We’ve all experienced things words cannot describe. “Delicious” doesn’t come close to describing the first bite of a home cooked meal from a loved one you haven’t seen in a while. “Sadism” describes the pleasure derived from someone else’s pain, but what if they entirely deserve it? And “acceptance” doesn’t quite nail the feeling of finding your place after years — or even a lifetime — of abject loneliness.
I sometimes find myself frustrated by the lack of words that can describe these experiences (there should be a word for that feeling, too). But The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows is helping to fill the void. You won’t find these words in a regular dictionary, but you will likely relate to at least a handful of the powerful emotions they represent.
sonder
n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own
opia
n. The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable.
monachopsis
n. The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place.
énouement
n. the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, where you can finally get the answers to how things turn out in the real world, but not being able to tell your past self.
vellichor
n. the strange wistfulness of a place infused with the passage of time, like an old bookstore.
rubatosis
n. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat
kenopsia
n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.
Mauerbauertraurigkeit
n. the inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends who you really like.
jouska
n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head.
chrysalism
n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.
vemödalen
n. the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist—the same sunset, the same waterfall, the same curve of a hip, the same closeup of an eye—which can turn a unique subject into something hollow and pulpy and cheap.
anecdoche
n. a conversation in which everyone is talking but nobody is listening.
ellipsism
n. sadness that you’ll never be able to know how history will turn out.
kuebiko
n. a state of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world.
lachesism
n. the desire to be struck by disaster -— to survive a plane crash, to lose everything in a fire.
exulansis
n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it — whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness.
andronitis
n. frustration with how long it takes to truly know someone.
rückkehrunruhe
n. the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness -— to the extent you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago.
nodus tollens
n. the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore.
onism
n. The awareness of how little of the world you’ll experience. A frustration with being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time.
liberosis
n. the desire to care less about things.
altschmerz
n. weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had -— the same boring flaws and anxieties you’ve been gnawing on for years.
occhiolism
n. the awareness of the smallness of your perspective, by which you couldn’t possibly draw any meaningful conclusions at all, about the world or the past or the complexities of culture, because although your life is an epic and unrepeatable anecdote, it still only has a sample size of one.
