I woke from a dream with an ache in my heart. Not for some person, moment, or object I’d lost, but for something I’d never really known: the ancient forests of my current home in Northern California. This set me wondering if there was a word for that. Instead of meditating quietly on the subject, I turned to my computer and typed in “Nostalgia for a time I never knew.” As luck would have it, there is a word for this sensation: anemoia. This beautiful word is not just new to me. Wholly made up and propagated by author and neologist John Koenig a little over a decade ago, it’s also new to the world.

Now, if, like me, you’re unfamiliar with what a neologist does, fret not—I looked that up, too. Neologists are in the business of lexicography. Palm, meet face, as this is yet another word whose meaning I needed to track down. By the time I looked up what a lexicographer does (dictionary stuff), the specifics of my dream had faded completely.

Of course, I know I shouldn’t wake up and stare at a computer screen right away. If the modern fitness dork is to be your guide, one should leap from the sheets, immediately guzzle water, eat protein, expose the eyes to sunlight, meditate, do some pushups, and face the oncoming day with triumphant humility and openness. If that all sounds a little horrible or impossible to you, know that I feel your pain...

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

“Am I bleeding?” His request was as calm and unemotional as it was deeply weird. His elbow, in the air, about a foot above the woman’s head, wasn’t even red with irritation, much less blood.

“Nope.” She was a cute lady, and her quip was sweet, succinct, and reassuring - to me at least. The young man wasn’t convinced.

“Are you sure? What about this side?” Without moving his right arm, he reached across his bulky torso, inelegantly grazed the outside of his elbow with his meaty left hand, and said, “What about right here?”

“No, not bleeding at all. It seems all your blood is where it should be.”

“OK, thanks.” He said flatly, without dropping his arm.

The woman turned up the speed on her shuffle and moved on to her shopping experience. It was my turn to talk to him. He did not drop his elbow as I approached and was craning his neck to check if she might have been hiding the truth about the status of his skin. When I stopped, he closed the distance and stood mere inches from me. We were the same height...

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.