Table as a word is a stand in for table as an object.
I have been thinking about words all week. About how it sometimes feels like I don’t have the words to say what I’m feeling.
Scared is a stand in for stomach knotted tight shoulder uncertainty. Happy, for lightness and smiling when there’s no one to see.
I have been talking talking talking, even though the words have been off centre and slippery. The urge to share has been overwhelming. I have wanted to word my feelings into some kind of sense.
This talking – telling – sharing has made me think about stories and about the importance of words.
When I was younger, I used to believe that there was one story. One version of any given experience. One take on the world. After a while, I began to get the subjectivity thing. That my version is not the same as his version – or her version – or tomorrow’s version. That lots of stories co-exist. This was a step in the right direction, I think, but it still assumed an absolutism that doesn’t reflect what happens when stories are told, and shared, and put into words –
Because I think that these stories we tell are dynamic. I think that they evolve and change depending on where we stand. That they are interwoven. Crisscrossed. Tangled up in the complexities of language and the nuances of meaning. In the different versions we each have and the different language we use.
And so, I have been thinking about these threads of words. How fragile they are, really, when you take metaphor and the potential for misinterpretation into account. How we step in and out of other peoples stories, both literally and imaginatively. That telling and listening and sharing are as important to expanding our world as the steps to the left that I have written about before. About how even when the words feel inadequate, they are the most important thing that we have.