Tag: words

the kinder surprise – . the point in your early adolescence when you realize that your parents are muddling through their lives the same as you; that many respectable adults are not less lost than you and your friends, no less petty and obsessive and insecure, which makes you wonder if there are no real adults, because such a thing never actually existed, except in bedtime stories.

I am not an adolescent, but I realized this early in my career, while working with some other technologists that I expected to know a lot more than I did and be more aware of things they should do to either advance their careers or improve their skills.

Over the last ten years, more and more I find that most people aren’t really strong, self-confident adults in all aspects of their lives. They might be at home, or at work, or on a sports field, or while playing an instrument, but in some of those areas they are insecure.

Or lost, or obsessive, or anything else.

I’ve tried hard to be honest with my kids as they were growing up, letting them know I’m fallible and unsure sometimes. At the same time, I try to help them develop confidence and show when I have that.

And explain that confidence isn’t’ arrogance. Being confident doesn’t mean I’m sure I’m right about something, but rather I know the pros/cons and what this means in my life. What effects my decisions have and I choose to make them, knowing there is both an upside and downside.

Few people have figured out most of their life. Many might have figured out little and aren’t really that much different from a teenager.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

los vidados – n. the half-remembered acquaintances you knew years ago, who you might have forgotten completely if someone hadn’t happened to mention them again – friends of friends, people you once shared classes with, people you heard stories about, who you didn’t know well but who still made up the fabric of your intense little community – making you wonder who else might be out there somewhere, only just remembering that you exist.

I have a lot of los vivados in my life. I’m old (late 50s), so high school and college were a long time ago. This is one thing I love about Facebook and Instagram is that I’ll get a memory, a glimpse of the past, of someone I knew, but not well. A post by someone closer leads me to the los vivados of my life.

I had this recently at a Redgate event. Someone came up to me and the face was familiar, but I didn’t recognize them or their name. However, they reminded me we’d met years ago at an event and had a chat.

I might be more memorable since I speak often, but I’m sure there are people how there who barely remember me, or remember something I’ve said/written, but don’t know the name.

I think los vivados exist for all of us, mostly because of the faulty human memory.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

on tenderhooks – adj. feeling the primal satisfaction of being needed by someone, which makes you feel that much more rooted to the world, even if the roots belong to someone else.

I feel this all the time with my wife. She needs me, maybe as much as I need her. She tells me, and I both appreciate it and feel lots of pressure to be the person she needs.

It’s an interesting conundrum to feel good that someone wants you around, but also feel some tension about it. It does help me stay rooted, and reminds me that not only have a made a difference in the world to someone, but I continue to do so.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

dolorblindness – n. the frustration that you’ll never be able to understand another person’s pain, only ever searching their face for some faint evocation of it, then rifling through your own experiences for some slapdash comparison, wishing you could tell them truthfully, “I know exactly how you feel.”

I’ve been lucky and blessed in life, with many things going my way and relatively few big obstables or painful moments. I’ve had some, but many less than a lot of people I know. I’ve also had plenty of success (by my definition) in life.

As a result, I think I run into dolorblindness regularly when I run into someone that’s had a difficult event. Losing a loved one, dealing with a health crisis, losing their job, or some other event that creates a lot of pain in individuals. I feel empathy and sadness for them, but I’m often struggling to understand the feelings because I haven’t felt them.

Most of the time.

I often won’t say that I understand because I don’t. Sometimes I do, but often I express support, offer help, or just give them a hug.

Whether you really know how someone feels or are experiencing dolorblindness, I hope you be kind, have compassion, and support those struggling in life.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows