almost, not quite

There will not always be language for the things you feel. As a writer, I hate this. I want to bundle up every word I can find, lasso them into my arsenal, and pull them out whenever I'm in need. Historically, I haven't been the best at expressing my feelings. My most commonly used phrase as a child was "I don't know". 50% of the time this was true, but the other half of the time I just didn't have the words I needed to adequately explain myself. So I settled for a lot of "I don't knows". 

I wish it were easier, don't we all? But the trouble is, nuance exists. And most of the time, it doesn't make sense. It's odd to explain to someone that you are sad but also not. That your sad resembles something more of a disappointment but that's not it either. And that you're not really sure who or what you're disappointed with but all you know is that's the closest word to matching the real thing. The longer I write the more I realize that the English language is full of these not quite, but almost words. Maybe that's why we revert to "fine" or "I don't know". They are our catch-all words when we don't have what we need on our tongue to explain what's rattling in our ribs. 

These days I'm sitting in a lot of fine. Everything is almost but not quite. I'm sad, but not. Joyful, but not. I'm rushed yet slowing down. I'm grateful and still complaining. It doesn't make sense, and maybe it doesn't have to. Maybe if we had a word for every bit of the human experience we'd stop exploring. We'd stop digging and trying and writing. We'd stop pushing ourselves to uncover what these things really mean. 

So I'm going to keep trying. I'm going to struggle for the right words and not settle for fine. I'm going to grabble with the not quite, almost. And I hope you'll do the same.