Word-hoard

I believe that language is magical. It creates entire realities from vibrations of air and smudges of ink. This project aims to help us to better notice the magic of words. In particular, looking at the etymology of a word can sometimes reveal a deeper meaning, or help us to see the world differently. Check back often as I add more words to the hoard!

Inspire

mid-14c., enspiren, "to fill (the mind, heart, etc., with grace, etc.);" also "to prompt or induce (someone to do something)," from Old French enspirer (13c.), from Latin inspirare "blow into, breathe upon," figuratively "inspire, excite, inflame," from in- "in" (from PIE root *en "in") + spirare "to breathe" (see spirit (n.)).

To inspire is literally to breathe upon or to fill with breath. The first option might evoke the image of fire. To inspire is to fan the flames, make them bigger and stronger, with words or actions. The second is equally interesting: to animate, like God breathing into the clay to create the first human. I love this idea that, in both cases, inspiration requires breath, and two people.

But what if you’re looking for inspiration? Perhaps the secret is simply to breathe in! To stop and smell the roses, so to speak. When we breathe in with conscious awareness we become more present, and we notice what was invisible just moments before. If we sit and just breathe, also called meditation, we can pull away from the noise of our anxieties to see more clearly, also a form of inspiration.

At the end of the day, breathing in is the action we do more than any other. Perhaps the key message here is that inspiration is always close at hand. We have everything we need to be inspired, and to inspire others.

Distraction

from Latin distractionem (nominative distractio) "a pulling apart, separating," noun of action from past-participle stem of distrahere "draw in different directions," from dis- "away" (see dis-) + trahere "to draw" (see tract

We live in the age of distraction. The way we use this word suggests that the things around us have the power to interrupt our focus. The Latin word at the heart of distraction is traction, meaning the act of pulling. When your car’s tires have good traction, they pull the car along the road. A tractor pulls farming implements behind it. So what is pulling in the more intellectual endeavours? Your awareness, intention, attention. If we are to understand distraction, we must first understand traction. And the stronger we feel traction, the harder it is to be distracted.

Think of a time where you were fully invested in whatever activity you were doing: reading, playing with a child, washing your car, building a deck. If you’re having a good time, are you easily distracted? Are you washing the car, but then suddenly find yourself making a sandwich? Of while you are playing with your child, are you suddenly pulled to read a page of your book? Probably not. Why? Because the activity has traction: that is, it pulls you in, engaging you fully.

So when we get distracted, think of it not so much as some external thing pulling you away, but simply as being in a state without traction. If your car is driving on ice, it’s really easy to get distracted, literally pulling away from your destination, into the ditch. Likewise, when we begin driving on the ice of awareness by engaging in non-fulfilling activities, or superficial ones, or ones that don’t align with our values and purpose, it is easy to get distracted. Just like the ditch is not pulling the car off the road, your phone is not pulling your attention away from the present moment. Rather, you have lost your traction. The answer isn’t burning your smartphone, but choosing activities that have high traction.

Understand

Old English understandan "to comprehend, grasp the idea of, receive from a word or words or from a sign the idea it is intended to convey; to view in a certain way," probably literally "stand in the midst of," from under + standan "to stand" (see stand (v.)).

How do we understand each other? How do we come to understand anything? The etymology of the word suggests it is about perspective. Thinking of understanding of literally “standing under” whatever or whomever we are seeking to understand is an interesting experiment. If I stand under a thing, I can see its roots, its foundation. In fact I become its foundation. I love this image, that understanding means giving it a piggyback ride, or holding it up like Atlas. What a beautiful idea: that we cannot understand without supporting.

But the etymology of “under” suggests that it used to mean something more like amidst or among, in the middle of. This offers insight as well. Understanding is therefore not something we do from afar, but by getting into the middle of it, experiencing it. Like Atticus Finch says, by walking around in someone else’s shoes. This highlights how understanding is different from knowing; it requires personal experience, and a change in perspective. Knowing you is very different from understanding you. So how can we stand amidst another person? By spending time with them, talking with them, reading their words, living life as they do. It is easier for a place or a culture: we must go there, live there, in the midst of their lives. To understand mathematics we must wade into its ocean: try problems, experiment, spend time with mathematicians.

Things that will not help us understand others is gazing at them from afar, as on social media. This leads to projecting our own views, biases and desires onto others. There can be no understanding with connection, without closeness, without going to stand in the fields of ignorance.

Disaster

from French désastre (1560s), from Italian disastro, literally "ill-starred," from dis-, here merely pejorative, equivalent to English mis- "ill" (see dis-) + astro "star, planet," from Latin astrum, from Greek astron "star" (from PIE root *ster- (2) "star").

When disaster strikes, can we blame the stars? Star-crossed lovers, we have retained these words that imply an astrologically-controlled universe. The irony is that we use this word now to many any unlucky or problematic situation. She is a disaster in the kitchen. Work today was a disaster. And we have to add the word natural to those events that are truly directed by fate or fortunes beyond our control: natural disasters of hurricanes and tornadoes and such.

But what if we take DIS to mean not, lack of, or opposite? So a disaster is NOT a star. The opposite of a star. Or perhaps when we forget we are stars! What are stars? Symbols of wonder and beauty, other worlds. Disaster strikes when we forget this, when we lose our sense of perspective on the universe.

The most literal disaster is a supernova, the destruction of a star! These occur when…we see them only in the past. Seeds the galaxy with matter for new stars and planets.

Can we see our disasters as supernovas? Like fireworks? Like a sort of explosion of order to make room for creativity? How might it feel to rejoice at disaster?

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