environments, I went by “Ornoth” or “Orny”, resurrecting the name that I identified with, that represented the kind of person I wanted to be, and which was used by all my friends, both old and new. At the same time, I finally started working to integrate the two halves of my bifurcated self-image: the methodical intellectual and the playful impulsive.

And it was time to finally leave “David” behind, a name that I found uncomfortable, that had unpleasant associations, and was only used by family members.

But my family provided an intimidating obstacle: telling my very conservative parents – who had given me my birth name, after all – that I wanted to legally change it. Fortunately, by then I’d gained the self-confidence to express myself firmly, so they couldn’t do much more than choose to ignore it.

So after nearly twenty years of using it informally, in late June of 1994 I went to probate court and had my name formally changed, taking Ornoth as my first name, and demoting “David” to one of now two middle names. As such things usually go, it was both an immense fundamental change and an anticlimactic formality.

That was thirty years ago this week, and there hasn’t been a single second when I’ve regretted it. Ornoth is who I am, who I have been for nearly all of my life, and how everyone knows me. “David” sounds as alien to my ears as Billy-Joe-Bob.

The only times I was the least bit equivocal about it was when I was introduced to someone new. When the inevitable “What kind of name is that?” question came up, I always fell back on a convenient lie: that it was just an old family name with no specific derivation. But today that equivocation officially ceases, as I take unapologetic and public ownership of this deeply meaningful life choice.

As you might imagine, having a unique name comes with advantages and disadvantages. For some people, it’s easier to remember a name that’s distinctive, but many folks require time and repetition to commit it to memory. So it has often gotten shortened to Orny, Orn, or even just O. People often mishear the ‘th’ and call me “Ornoff”; another common error is “Ornath”; and sometimes people misread a printed ‘rn’ as an ‘m’ and see “Omoth”. Such is the price we pay for being unique.

On the other hand, picking a username is a breeze; I’ve never had to resign myself to being “DAVID783” or the like. Googling has revealed that there are small towns called Orny in both France and Switzerland (see the latter’s coat of arms in the image above), and at least one person in Germany has Ornoth as a surname. And there are several fantasy- and gaming-related websites using Ornoth as the name of a fictional character, which always feels a bit ironic.

Having thought of myself as Ornoth for half a century, it’s not just a part of me; it is me. But so is the entire story of how it became my name: its origin, etymology, and literal meaning; its central role in my social and emotional growth; how I reclaimed it as part of a major mid-life revitalization; and how it prompted me to finally stand up to parental authority.

And while I’m very happy that today literally everyone knows me as Ornoth, I’ve always self-consciously kept all that backstory hidden. But the story behind my name is one that deserves to be claimed and celebrated, and I’m happy to share it with you today on this personally meaningful anniversary.