In the broader scheme of things, your name is a poor tag for your identity. An uncommon name might help. Or, you might give yourself a single moniker that boldly stands above the rest: Sting, for example.
But what if you are among the 40-some-thousand
John Smiths living here in these United States of America?
You will need a number. A Social Security Number.
I got to thinking about this last
night. As a distinctly non-famous person,
my name is of little use beyond the spacious valley in which I live. For business purposes and legal purposes, I
need my number.
Funny thing about that. Even though this is your best identity, you
must keep it secret for fear of fraudulent use.
A sort of paradox,
then.
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