Like many of you reading this, I carry two names. One was gifted to me at birth by my loving parents, a little package of love and legacy. The other I picked out myself somewhere along the crazy road of life. Having dual identities isn’t exactly a fresh concept—think of pen names or stage personas—but I’d argue it’s never been as common as it is today. We’re the chronically online generation, after all, and that changes everything. I submit to you that these two names tell a story: one we’re handed, and one we write ourselves. And in that writing, I believe, lies a deeper truth about who we really are.

Our digital footprint these days is wild. We spill our lives onto screens—pictures of our breakfast, stray thoughts at midnight, playlists that indicate our mood—connecting with folks across the globe in a town square with no edges and few cops. Sure, this comes with new problems, but it’s also cracked open a door to rethink ourselves in ways our grandparents never dreamed of.

So allow me a deep dive and let me ask that big, messy question: Who are you?

My Given Name: My first anchor

I can’t tackle this without tipping my hat to the thinkers who’ve wrestled with identity before us, and Jiddu Krishnamurti feels like the perfect place to start. This guy lived his words—no guru nonsense, just a call to think for ourselves. You can find his talks online now (lucky us), and they hit as hard today as ever.

He’d ask his crowd, “Who are you?”—not as a trick, but as a nudge to peel back the layers. To him, we’re not a name, not some fixed thing. We’re a collection of memories, experiences, always shifting, never static.

How often do we answer “Who are you?” with “I’m Andre” or “I’m Sarah,” as if that says it all? Krishnamurti would laugh—maybe sadly—because a name’s just a pointer, like a star winking at the north. It’s not the story. I love my name, though, and I bet you love yours too. But, that's because there's a story to tell.

I’m the second son in my family. My big brother got Dad’s name, keeping tradition alive, but I was named Andrew to honor my mom’s great-grandfather. Mom’s always sharing tales about Grandma Maggie, her favorite, the one who taught her grit and a touch of rebellion—stuff I feel in my own DNA too. When I asked her years ago why “Andrew,” she smiled and told me it was “her gift” to grandma Maggie. See, Maggie’s mind was slipping late in life, mixing Spanish with English, and sometimes she’d call Grandpa “Andrew,” her dad’s name, like a memory sneaking through the fog. That story hooked me. My name became Mom’s way of keeping Maggie’s love alive, a thread across generations.

I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with loving your name—I mean, look at me, I get choked up thinking about mine. But here’s the kicker: I didn’t choose it. Loving it took work—digging into its story, feeling the empathy, wrestling with mortality and legacy. It’s a complex dance, romanticized maybe, but real. That name, Andrew, turned into an anchor for me, a first pillar of who I am. Every lesson, joy, win, and flop I’ve lived got tucked into that storage box labeled “Andrew.” But, Krishnamurti might challenge me here: it’s still just a box, not the me inside it.

The Project of Self: A Journey, Not a Statue

We’ve got this notion—wrongheaded, I think—that we’re meant to become something solid, like a statue carved in stone. Pick a purpose, chase it, nail it, then ride off into the sunset like a movie hero, immortalized. It’s a pretty picture, fit for a screenplay, but life’s not that tidy. Sure, aim high, fuel up with dreams, but the juice is in the journey—the day-to-day mess—not some finish line.

Jean-Paul Sartre nails this vibe perfectly. His line, “existence precedes essence,” flips the script: we’re not born with a blueprint; we build ourselves through what we do, what we choose. No rigid self, just a fluid project. That’s freeing, right? Who we are, what we love—it shifts, and that’s the human experience. Sartre says we’re responsible for it all, no excuses. If Krishnamurti sees a name as a flimsy pointer, Sartre sees it as an X on a map—not the treasure, just a spot we start from. We’re the ones who dig.

Back in the day, swapping out your name was rare—maybe a marriage or a stage act, but not some deep soul-searching move. Now? The internet’s flipped that on its head. We’ve got a “choose your own adventure” deal going, and it's something amazing to witness in my opinion.

Nicknames in the Digital Age: The Horse Before the Cart

We’re the chronically online tribe—everything we do spins around this digital web. We post our dinners, our birthdays, our hellos and goodbyes, sharing more of ourselves than ever. I’m not here to judge it; I’m just saying we’re navigating uncharted waters, and these tools let us shout our story to a crowd that stretches beyond the horizon.

In this packed digital square, we need handles—unique little flags to wave. Picking one starts practical: “Andre” is taken, so you tweak it. But it’s more than that, especially for the influencers, streamers, bloggers—the loud voices with big audiences.

Take a guy I’ll call “Chaos Poet.” You hear that, and you’re already sketching him in your head—wild thoughts, tangled rhymes—before you’ve read a word. That handle’s not just a tag; it’s a brand, a vibe, a peek under the hood.

Here’s where it gets juicy. Choosing “Chaos Poet” isn’t random—it’s a call. Maybe he mulled it over, maybe it hit him like lightning, but either way, it’s his. He’s walked some miles, figured out his stride, and picked a name that fits—not the other way around. It’s the horse before the cart, not the cart dragging him along like a given name does. And handles? They’re dynamic. We tweak them as we grow, shedding skins that don’t fit anymore. My “Andre” stays put, but online, I can be “Menosopher” one day, “Onem” the next if I'm feeling nihilistic.

Sartre would dig this. Choosing a handle is pure freedom—an act of saying, “This is me, not what they handed me.” Krishnamurti might squint, warning it’s still a label, but I’d argue it’s looser, less a cage than a birth name, a cage who's door is always open. It’s not always pretty or serious—think “Satoshi-NakaFOMO”—but that’s us too: messy, funny, real.

The Pushback: Masks or Mirrors?

Now, some might say, “Hold up—these handles are just masks, performative fluff for likes and follows, upvotes.” Fair point.

“Chaos Poet” could be a pose, a sales pitch. But, Sartre’s got my back on this one: even a mask is a choice, and choosing it owns it. It’s not life slapping “Andrew” on me—it’s me picking my colors.

Take the practical angle: “Handles are just usernames, not soul-baring.” Sure, they start that way, but watch how they evolve—people mold them to match their rhythm. They’re not perfect truths, but they can be truer than what’s imposed on us at birth.

The Wrap: Naming Ourselves Anew

So here’s the deal. My given name, Andrew, I love. I'm not throwing it in the garbage—it’s Mom’s gift, grandma Maggie’s echo, a cozy anchor I’ve built a self around. But I didn’t pick it; I wove it into me after the fact.

Online handles? They’re different. They’re us stepping up, saying, “This is who I’ve become, who I’m becoming.” The chronically online life hands us a chisel: we carve our names after walking the path, not before. Sartre calls it freedom, Krishnamurti might call it a weak chain, but I'll call it honest—a mirror, not just a map with an X on it.

What does this mean as we keep scrolling, posting, renaming? If we are what we name ourselves, what stories are our handles telling—and what self is the one we are going to shape next?

I leave you with question in the hopes that you find them as fascinating as I do.

MenO

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Afterword:

I began writing these ideas this morning after a great conversation with @ecoinstant on discord. We've discussed the possibility of doing a little episode talking about this ideas too, so with that in mind I took it upon myself to write then down as good as I could.

I'm curious to know if people would be interested in participating of such a thing. I realize the subject is somewhat abstract, but I submit to you it's worth dedicating some brain power to it. I for one, think I've gained some clarity of thought, and I call that a win.

If you enjoy these philosophical deep dives, I wrote one about Art and Mortality that I'm quite proud of.

Thanks for reading