Many blessings, Tom and Karen

It seemed appropriate to begin our story by answering the BIG question that everyone is asking..."How did you come up with the name Waters?" 

A Tale of Two Waters

When Karen and I decided to get married, we realized our names would present a challenge. We both felt strongly that we wanted to share our surname, to represent our unity as a couple and the depth of our partnership. Neither of us, however, is fond of the patriarchal tradition of a woman taking her husband’s name and losing her own. We considered hyphenation, but that idea was complicated by the fact that we were both still carrying names from previous marriages—and, frankly, it felt as though our new life together deserved something fresh and simple, not a string of words that would sound more like a law firm than a couple.

We had also been conscious for some time of our emerging identity as a couple, how we are something together that is different from what either of us is separately, and more than the sum of the parts. Together, we came to the conclusion that we needed a new name, one that was ours and ours alone, reflecting our present and future life, rather than something carried forward from our past as separate people.

But what should that name be? We obviously wanted something that would feel significant to us, with special symbolism—something poetic, spiritual, and personal. Yet we also knew we wanted a name that would work out in the world: it couldn’t be hard to understand or spell, and we didn’t want people to smirk or groan or make “old hippie” jokes when they heard it. Our name needed to have a practical side for daily use, as well as a more sentimental side for us.

One evening, I suggested “Waters”. We agreed to let it settle in for a few days, and then decide how it felt. Yet, once it had been said, it was clear that there really was no alternative. Water symbolism had been a part of our relationship since the beginning, and was continually finding new ways into our lives. Our first conversation took place on a bridge overlooking the Santa Fe River. Our first kiss was on the occasion of an unprecedented monsoon downpour on the night of the 4th of July. In the autumn, when we made our first commitment to each other as a couple, we gathered water from our separate homes and merged them, each of us carrying away a vial of the mingled waters as a reminder of our connection, even while we continued to live on opposite sides of Santa Fe. Then when we found a home we could share in Tesuque, it was the midst of winter: we did not fully appreciate until the snows melted that Big Tesuque creek was flowing on the other side of the street in front of our home, and Little Tesuque creek was flowing behind our back fence; the two merge together just a hundred yards or so from there. This image of mingling, merging streams seemed the perfect metaphor for our union. We were literally surrounded by waters, and there seemed no point in denying it.

Changing our names involved considerable expense and inconvenience (easy name-change upon marriage is only permitted for those who follow a more traditional pattern), but nothing else would really have suited us. We are consciously creating a partnership with its own personality: it is something new, like a child who will grow and learn as the years pass. And, like all new things, it has its own name.

Tom Waters, 2007.Sep.25