“(Kat)her(i)n(e)”- An Introduction to Me

My parents had always intended on naming me Katherine. They’ve told me as much my entire life. The name functioned so perfectly, they said, because they could call me Katie when I was a child. It was such an adorable nickname for a little girl, they thought. And eventually when I became old enough, I would go by Katherine, a rather more mature name befitting an adult. Perhaps they had some notion of me going into business, carrying a briefcase, and being referred to as “Miss Katherine” or some such equivalent phrase. I think about that person often; what does Katherine do when she gets home after work, when she has to give someone bad news, or when she’s frightened by something? While it feels as though this knowledge is something I should be intimately acquainted with, Katherine herself is a stranger to me. You see, I have been Katie my whole life. In fact, if someone yelled out the name “Katherine” in a crowded room, I might not even turn around. I know what Katie does on a Friday evening, how she likes her tea, and when she likes to eat dinner every day. Katherine is a name that fits well around the waist, but drags along at my feet, an inseam I have yet to grow into. I wait for an uncertain growth spurt, some indication that I am ready to be who I was intended to be. A sign from the sky perhaps? Or an intangible feeling whose roots have been growing inside me, undetected by my fervent scrutiny.

For how does one know the precise moment they are no longer a Katie and become a Katherine?