Odette

Rupert. Grace Manor’s little dragon.

It has been the blueprint of my life to reinvent every decade or so. I think it started with my very birth — my mother, a young widow, giving birth to me in a rural hospital that she had to take a bus to. Alone in this world, but for me, a child that I am not sure she wanted. I should probably ask her that, unafraid of the answer, as I am sure, if I were in her tired and scared shoes, I'd likely have second thoughts about bringing a child into a world I felt poorly prepared to care for. But it was the late 70s in Brazil, at the tail end of a dictatorship. Women's choices were limited to the color of their aprons.

If I were to romanticize that moment, I would say that the map of the stars at the moment of my birth reflected the reality I came into. A tragedy of sorts. A tragedy, full stop. A flight-or-fight moment. A do-or-die situation. And as predicted, I have been surviving that tragedy ever since — transforming, morphing, and reinventing like some Brazilian-Italian-American phoenix rising from the ashes, over and over again.

I am self-aware enough to realize that many of these fires started with me and my matches, and yet one has to ask: why did life have to give me such combustible kindling? At times, I have prayed for rain in my parade.

The common thread of these burns and rebuilds has been my name. I have had many. From maiden to married, from inexplicably complex to simple, I have changed my name a few times, and every time, it was a reflection of a new beginning. Julia came about 30 years ago, when I became an American citizen. Before that, Torresan — my first married name.

Now, even a fire dragon will hope to run out of flames at some point, and for me — being a fire dragon and a Sagittarius — I knew it might take me 50 years from what was written in the stars to finally calm down. But calming down is what I am doing. Making quieter life decisions. Learning to walk toward things with steady feet, rather than flying with Icarus wings. Looking within for answers rather than to people, things, and places. Sitting in my garden with my dog for long hours, exploring what it feels like to simply sit in a garden.

What I am finding is that there is a space between peace and no-peace in those moments, and one can consciously lean toward either side. There is no judgment. There is only the way the Universe responds as you lean in.

In this space, where both silence and noise co-exist, I changed my name once again, and for what I hope is the last time in this lifetime. I kept Julia, as that is one of the greatest gifts I have ever given myself. I went back to Marchesoni, to honor my father. But in the middle of what I am, there was still room — and opportunity.

So I sat in the garden some more, and I waited for the answer. I waited for over a year. And then it came: Odette.

Odette. A purely French name, dating back to the 14th century. Wealth. Fortune. Prosperity. The White Swan. My biological grandmother's name. A woman I only know through stories, having never met her. But the stories painted a picture of someone I could aspire to be: good, honest, faithful, believing in God, and serving those in need.

This past week, I visited the post office, the bank, the Social Security office, and the DMV to finalize this name change. When I saw my new driver's license, my photograph looked so different from the person I used to be. The little fire dragon is turning into an older swan. And yet, I look precisely like the person I am meant to be.

The new name underscores that — showing that as I lean, I am leaning toward peace.

Julia Odette Marchesoni