That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet

I was in the fifth grade when I learned how to write the classic five paragraph essay. Start out with a topic paragraph that included a thesis sentence, follow with three supporting paragraphs, wrap things up with a nice concluding paragraph. And the title? Always do this last. Back then, maybe because it was that last magical touch that brought everything together, the defining words of the literary piece, a line deserving of its own page, the title to me felt like the most important component of the essay. As my academic journey continued, my essays became more and more complicated and their titles became less and less important. In fact, by the end of high school, all my titles started with an English or French spin on the phrase "A Thematic Analysis of..."

Last year, the CEO of my company came in to speak with a new class of associates in my program. He started with an anecdote about a speech his father, an office-bearer, once gave to the citizens of a town in West Virginia. The speech was filled with grammatical errors common to the vernacular, but prohibited by the office-bearer in his home. Our CEO mentioned being surprised at his father's seeming hypocrisy. Here he was, speaking before huge crowds of people, using all these words and grammatical constructions he forbade us to use at home. When confronted by his son after the speech, the office-bearer explained, If you want the people you lead to identify with you, you have to make them feel like they are just like you. You have to show them that you, like each of them, occasionally make mistakes. Having an elected position didn't mean he needed to show his town that he was better than them. In fact, our CEO's father took it to mean the exact opposite.

Growing up, I used to make a clear distinction between my "home" friends and "school" friends. I used to keep the worlds pretty separate, sometimes even having two separate birthday parties. As I grew older, I began to blur the line and soon, especially in a place like college where you live with your classmates, it was completely erased. 

A few weeks ago, I was found myself feeling offended after being introduced to someone as a "coworker" when I considered us "friends" first. We don't really work together, we just met by virtue of being at the same company. Doesn't that make us friends? I ignored the rest of the introduction as thoughts filled my head. It felt as if a single word had undermined our entire relationship. 

Of course, this "label" did not at all change how much I trust or care about my coworker/friend. The way we interact with one another would not change based on what we called one another. In the end, our relationship, and any relationship, for that matter, cannot be defined with the use of a single word. In looking back, I am embarrassed for having been so affected by such a triviality. But our society, unfortunately, gives unweighted precedence to title. 

In a recent HBR blog post, the author lightly pokes fun at a penchant for "title-dropping" so to speak. Stanford Business student. Yale undergrad. Bain consultant. And the assumption that an accolade merits unquestioning reverence. The article goes on to expose an inherent irony: Proudly flaunting your affiliations -- company, university, or club -- will only make you more of a commodity: another banker, another Ivy League graduate, another know-it-all scientist. It is our accomplishments that garner true respect. And provide real value to the world. 

Several years ago, I visited my late grandfather in Chennai. The first day I was there, he took me around to each of his friend's apartments to introduce me. This is my granddaughter, the writer, he would say with his proud smile. To say that the "Writer" title meant nothing to me would be a complete lie. It meant the world to me. He was one of the first people in my life to call me a writer. To think of me as a writer. To his friends, however, the "granddaughter" title was much more meaningful. Here was a man who was extremely well-respected and revered by his community -- his family members were of interest. 

In our youth, we're often asked what we want to be when we grow up. Instead, we should have been asked who we want to be when we grow up. In each of our relationships, each of our positions, each of our life stages, how we want to come across to ourselves and others and what and how we will accomplish that essence. 

Title can be a lot of things: Words on a page, placement in a race, position in a group, relationship between people, the list goes on. But it's just that. A title. You need to write the story. And you get to make it a good one.