A year ago I set Google alerts with my name. Skyhorse Publishing was about to release my first book, and I wanted to be notified if articles or reviews about it came out. (One can always hope.) The settings worked; I did, indeed, get an email every time Maura Casey got ink somewhere.

But which one?

Google alerts have made me meet, virtually, my doppelgängers from all over the country.

“Doppelgänger “ is an imprecise term in this context. It implies that we look alike, and of course, we don’t. Our ages are all over the place. The name Maura Casey may not be Jane Doe, but it is remarkably common.

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Casey is the most ordinary Irish names, behind the likes of Murphy, Sullivan and Kelly. So this was not unexpected. But the combination of my first and last names occurs far more often than I once thought.

There’s the Maura Casey who is a National Weather Service meteorologist. She keeps an eye on conditions out west. With my google alerts, I can tell you all about the snowpack in the mountains of Montana, the danger of wildfires, and high winds. Better yet, her title reveals that she is a “warning coordinator.” We all need a warning coordinator in our lives, and I’m delighted to hear that Maura Casey is vigilant.

There’s more, of course. One Maura Casey is a physical therapist in New York City. Another Maura Casey is a pharmacist in Pennsylvania. Maura Casey also competes in canoe races in Ireland - who knew?

Another Maura Casey is a sommelier - a wine expert. From her website: “About a decade ago I found myself in wine and spirits and haven’t looked back.” Yup, that happened to me, once. Speaking from the vantage of four decades of sobriety, I hope that her journey is smoother than my own. I was a whiskey woman, though. Maybe I would have had better luck sticking to wine.

There’s also a Maura Casey who is a realtor in Scottsdale, Ariz. I’ve known about her ever since I tried to buy the domain name of mauracasey.com and discovered she grabbed it first. She also got mauracasey@gmail.com. She used to be a marathon runner, too, putting my little 5K races to shame. Clearly, Maura Casey is quicker on her feet and on the uptake than I am, or at least more internet-savvy.

This array of people with whom I share my name isn’t entirely a surprise. When my husband and I lived in Somerville, Mass., and were in the process of buying our first house in the 1980s, my financial records got mixed up with a Maura Casey who either worked for or was on the Boston City Council. Then and now, Boston is the city with the highest percentage of people of Irish descent in America, so at the time I was more amused than startled. I was also grateful that she wasn’t a bank robber.

I get a kick out of knowing there are versions of me out there, and here’s hoping they are better humans than I am. Even knowing someone with my first name is rare enough that it amuses me. For example, the office manager of my dentist calls me for appointment reminders. She is a lovely woman, originally from Ireland, and when she calls me in her lilting voice, she always begins the same way: “Maura, hi, it’s Maura.” “Hi, Maura!” I respond. We both laugh. Perhaps we are easily amused.

I suppose we could all make things less confusing for each other if we used our middle initials. My middle initial is J, for Joanna, but I grew up with mixed feelings about my middle name. I was named for an aunt who was a virtual stranger to me. But later, I became friends with a Miami Herald editor whom I loved and admired, Joanna Wragg, who by her example helped me get sober. So for a time I used my middle initial more as a sign of gratitude for my friendship with her, rather than its familial ties.

Most of the time, though, I’ve been just plain Maura Casey, like the rest of the Caseys canoeing, sniffing and sipping wine, selling houses, measuring wind speed and serving in government. Who knows how many of us there are. Godspeed, everyone. Please don’t get arrested and pay your bills on time, for the sake of us all.