It's Only Words
The definition of the word “sonder” is the profound feeling of realizing that everyone has a life as complex as our own, and we are all living these lives alongside each other, despite the lack of awareness that we are doing so. This neologism was coined in 2012 by John Koenig, whose project, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, aims to repurpose words so they apply to emotions that currently lack words. Inspired by German SONDER (“special") and French SONDER (“to probe").
Until today, I had never heard of the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows. There is also a website (I’ll link at the end) and a Facebook page, which I followed at once. I’m adding the book to my Christmas list.
When we engage in the concept of sonder, it’s like we’re ignoring the film in which we have a starring role because we’re too busy worrying about what’s happening in the other films where we play a minimal part, if any at all. In some ways, this is a negative side effect of FOMO (fear of missing out). For example, as I sit in my newly redesigned writing space, with its treehouse view full of greenery, birds, and squirrels, I see a social media post from one of my friends at the beach. Now, no matter how much I love my writing space, and writing in general, I also love the beach and the beach is where I am not. Sonder, much?
I made a conscious effort to increase my awareness of sonder at the park this week. Rather than engage in a passive observance of the people outside enjoying a beautiful October Monday in southeast Texas, I intentionally tapped into the web that connects us all and intentionally experienced the day through myriad human filters. Then, to go deeper, I began to watch the dogs. How curious that their one-dimensional approach to the park outing encompassed every dimension at the same time. Every sound, every smell, every taste… you get the idea. Every dog knew.
Some of the dogs were well-trained in basic manners, modeling their behavior based on the cues directed by their humans accordingly. Other dogs, like my own, reveled in the manic sensory overload, completely unable to contain their emotions or reactions. After eight weeks of obedience training and a prescription for daily Prozac, it’s clear that we’ve just got to let Tillie be Tillie, while we do our best to keep her safe (this is easier said, than done as she does nothing to help the process). Most dogs, however, were somewhere in between. Behaving well enough for a public outing, yet still basking in canine bliss.
This simple observation has reaffirmed for me the realization that there’s nothing for me to find. I don’t need to take another course. I don’t need to join another group. I’m not looking for enlightenment, just to broaden my understanding of this current experience. The one right in front of me. As it is. Nothing more. Like my dog. Like your dog, probably.
Unlike my dog, I’m able to practice turning down the volume. Tillie wants nothing less than the full-on firehose experience. I’m more inclined to dip my toes in a gentle babbling brook.
Sonder has become more prominent as I’ve gotten older. I wonder how much of my daughter’s childhood I missed. And then my granddaughter’s. I wished away five days each week, in anticipation of a weekend that almost never lived up to its potential. The hamster wheel of cycles going nowhere was necessary for survival, but was it worth the price? And is it sonder to worry about the sonder of years gone past?
I don’t think so and honestly, that’s never been my style. Now that I realize it, better late than never, it’s an awareness that enables me to return to the perfect alignment of my life right now. Connect those dots. Does an awareness of sonder result in the absence of it? Can gratitude fill that space?
It took me a long time to accept the concept of gratitude, mostly due to the new-age-yogi overuse of the word. To be grateful is both unique and mundane. I’m grateful I’ve had the ability to travel and experience things a lot of people are never able to do. I’m grateful when it rains and I’m grateful when it stops. I’m grateful that my hip doesn’t hurt right now while I’m sitting in my perfectly redesigned writing space, even though the presence of that pain prevents me from doing other things. I’m grateful for my family and friends. In this practice, the line between what is unique and what is mundane doesn’t just blur, it disappears.
The awareness of sonder can serve as a reminder that life is full of magical moments because life itself magical. Something my dog already knows.
More about The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows - Wikipedia
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