The Sorrow of Sonder
September 27 2019
A while back, I came across a site called The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.
On face value, such an enterprise might seem slightly morose, self-indulgent, downright emo and bordering on nihilistic — and some particular entries support this. There is, for example, a word — Lachesism — for internally egging on catastrophic events for the disruption and resulting clarity they might bring about into otherwise mundane everyday life.
But, if you have not yet had the privilege of coming across this site, and have a spare hour or so (ideally more — many words also have accompanying videos, with thoroughly life affirming and almost YouTube-redeeming comments sections), I highly recommend taking a deep dive, as there is much to be taken in.
Firstly, some of the words are so on point it is hard to argue against this Dictionary as an entirely necessary endeavour in describing the human condition.
Morii — the desire to capture a fleeting moment — provides a coherent underlying rationale for a significant amount of content on social media.
Keta — a memory that leaps back into your mind from the distant past — is (for me anyway) such a fundamental and defining emotional experience that it is a wonder it took this long to be named.
Opia — the ambiguous intensity of eye contact — well, you don’t need my help explaining that one.
The site — taken as a whole with its words, videos and comments sections — can be understood as an exploration of the nature of human emotion, and in particular, a meditation on the nature of sorrow itself.
Midding — perhaps my favourite, because of its close proximity both to my last name and my desired contribution to most social situations — describes the tranquil pleasure of being near but not quite within a gathering: “feeling blissfully invisible yet still fully included, safe in the knowledge that everyone is together and everyone is okay, with all the thrill of being there without the burden of having to be”.
Reading this definition now still fills me with emotion. Back in my heyday, I remember this as describing exactly the experience of early morning comedowns with friends after a day long summer festival or a big night out (or both) — still the most vividly happy experiences of my life, even if they were artificially created and ultimately unsustainable.
It is the necessary absence of this feeling that brings about the sorrow I associate with the word; my life since this time can be largely defined as a journey to try and re-unite with the divinity that was found there, without the shortcuts this time.
Then there is the Dictionary’s most widely known word Sonder — the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own. That is a serious word. An incredibly humbling, ego-combating reminder of our place in the world, that is likely to induce some degree of melancholy.
But why? To define such a realisation as inherently sadness-evoking seems somewhat subjective; is Sonder really a feeling that should bring on sorrow? That it does likely reflects the relentless inflation of the station of the individual within our society: that we are conditioned to believe in our own importance and uniqueness to such an extent that to consider that the person walking by you in the street is probably going through the same highs and lows becomes a profound challenge to our sense of self.
But once you get over your ego, once you appreciate the life-affirming breezes of understanding the extent of human complexity, Sonder transforms into a word that can bring about great and profound contentment, perhaps even joy.
I am left convinced that the most fundamental and undefinable human experiences are wrapped in a sense of unavoidable but not overwhelming sadness — a sadness that drives us on rather than pulls us down.