About the BookThe Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows is a compendium of new words for emotions. Its mission is to shine a light on the fundamental strangeness of being a human being—all the aches, demons, vibes, joys, and urges that are humming in the background of everyday life.
There is so much to explore in this book I finally stumbled upon—finally, because I have been thinking about new words for a long time ever since I read 1984, but to expand consciousness, not limit it like in the novel.
Additionally, It's not just a loose collection of words, but it's organized into chapters, concepts, and tags. This is some serious work that we can access for free thanks to the internet.
Here are some sample words:
idlewild adj. feeling grateful to be stranded in a place where you can’t do much of anything—sitting for hours at an airport gate, the sleeper car of a train, or the backseat of a van on a long road trip—which temporarily alleviates the burden of being able to do anything at any time and frees up your brain to do whatever it wants to do, even if it’s just to flicker your eyes across the passing landscape.From Idlewild, the original name of John F. Kennedy International Airport in New York City.
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 the trees overhead are holding themselves back to a pointed, inhospitable silence.From wild + dread. Pronounced “wil-drid.”
solysium n. the unhinged delirium of being alone for an extended period of time—feeling the hours stretch into days until a weird little culture begins to form inside your head, with its own superstitions and alternate histories and a half-mumbled dialect all your own—whose freewheeling absurdity feels oddly liberating but makes it that much harder to reacclimate to the strictures and ambiguities of normal social life.From solitary, being by oneself + asylum, a sanctuary for the mentally ill + Elysium, the Ancient Greek equivalent of heaven. Pronounced “soh-lee-zee-uhm.”
etterath n. the feeling of emptiness after a long and arduous process is finally complete—having finished school, recovered from surgery, or gone home at the end of your wedding—which leaves you relieved that it’s over but missing the stress that organized your life into a mission.Norwegian etter, after + råtne, decay. Pronounced “et-er-rath.”
kairosclerosis n. the moment you look around and realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savor the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart, and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.Ancient Greek καιρός (kairos), a sublime or opportune moment + σκλήρωσις (sklḗrōsis), hardening. Pronounced “kahy-roh-skluh-roh-sis.”
endzoned n. the hollow feeling of having gotten exactly what you thought you wanted, only to learn that it didn’t make you happy.In sports, the endzone is the final goal, the end of the line—but at a certain point you have to drop the ball.
enterhood n. the set of living people who have known you all your life, all the way back to your infancy, before you had a clue who you were; a group that slowly shrinks as you get older, until the point when all of your closest confidants have only ever seen an abridged version of you, having joined your story somewhere in the middle of things, just as you did.From enter + entire + hood.
aulasy n. the sadness that there’s no way to convey a powerful memory to people who weren’t there at the time—driving past your childhood home to show it to a friend, or pointing at a picture of a loved one you lost, only to realize that to them it’s just another house, just another face.A contraction of auld lang syne, which is Scots for “times long past”—fragments of which are still present in aulasy, but the meaning has been lost. Pronounced “awl-uh-see.”
cullaways n. the scattering of memories that your brain is actively forgetting at any given moment, erasing them one by one with no input from you and no knowledge that it’s happening at all—which means that when you wake up in the morning, your past will feel imperceptibly altered, with no trace of what you ate last week, a party you attended ten years ago, or the first real conversation you had with your grandfather.From cull, to control the size of a herd by selectively killing some animals + away. Pronounced “kuhl-uh-weys.”
I wonder if there's a word in there for this: the fear of having felt everything one will ever feel, and now it's just going to be more of the same forever.
Which words do you like?