Am I too old to change my first name?

For the last 28 years, my name has been Megan. It's been fine for the most part. (Although too many people say MAYG-in, when it's to be pronounced MEGG-in. A subtle nuance to you perhaps, but a huge difference to me.)

As I get older and start to claim my grown-up identity, the name Megan just doesn't suit me much anymore. For one, I am Jewish and Megan is a Welsh name. It just doesn't go with my new, married last name Schwartzman. It's confusing. It's a mismatch. I might as well be named Shmuley Gonzalez.

It really bums me out that I have this beautiful middle name that just goes to waste. My middle name is Sloan. Yes, Sloan! Now that's sophisticated. I mean, "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" people. I almost feel entitled to change my first name to Sloan. But I just don't know how to make it happen. It feels a little overwhelming.

And then I start to realize how ridiculous I am being. I had a friend growing up whose name was Inbal. Every time she introduced herself, she would automatically say, "I'm Inbal. What? Inbal." I tend to take things for granted.

A few weeks ago, I announced to my husband, my in-laws, and some friends that I want to be called Meg from now on. My close friends and family already call me that. Easy transition. So I call myself Meg on this blog, I am beginning to sign emails as Meg, and I now call myself Meg when I talk to myself in the car. I have yet to introduce myself as Meg when I meet someone, but that's next.

For some reason Meg sounds a little more mysterious and ambiguous, which suits me. Less stereotypes come to mind. Unlike Megan, which brings about images of a slightly chubby blonde choir member who lives in Yorba Linda. That ain't me. And if I end up becoming that, I am blaming my mother.