Tag: words

foilsick – adj. feeling ashamed after revealing a little too much of yourself to someone – allowing them too clear a view of your pettiness, your anger, your cowardice, your childlike vulnerability – wishing you could somewhat take back the moment, bolting the door after a storm had already blown it off its hinges.

What a visual. The door blown off its hinges from a storm, and you desperately trying to set it back into the opening.

Blurting out something in an emotional moment is likely something many people have done. I would guess parents as much as teenagers feel foilsick after an argument or a moment of passion in which they say something they didn’t mean.

In the modern world, we might do that with messages or emails as well. I find myself trying to avoid putting myself into the place where I might feel foilsick and I often take a moment to draft something in Joplin (my notetaking app) before I put it into Slack or email. I can’t accidentally send it and then feel some regret over what I said.

I think the avoidance of ever feeling foilsick often leads many of us to not say something we feel, or admit a challenge, precisely so that we aren’t vulnerable and regret our words. As I grow older, I realize that being vulnerable isn’t going to create a foilsick feeling in many cases. It’s going to bring me closer to someone else, or help them help me.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

ecstatic shock – n. a surge of energy upon catching a glimpse from someone you like, which scrambles your ungrounded circuits and tempts you to chase after that feeling with a kite and a key.

What a great image. You see someone and there’s a physical reaction.

I still feel that way about my wife. I am lucky that we’ve had a great marriage and I enjoy her company. I want to spend time with her and still have that excitement I had when we started dating.

I hope many of you feel this on a regular basis.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

anderance – n. the awareness that your partner perceives the relationship from a totally different angle than you – spending years looking at a different face across the table, listening for cues in a different voice = an odd reminder that no matter how much you have in common, you’re still in love with different people.

I often think of anderance since I spend a lot of time with my wife, in daily life, traveling, communicating with phones. I sometimes wonder why she sees things in my differently than I do. Maybe she sees more or less, maybe she has a different view of me than I do.

I realize that who I think I am, and who she thinks I am are a bit different. Not a lot, but a bit.

Probably the same for her.

It’s been 30 years, and it’s still amazing. And I still learn things about her, about me, and about us.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

rivener – n. a chilling hint of distance that creeps slowly into a relationship – beginning to notice them laugh a little less, look away a little more, explain away their mood like it’s no longer your business – as if you’re watching them fall out of love right in front of you, gradually and painfully, like a hole in the radiator that leaves your house a little colder with every passing day, whose only clue is a slow, unnerving drip-drip-drip.

This chapter of the book seems to be a bunch of feelings that people have earlier in relationships, or maybe during bad relationships.

I’m sure I’ve felt rivener in the past, from former girlfriends, but I’m blessed that this isn’t the case now. My wife loves me and I feel the same way. There’s no rivener on the ranch between us.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows