Would you believe if I told you there are actual words for emotions you feel but can’t explain?
Yes there are words.
All culled from Dictionary of obscure sorrow.
Feeling the tranquil pleasure of being near a gathering but not quite in it. chatting outside a party while others dance inside, resting your head in the backseat of a car listening to your friends chatting up front feeling blissfully invisible yet still fully included, safe in the knowledge that everyone is together and everyone is okay, with all the thrill of being there without the burden of having to be.
Weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had, the same boring flaws and anxieties you’ve been gnawing on for years, which leaves them soggy and tasteless and inert, with nothing interesting left to think about, nothing left to do but spit them out and wander off to the backyard, ready to dig up some fresher pain you might have buried long ago.
Proud of a scar on your body, which is an autograph signed to you by a world grateful for your continued willingness to play with her, even when you don’t feel like it.
With every click of the shutter, you’re trying to press pause on your life. If only so you can feel a little more comfortable moving on. You living in a world stuck on play.
The Sense That Time Keeps Going Faster
The feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong, as if there’s some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you.
The moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you’ve built up through decades of friction with the world.
A feature of modern society that suddenly strikes you as absurd and grotesque, from zoos and milk-drinking to organ transplants, life insurance, and fiction—part of the faint background noise of absurdity that reverberates from the moment our ancestors first crawled out of the slime but could not for the life of them remember what they got up to do.
Moment of Tangency
A Glimpse of What Might Have Been.
If two lines are truly parallel,
it means they’ll never actually meet.
Astate of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world—mending the fences of your expectations, weeding out invasive truths, cultivating the perennial good that’s buried under the surface—before propping yourself up in the middle of it like an old scarecrow, who’s bursting at the seams but powerless to do anything but stand there and watch.
The desire to be struck by disaster—to survive a plane crash, to lose everything in a fire, to plunge over a waterfall—which would put a kink in the smooth arc of your life, and forge it into something hardened and flexible and sharp.
The Part of Your Identity That Doesn’t Fit Into Categories.
The frustration of being stuck in just one body that inhabits only one place at a time. Which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.
The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.
I believe you have felt if not one but more of these… I’ll go back to study more so I can help educate you too.