Tag: words

ringlorn – adj. the wish that the modern world felt as epic as one depicted in old stories and folktales – a place of tragedy and transcendence, of oaths and omens and fates, where everyday life felt like a quest for glory, a mythic bond with an ancient past, or a battle for survival against a clear enemy, rather than an open-ended parlor game where all the rules are made up and points don’t matter.

Lots of people yearn for a time gone past. Often I think the place they remember fondly exists in their mind and doesn’t really reflect what they lived, or what they heard about (or read about).

I find that I struggle with a lot of time periods of the past. Pre-1900, convenience and facilities were a mess. I wouldn’t long for that. I have never been much of a WWI/WWII person, and even the booming 20s, being a minority, I don’t know that I’ve have enjoyed that time.

Maybe the one time period I find enchanting, though I wouldn’t want to live then, was 1600s Japan, and the Samurai era.

If I were picking another time, then the late 60s in the US, the Age of Aquarius, the struggles of civil rights, the chance when people really stood up to make their voices heard. I find that interesting. I was born in that era, but to be a 18-30 yr old then would have been enchanting.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

ghough – n. a hollow place in your psyche that can never be filled; a bottomless hunger for more food, more praise, more attention, more affection, more job, more sex, more money, more hours of sunshine, more years of your life; a state of panic that everything good will be taken from you too early, which makes you want to swallow the world before it ends up swallowing you.

I think most people have some sort of ghough, longing for more. It’s a human, and a very America, thing. There’s never enough. You wish you had something more.

As I age, I have less of this, though I do feel the passage of time. No panic about passing away yet, but I can imagine I will at some point. It’s why I find myself more willing to have adventures in life, even at a slightly uncomfortable financial cost. I never know how long I’ll be here.

Of the list above, I think money sometimes intrudes. I think about travel with my wife, or things that have to be fixed on the ranch, and I think “more money” would solve things. However, I know that’s not really the case, and I try to calm my psyche down, reminding it that I need to manage and live within constraints, enjoying and appreciating what I have.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

wildred –adj. feeling the haunting solitude of extremely remote places – a clearing in the forest, a windswept field of snow, a rest area in the middle of nowhere – which makes you feel like you’ve just intruded on a conversation that had nothing to do with you, where even the gravel beneath your feet, and trees overhead are holding themselves back to a pointed, inhospitable silence.

I rarely find myself in a remote place. Except on planes, then I love looking at the remoteness of the world. I was flying back from Austin to Denver and snapped this shot. I have no idea where it is. Somewhere between Austin and Denver. Texas? Oklahoma? SE Colorado? I didn’t expect this.

I enjoy some remoteness. I find myself craving the feeling of wildred, hoping for the chance to be in a place without people, without structures, without anything nearby.

Mostly I get this these days when I have to be somewhere early and no one is up and about. It does happen in winter, snowboarding down trails on a Wednesday in the trees with no one around. I can’t wait for that this next season.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

justing – n. the habit of telling yourself that just one tweak could solve all your problems – if only you had the right haircut, if only you found the right group of friends, if only you made a little more money, if only he noticed you, if only she loved you back, if only you could find more time, if only you were confident – which leaves you feeling perpetually on the cusp of a better life, hanging around the top of the slide waiting for one little push.

I find a lot of people that have justing, thinking their are quick, easy solutions just out of reach. Of they focus so much on the one thing they desire, ignoring the rest of life. Or at least diminishing it.

I try hard not to have justing. In fact, lots of comedians have helped me to view the world differently. I accept where things are, I know there is chaos and struggle and other difficulties. I have to just accept and account for them, not wish things were different. Instead, I view the world as imperfect and not always here for me but still a place to appreciate and enjoy.

I can’t always get to the gym or I don’t always eat as well as I should. I accept that and work with it, not wishing it were different. I accept my faults and frailties, and I try to nudge them in better directions, knowing they will always be there.

I remind clients of this at work. There is no perfect way to build software, and you will always have some issues. You’ll always have some staff insufficiently trained, you’ll always have some people you don’t like. Work with that imperfection and don’t think about justing.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows