Words help us remember. Words sharpen our senses and help us give shape and texture to everything we observe. Words have interesting sounds and mouth feel.
The word “zebra” doesn’t only conjure up a striped ungulate, it pleasantly vibrates on our lips and tongue. It’s fun to say. The word “power” pushes out with force. It can even produce spittle. It’s aggressive. The word “emolument” is slippery, almost slimy. It feels like something unpleasant is rolling in our mouth. “Sun” doesn’t only describe our star, but it feels bright. “Onomatopoeia” is a mouthful, and it describes words that suggestively sound like the ideas they represent. “Bang” is both the sound that something makes and the word used to describe that sound. “Splat” is another example of a word that mimics the sound. And so is “buzzer” — another word that makes our teeth vibrate. Human languages are full of onomatopoeic words. In our household we use the word “pook” to refer to farts. It’s a Russian word, but easily understood and remembered by an English speaker.
Consider what happens when you look at a series of images. As they are flashed on the screen, you don’t need language to identify the familiar. Linguistic thoughts come after the fact, as you give context to those you’ve recognized. That’s what language is — context. The words we use to describe what happens to us help focus the stories of our lives. Is there anything more powerful shaping reality?
How do we measure the impact of our lives? Our work? Our contribution to civilization? “Impact” seems like a strangely aggressive measure of a person’s worth. It feels like pounding the table. Smashing things with deeds.
“Impact” has a mouth feel. That P is powerful. It requires a release of breath and a lip smack. Other words that could be used to describe the same idea — contribution, worth, effect, influence, achievement — don’t carry the same power. Contribution, worth, and achievement describe personal metrics. Impact, effect, and influence characterize something that was done to others.
Words matter. They are not just descriptors, they carry psychological weight. The choice of a word can change meaning, add a point of view, shade something in a positive or negative light, or superimpose a connotation that wasn’t even meant to be there. Words are not neutral. A man can be handsome or pretty; those two words might describe similar physical attributes, but they are heard to mean very different things. And yet “impact” is a commonly used word describing our accomplishments. In our culture, we desire to make an impact because it feels like it has more value than a mere contribution.
Politicians tend to make an “impact.” Teachers seem to make a “difference.” People who go into politics like power over others. It takes a certain type of character to gather crowds, invite continuous attention, and raise money to sustain one’s position in a society. People who gravitate towards teaching might also spend their days speaking to groups, but the focus is more on nurturing others than personal adulation. Very few “Alpha males” end up as elementary school educators.
Impact implies breaking. Some cultures see breaking things to move forward — revolutions and replacing the old order — as a positive social development. But breaking things always involves damage. No matter how wonderful things might get in the utopian future, the present will be full of broken people. Is there a way to move in a new direction without damaging the present generation? Can we teach our children that contribution sometimes has more value than impact? That violence, even rhetoric violence, is not the only way forward? How we talk about our lives is directly related to how we think about how to live. Words lead to action. If I think about how my life can make a positive difference to another human being, then my deeds focus on maximizing happiness. I don’t want to cause “impact,” I want to “build” things, which has a different feel. And the words and thoughts around building lead to very different problem solving strategies and solutions.
I write stories that I hope help develop empathy in my readers. When I teach, I want to expose my students to new ways of thinking and doing things. My contributions are not world-shattering, but I don’t want them to be; shattering the world is not my goal. I just want my work to increase love and happiness.
There is joy to picking just the right word. I wrote a whole novel where the main character searched out and collected interesting words from different languages to get to just the right shade of meaning to her thoughts. Lizard Girl and Ghost is a story about losing and finding memories when language is the main way to store them. It’s a strangely wonderful tale, if I say so myself. It’s not for everyone, but those who do like it, like it lot. Take a look at the first few chapters and see what you think. Some words in there are simply marvelous! And that word feels great when rolled over the tongue.
