~a column by Colleen O’Brien
A 19th-century philosopher named Ludwig Wittgenstein said this, and it makes sense. If I don’t have a word for it, especially for an abstract thought or for an object that is not right in front of me, how do I tell someone what it is or what I think about it? Part of the anger of Helen Keller was that she had no words, so she couldn’t tell anyone what she wanted or what she thought – she had no thought.
There are more than a million words in the English language, so if we need one, we can probably find it; especially now, when we can Google: “What’s the word for the fear of spiders?” “Is ‘wit’ the root word of ‘witch’?” (Don’t I wish.)
People who work with words explore their meanings and then practice putting words together. We often do it poorly or don’t quite say what’s in our hearts or minds, but we have thick skins and keep trying, even in public. We’re accustomed to criticism and the blank-mind syndrome and mis-using words. Many of us have editors to help us along. They make our words flow better or they substitute words that make more sense. I personally love editors; I know some writers who think editors are too picky, but really, it’s better that way. We writers are so human we make mistakes all the time.
It’s impossible to imagine not having words because if we weren’t born deaf, we’ve had them all our lives. The meanings and pronunciations come gradually to us, usually starting with “Mama” or “Da” or sometimes “ball.” My friend’s little one could say “ball” first, so they would say to him, “Cinderella went to the. . . .” And the 1-year-old would say “. . . ball.” Brilliant child.
On the road to old age, many of us start losing our words, usually people’s names first and then nouns in general. I suppose soon it will be adverbs and then verbs and then I’ll be a baby again with no vocab at the ready. “Ball.”
I now have conversations that resemble the game of Charades rather than an adult chat. I’m always having to say, “You know, it sounds like . . . . “ Often I just change the subject because the subject I’m talking about is receding into some Swiss cheese hole in my brain. Being without the word I want is disheartening, to say the least.
But, as I traverse my way through this part of my life, I figure I have to laugh about my dwindling vocabulary the way my parents laughed about my increasing vocabulary when I was two. I can’t get angry, because I would be ticked off a lot: it took me three weeks to recall the word for the tall flower with blooms that look like skirts. Hollyhock! I was not going to ask anyone, so consequently, I had to wait till it worked its way out of the apparently cavernous hole in my head.
The one saving grace of losing words rather than never having had them is that now, unlike before I had them, I know what I mean, I just can’t say the word. So, I guess the wisdom from Mr. Wittgenstein is not something to be frightened of – even if I can’t tell you what I’m thinking, I know what I’m talking about.
This must be why old folks talk to themselves.
