I’ve never liked my name. It’s so… plain. simple. just unremarkable. Around 15 yrs of age, I learned what it meant -sly & divine ingenuity.
My level of immaturity slid it over into my ego-feed. I honestly didn’t give it much thought other than to tell girls what it meant. Even with that, I still cared very little for my name.
Yet somehow, by either divine intervention or dumb luck, my drug-addicted mother gave me a label that would prove its heritage and meaning.
No sooner than I had left semi-secure, unsure comforts of home, I would utilize my birth moniker for what felt like every day existence. An existence I brought upon myself through poor decisions made from a complete absence of parental units.
So which came first? Did the name materialize the path or did the planned path dictate the name?
Or was it all just bullshit and happenstance?
Off The Rails 
There’s a big positive to your name, not everyone can claim ingenuity as their personality.
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