Hi, Lace

There is one word in the English language that I have trouble articulating. I can't exactly figure out why this word gives me trouble--in fact, I'm not convinced it's the word that gives me trouble but maybe all the people who can't understand me when I say it. In a great cosmic irony, that word that everyone misunderstands when they hear me say it for the first time is "Liz."

This is how a first conversation usually goes when I meet someone new:

"Hi, I'm Liz."
"Lace?"
"No, Liz."
"Leese?"
"Uh, nope. Liz, like L-I-Z, short for Elizabeth."
"Oooooohhhhh! Liz! Why didn't you just say so?"

I'm not kidding, this happens almost every time. It's sooooo weird. I'm not sure if it's the "i" sound or the "z" sound that I don't say clearly enough. Or maybe the combination. I mean, a name like Liz has really strong consonants and a pretty dull vowel in the middle. And it's so short--if I don't say it exactly right in the fraction of a second I have to pronounce my own name, I'm completely misunderstood. Or maybe I mumble. Maybe I have come to expect this sort of murkiness around introductions and I just relax into the slurry, jumbled sound of my own name.

Sometimes I actually anticipate the situation and introduce myself like this:

"Hi, I'm Liz. Short for Elizabeth."

This alleviates all confusion, right off the bat. People may think I'm strange for specifying my full name, but I guess that's better than having them think I can't pronounce my own name.

This weekend I had an especially awkward experience regarding telling someone my name. I was performing at Lake Harriet Spiritual Community, where I had never been before. I was sitting in the front row before it started, silently calculating my path to the guitar and trying to remind myself not to trip over the cord when a friendly young woman sat down next to me.

"Hi," she said, "I'm So-and So."
"Hi," I responded. "I'm Liz."
"Lace?"
"No, Liz."
"Lies?"
"Nope. Liz. L-I-Z, short for Elizabeth."
She paused, then smiled. "You have a beautiful accent. Where are you from?"
Embarrassed, my cheeks flared red. "I don't have an accent," I said. "I grew up in Iowa."

So-and-So was not going to let it go at that. I'm sure she saw my crimson face and my shy eye contact, full of embarrassment and horror that this conversation was happening. But, no, So-and-So wanted to keep talking about how strangely I say my own name. She grinned and exclaimed, "Oh, wow! It's just that the way you say your name sounds like you have an accent. That is sooooo coooool. That you say your name differently. Like it's your own word. Very cool. I totally thought you had an accent. How do you pronounce your own name again? Lease? That is cool."
I blinked and didn't say anything.
"Nice to meet you, Liz," she said.
"You too, So-and-So."


Usually the new people I meet have either seen my name written down before they speak to me (job interviews, new students, etc), or they are introduced to me by someone else (friends of friends, etc). But those times that I meet someone on the spot and have to introduce myself, I am not worried about making an overall good impression, I am not worried about having a bold handshake, nor am I worried about charming them with witty conversation. I am petrified with fear about pronouncing my own name.

So after the experience with So-and-So, I went directly home and practiced saying my name in front of a mirror. It sounded just right to me! It sounded exactly like "Liz." What is wrong with other people? Then Stacia came in, saw me mouthing, "Liz. Liiiiiiiz. Lizzzzzzz," and asked me what on earth I was doing. I explained to her that I have trouble saying my own name, and to prove it I said, "Hi, I'm Liz."

She raised her eyebrows, indicating that she had learned something new about me. "You do have a lisp," she said, "But only for that word, I have never heard it otherwise."

Angrily, I retorted, "I do not have a lisp. My name is just too short for people to listen to it properly."

Then, last night, I attended a twelve-step meeting. You know how it works--you go around in a circle and everyone says, "Hi, I'm Whoever." And the group responds. "Hi, Whoever."

I had never been to this meeting before. When it was my turn, I said, "Hi, I'm Liz."

And the group responded, "Hi, Lace."