Sarah Clarke on Sarah Clarke

I was born Sarah Marie Clarke. I’m named after my grandmother’s sister. I heard she, too, was named after her grandmother’s sister, but my uncle Bill might have been joking; this was long after my uncles polished off the Christmas wine, and then the schnapps.

I go by Sarah Clarke. The “Marie” doesn’t really help set my name apart, so I don’t use it. I have heard more than once that “Marie” is the most common female middle name in the US. For that reason it is probably the most despised. It seems like such a waste to have a boring middle name. Middle names are such an affordable way for parents to send you off into the world with something special. Jennifer Lawrence’s middle name is Shrader. Hilary Duff’s middle name is Erhard. Tina Fey’s middle name is Stamatina. If you don’t like middle names, you could even leave it blank: J.K. Rowling doesn’t have one—the K is fake. Middle names are also nice to have in case you don’t like your first name, like Rihanna, whose first name is actually Robyn. If her parents had named her Robyn Marie, we’d never have Rihanna, maybe by any name.

As for Sarah… there was only one year in school when there wasn’t another Sarah in my class. If it wasn’t “Sarah,” it was “Sara” without the H.

And when I meet another Clarke, it is usually without the E. I can picture a Sara Clark out there, going around breezily, unencumbered by extra letters, while the other Sarah Clarkes and I break our backs dragging around dead weight.

With three names and all of them common, I have sometimes thought of doing what Angelina Jolie did and just cut one off (her middle name is Jolie; her last name was Voight). She's good at cutting things off and I wouldn't mind being more like her.

I’m sure my husband wouldn’t mind (not about Angelina Jolie, but about changing my name). I still go by Sarah Clarke even though I’m married. I always thought getting married would be great not just for the marriage part but because of the free name change. It turns out it is not free. Also it is slightly pointless when your husband’s name is even more common than yours. I could tack “Johnstone” onto the end of my name but why carry around more dead weight?

There is a famous actress named Sarah Clarke. You might think that people, when they meet me and hear my name, would say, “Oh, like the actress!” They do not. No one has mentioned the existence of my famous namesake to my face. There are some possible reasons for this, and they are so depressing I could almost cry. One possible reason is she is not that famous. She has had a lot of roles and was even in Twilight. I can’t tell “how famous” she really is, though, because I’ve always paid more than my fair share of attention to her. I say it is depressing because, if being in Twilight is not enough to make a Sarah Clarke famous, then what is it going to take? Another reason is that I am a little sensitive about my name, which is depressing because if people can somehow already see this about me, even when they are meeting me for the first time, then what kind of pathetic child am I? The most depressing reason of all, though, is that I am an aspiring actress. I almost can’t even say it it’s so depressing. Wanting to act is already pathetic enough. Needing to become more famous than someone else who has your name is even more pathetic, but also necessary, and therefore incredibly depressing. Worse, I might have started acting earlier if I had felt there was room in the world for me, but I did not, and part of that is probably because of my name. There were already so many, why would I be special? The last decade spent knowing there was an actress already out there with my name didn’t help either.

I am taking up room more lately, extra letters and all. I am glad it’s normal for actresses to change their name, and I might even do that. But I have my great aunt to think about, and if Uncle Bill was right, her great aunt, too. They might have disliked our name as much as I do, but they still passed it on. It must mean something. You don’t get to choose your name, at least not the one you’re born with. You just get to carry it. I forget about it most of the time, but when I remember the weight, I remember that it's mine to carry. I remember to remember my great aunt and I wonder about the dead weight, about whether some of it is still alive.