the "w" is silent

Like many thinking people in western society, i have an ambivalent relationship with my name. The sound of one's name, by dint of incalculable repetition, generally feels comfortable and "natural". There are times, however, when i step back, objectify my name, chop its aural components apart, and suddenly it feels alien and no possible part of my subjective reality.
The origins of one's name, and the relationship to those who chose it, can affect our feeling toward said name. Parent-child issues can make one embrace one's name...or decidedly not.
Beyond that, i myself feel a sadness and disconnect on the most basic level, vis a vis how we name our children. I've always been drawn to native american societies where children don't receive their adult name until the teen years, at which time the chosen name is a reflection of individuality, and not how our parents happened to be feeling before we even existed.
There are times when i abstract myself from my name, "Rob", and feel the hopelessly derivative, generic quality of it. Petrie-Redford-Lowe-Base-Reiner-Thomas ugh. The patrilineal nature of my last name is enough to assure that i'll never feel comfortable with that, either.
I did embrace a tribal name once, Shineyoung, as a last name replacement. But the trouble with this was it flew in the face of that aspect of my personality which commands that i embrace what i am...in general, there's a sense of inauthenticity and insubstantiality connected with one who changes their name in this society. It feels a little like someone trying too hard.
However, a new name is at hand.
A shift in the wind.
A way to navigate these issues with deftness. There will be no "in your face" quality to my new name, in day-to-day human interactions. This is a change of subtlety, a protest of pith, an affirmation of grace. It's dastardly subversive, because you and she and everyone will use it whether or not there's any intention of doing so. It's sly and winking, an embrace of that part of me that is always ready to tell the world "do not EVER take yourself too seriously, and if you make it to the end of life without having laughed yourself silly once a day, something went wrong."
The suggestion came, oh irony, from my mother. She meant it as an offhand joke, never imagining i might run with it.
But i'm gonna.
I'm not saying it's the answer to a lifelong search, or that i've finally found a home. At the end of the day, it's just another collection of characters connected to a specific (but flexible) aural sound. I'm not saying i've finally found "me".
But maybe i've found something.
Citizens of the world, i give you the me of today, and perhaps my tomorrows.
It's wry and wrighteous.
It's a new whorld.
Say hello to wrob. Wrob wolf shineyoung rosenberger.
Poopiepants? That's just a nickname, sillies.