I’m Haunted by Successful People Sharing My Name

My name is Mary Smith. Yes, that Mary Smith. I come from a long line of Mary Smiths, as I was named after my grandma, great-grandma, and Mary “Meryl” Streep (my mom loved her in “Higglety Pigglety Pop!”). You must know me from my popular, well-known, and search-engine-optimized family and business blog “Mary Smith’s Family and Business Blog” (an excellent and algorithmic title according to the consultant my hubby hired for me, thanks babe!).

I’m living the best life. My Insta is rad, my blog is on fleek, and I totally learned how to do a TickyTock. However, I have one absolutely awful problem. I am not the first “Mary Smith” coming up in search results! My blog only shows up on page four of Google, three rows down. And if you were looking for my picture, you can only find me in Google Images if you scroll down seven times and look to the left.

On page five, you’ll see my public Instagram, @mary._smith._12, where I post absolutely gorgeous photos of my beach house, my extensive travels, and my picture-perfect family. By shilling on my Facebook and Insta story, I make tens of dollars selling exotic patterned one-sleeved shirts for my fashion fam LuLoWoe (#GirlBoss!) right in the comfort of my winter ski home. Plus, they told me that if I pushed enough product, I would get my picture in the next issue of LuLoWoe Magazine!

And yet! Despite my good looks, despite my success at work and home, despite everything going right in my life, I get beat out by other Mary Smiths. Specifically, a Mary L. Smith. Who the absolute hell does Mary L. Smith think she is? God, she’s not even hot, she’s not funny, she’s a goddamn lawyer. A lawyer whose Wikipedia page is taking up prime real estate on the first page of search results!

I believe Mary L. Smith cursed my posts, nay, my very existence, for daring to steal my name. She swims into my vision every moment I attempt to sleep. She is a specter that hovers over my shoulder, taunting me as I write blog posts about my twin daughters Keighleigh and Oaklynn baking in my fully stocked marble kitchen, and my sons Eithon and Maximillian practicing rowing in our privately owned lake. What’s the point of it all if I’m not a top search result?

I am a broken woman. I stare at Mary L. Smith’s LinkedIn day in and day out, trying to find a reason why. My upline at LuLoWoe has been messaging me constantly about filling my recruitment quota, but I spend my days pondering: “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as search engine optimized.” And that which we call Mary Smith should get a different name.

Perhaps I should change my name to something more exotic, like Marie, Mari, or even something dreadful like Maria. Perhaps I wouldn’t be consigned to such a fate then. Perhaps I would be free.