One of my favorite acquisitions this winter was John Koenig’s The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. John Koenig is a wordsmith in every sense of the word; he has created new words to define the spectrum of human emotions and experiences that have so far been left uncharted by language. It might seem strange to have a book of ‘made-up’ words, but as Koenig himself says, “It is a calming thing, to learn there’s a word for something you’ve felt all your life but didn’t know was shared by anyone else. It’s even oddly empowering.” As Koenig also writes, “All words are made up. That’s part of their magic.”

At the end of the book, Koenig encourages the reader to come up with their own words, a remarkably empowering feeling. The beasts of life seem ever so slightly tamer after they have been named. And when the naming is done by you, it’s all the better. So, below are some of the words and definitions I’ve come up with after reading the book—some beasts that I’ve tried to tame. If you enjoy this to any extent, I strongly, strongly recommend reading The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. John Koenig is far better at this than I am. 

I suspect not all the words below will be for you, but I hope at least one will. 

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True strike (n.): The desire to remove the filters of politeness and language so you can see what someone is really thinking. The desire to know for certain whether someone’s words mirror their mind or hinder it, whether someone’s compliments come out of social pressure or a genuine impression. It is then no wonder that we latch onto insults more than compliments, which, although more painful, seem a truer reflection of your impression on the world than a friend’s response to “No, tell me what you really think.” 

Etymology: true strike, a spell in the role-playing game of Dungeons & Dragons that gives the user insight into the target’s defenses. Language is how we gain insight into each other’s minds. Unlike a spell, however, it is very fallible. 

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Knowledge-verse (n.): the vast universe of knowledge underlying a statement, which in itself contains an infinity of knowledge-verses, making you wonder how we can know anything for certain. The universes that you travel through when you play the “why” game and when you put any fact under the microscope. 

The sky is blue, what causes that? It’s because molecules in the air scatter light from the sun, and the shorter wavelengths corresponding to blue light scatter more easily. Why is that? Oh, that’s because the amount of scattering is determined by the inverse of the wavelength, raised to the fourth power. How did we work this out? What does it even mean that the light is “scattered”? Well, “scattering” is a mild simplification. In reality, the electromagnetic waves of light induce a dipole within airborne particles… 

Perhaps it is maddening that every descent raises more questions than it answers; to say you understand something seems at best a farce and at worst an arrogance. Perhaps it is wonderful to know that there will always remain questions for those who will ask them; there will always remain a myriad of universes for us to explore. Perhaps this excites you to your very core. Perhaps it terrifies you to your very core. Maybe you are disappointed in how little we know of the world. Maybe you are surprised that we know anything at all. Despite all this,

or maybe because of it, here we remain, saying to ourselves, “Huh, that’s funny. Wonder why that is?” 

Etymology: knowledge + universe, the sum total of an object. The “why” game is a frustrating one played by children and tired adults where the response to every question is “Why?”. The kind of game that should come with an “Existential Crisis Guaranteed!” sticker 

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Time out (n.): The desire to stop time or at the very least pause it, so you can catch your breath without everything rushing towards you. 

“There is only so much time in the world,” they say with that patronizing shake of their head. “Spend it well.” And so you lock yourself into that ironically-eternal battle against time, trying to wrestle back every drop you can. And the cunning Time gives you those drops freely and always at that maddeningly steady pace, which seem so filling as a child but barely quench your throat as you get older. The unceasing battle continues day and night, until all you want to say is, “Can we have a time out please?” 

Oh, the time, it flies, 

What I wouldn’t give to shoot it dead 

Etymology: time out, a break taken in many sports and games to give the players a chance to recuperate. Doesn’t that sound nice. 

It appears to be a near-universal fact that time seems to speed up as you grow older. Most people argue that this is because each passing year represents a smaller proportion of your life. Whether this is the cause or not, it seems we may never get vacations that feel like they last a lifetime again. 

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Avenri (n.): The awareness of how fragile the future is and the uncertainty of what to do with this information. 

It’s easy to make yourself believe that tomorrow will look like today, as will the day after and the day after and the day after… And in most cases, you would be right. But you know that life is always a hair’s breadth away from turning on its head, be it from a global pandemic or a simple accident. The illusion that you have some sort of control, that the world isn’t just one level above completely random, isn’t a well-hidden one. But what can you possibly do about it? Follow their advice of “live every day like it’s your last?” The selfish advice that ignores the people and responsibilities around you? Perhaps, the adage should instead be “live every day like it’s your first” when the future felt further than it was.

It’s hard to emulate the sense of wonder we felt as children. Hard to remember how we could have ever spent an entire afternoon simply watching raindrops race on the window; how we could make even the floor exciting by turning it into lava; or how simply seeing our loved ones could make us so happy. The future will come as it always does, blasting through the door when you are least expecting it. But before you turn to face it, why not take a moment to let these raindrops finish their race? 

Etymology: avenir, future in French, broken with a typo. Delightfully, it ends with the same syllable as worry