"What's your word?"
He said, "Don't you know that the secret to understanding a city and its people is to learn -- what is the word of the street?"
Then he went on to explain, in a mixture of English, Italian and hand gestures, that every city has a single word that defines it, that identifies most people who live there. If you could read people's thoughts as they were passing you on the streets of any given place, you would discover that most of them are thinking the same thought. Whatever that majority thought might be -- that is the word of the city. And if your personal word does not match the word of the city, then you don't really belong there.
-- Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat. Pray. Love. One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia.
Gilbert and her friend decide that the word for Rome is SEX, the word for the Vatican is POWER, the word for New York City is ACHIEVE, and the word in Los Angeles is SUCCEED. I haven't figured out the word for Chicago yet, but I can safely say that St. Louis and I did not have the same word.
The second part of the equation, of course, is figuring out your own word, since you can't identify a match without it. I'm having an even harder time with that one. Maybe it's easier to figure it out for another person -- I think the word for my good friend Alexandre Manette, physician, is LEARN. Not just because of the whole teacher thing, although that obviously helps, but because I've never met anyone as eager to learn new things, from ice skating to foreign languages to belly dancing, as A. M. -- and not just to try them, but to master them. It's a truly inspiring quality.
The words I come up with for myself are not particularly flattering. EXHAUSTED, lately. SARCASTIC, always. I'd like to think there's something more fundamental than that.
Gilbert ends up borrowing from Sanskrit for her word. She considers SEEK (as well as HIDE), but eventually settles on ANTEVASIN, which means "one who lives at the border":
The antevasin was an in-betweener. He was a border-dweller. He lived in sight of both worlds, but he looked toward the unknown. And he was a scholar.
Maybe if I learn Sanskrit, I'll find one. But since I don't have much spare time, maybe I can get A. M. to learn it for me ...
Then he went on to explain, in a mixture of English, Italian and hand gestures, that every city has a single word that defines it, that identifies most people who live there. If you could read people's thoughts as they were passing you on the streets of any given place, you would discover that most of them are thinking the same thought. Whatever that majority thought might be -- that is the word of the city. And if your personal word does not match the word of the city, then you don't really belong there.
-- Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat. Pray. Love. One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia.
Gilbert and her friend decide that the word for Rome is SEX, the word for the Vatican is POWER, the word for New York City is ACHIEVE, and the word in Los Angeles is SUCCEED. I haven't figured out the word for Chicago yet, but I can safely say that St. Louis and I did not have the same word.
The second part of the equation, of course, is figuring out your own word, since you can't identify a match without it. I'm having an even harder time with that one. Maybe it's easier to figure it out for another person -- I think the word for my good friend Alexandre Manette, physician, is LEARN. Not just because of the whole teacher thing, although that obviously helps, but because I've never met anyone as eager to learn new things, from ice skating to foreign languages to belly dancing, as A. M. -- and not just to try them, but to master them. It's a truly inspiring quality.
The words I come up with for myself are not particularly flattering. EXHAUSTED, lately. SARCASTIC, always. I'd like to think there's something more fundamental than that.
Gilbert ends up borrowing from Sanskrit for her word. She considers SEEK (as well as HIDE), but eventually settles on ANTEVASIN, which means "one who lives at the border":
The antevasin was an in-betweener. He was a border-dweller. He lived in sight of both worlds, but he looked toward the unknown. And he was a scholar.
Maybe if I learn Sanskrit, I'll find one. But since I don't have much spare time, maybe I can get A. M. to learn it for me ...
posted by Madame Defarge at 4:59 PM
2 Comments:
Editor – (n.) Someone who sees the problems, but knows exactly how to fix them; someone who always knows the answer. The problem with the editor is that she always sees the rough draft and it’s easy to become depressed thinking how much work it will require to get the final draft in sight, if one is even possible. Therefore futility and disillusionment are words often associated with her, and sarcasm must develop out of necessity. However, she has a true appreciation for quality when she sees it and words are her greatest weapon. Whether speaking or writing, she is articulate, managing to capture both the mood and importance of any situation with miraculous accuracy. It amazes me when she can’t see her own talent and brilliance. =)
That said, I wanted to call you today, but I know it’s your busy day. As we have much to catch up on, what days are good for you? I need to explain how I believe I have mock tapeworm from primitive Pacific Islands’ cuisine and getting stoned with savages. Other topics of discussion include houseguests, wedding disasters, sparkling sake, sad animals, global warming and the impending dawn of World War III. Shall I send you an outline first?
I've been obsessing over the whole word thing, and I came up with a few, but I'm embarrassed to say that "editor" never even crossed my mind. I am honestly going to print this out and carry it with me, because the part about always seeing the rough draft is such a perfect way of putting it that I'm sitting here in tears right now.
My all-day Wednesday class has ended, so I'm off during the day on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays through the end of the summer. I work or am in class every damn evening, though.
I'm dying to hear about the tapeworm, in particular (why am I so fascinated with them? I blame Mark Twain). What time do Californians get up? I'm giving you an hour and then your phone will be ringing. If you get this before then, call me. I think I can manage without an outline.
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