A couple of weeks ago, I ran into two other people named Drew in about 24 hours. I’m not sure if they, like me, are shortening their real name, Andrew. Neither was that kind of encounter. But it got me thinking.

I have met very few Drews. Not like, people who introduced themselves as “Drew”. There were a couple of Andys who rebranded as Drews in high school and college (well after I staked the claim, I might add).

There’s the one Drew I’ve made friends with on Facebook.

And of course, I grew up watching Drew Barrymore in movies and then there’s Drew Bledsoe and Drew Brees: both NFL quarterbacks. There are a few famous Drews.

But this isn’t John, Jason, Steve, or Mike we’re talking about.

Of course, unlike Drew Barrymore, I’m not really a Drew. My given name is Andrew. I’ve gone by Drew for over 30 years. Most people know me as Drew. Even people who knew me first as Andrew can’t even remember using that name.

It strikes me that Drew is both a normal and strange name.

Somehow both regular and weird. Like a name nobody bats an eye at, but also one you rarely see.

I could be wrong, though. You could be surrounded by Drews. There may be a preponderance of Drews in your life.

How many Drews are there?

According to Everything Birthday, there have been 84,236 kids officially named Drew in the United States since 1880. Which kind of sounds like a lot until you think about it for five seconds. Almost all of those since 1985.

This leads me to wonder if I’m an imposter. I don’t count among those 84,236 kids. I’m among the 1.3 million Andrews born in the United States since its founding. Which, like Drew, sounds like a lot until you think about it. I mean, it’s a lot more, but, you know, there are a lot of people who have been born in the United States.

Then again, I don’t hear any Mikes developing an existential crisis about “really” being a Michael.

After a quick search, I found that it is actually really hard to figure out how many people have ever been born in the US because they only started caring about tracking this stuff in the 19th Century. But here’s a number: 472 million born here. And 73 million immigrated.

OK, that is a lot.

Andrews apparently represent 0.3% of all Americans ever born here. Which is not a lot. And Drews are 0.018%. Which is even less a lot. So meeting two in 24 hours doesn’t seem like good odds.

[Before statisticians get on my case, I recognize the problem in the above statement. Honestly, I was simply going for droll humor.]

Of course, I married someone with a far less common name who never meets people with her’s. So maybe I’m a little jealous.

What name is real?

My legal name is Andrew. My Christian name is Andrew. And some of my extended family call me Andrew. And I signed up for Facebook as Andrew. Which was a weird decision back in 2006. But everyone else knows me as Drew. Including my parents, so that should count at least double.

So which is the real name?

Legalists will likely side with the official name. But I suspect most people will say the one everyone knows you by.

I suppose that’s fair. And it is certainly what I would say to anyone who asked me about their name.

A name is a signifier. A way to be known and comprehended. It has identity embedded in it and from it.

But in the end, a name is just a name.

And the fact that I hadn’t met a new Drew in years, made this a momentous occasion that ultimately carries no significance. Besides the curiosity of a relatively uncommon name.

Unless, of course, they hadn’t met another Drew. I can’t speak for my significance to them.

But to the people I care about, I’m Drew. Which, I suppose is enough to call it good.