I’m Obsessed with Abstract Nouns

I’m obsessed with abstract nouns, and they are the driving force of this blog. 

So, enjoy these disconnected thoughts about things invisible.

My favorite nouns are ones that cannot be touched; they do the touching. When I talk to people, I don’t care about the new scarf they bought; I want to hear what they think about life. I want them to describe exactly how they feel when they are lying in bed on a cold December morning or a balmy July afternoon. I need to know what goes on in their head when they get to the ending scene of The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian with Regina Spektor singing The Call. Are there tears in their eyes?

When getting to know someone, I don’t believe asking superficial questions does any good. I believe asking about material items is superficial. Who cares what car someone drives or even what their favorite color is, for that color is almost always attached to a thing. Knowing their favorite food or even what their dream house looks like is not telling of the person inside. More than anything, actually, these questions just show what styles or trends are influencing them at any given moment.

Instead, we should be asking: 

What makes you cry for no reason?

What gives you hope?

When do you feel most anxious?

How do you make a conscious effort to be kind?

What word best describes your childhood self?

–or any question that leads to the discussion of the mind, heart, soul, and one’s place in the world.

The best thing about abstract nouns is that they can never be fully and completely described. You can, at any given moment, feel a happiness more profound than you’ve ever felt or expect to feel again, but you’ll never be able to convey to another person exactly what that feeling does inside of you. Happiness, like any emotion, is intangible. It’s there, sure, but it can never be captured and accurately analyzed.

Abstract nouns are like books. Though a book is physical, you don’t like a book for its cover, its weight, how it feels to hold in your hands. You like it for the story it tells, the message it sends, and how reading it stirs something inside you. (In this latter way, maybe particular people could also be categorized as abstract nouns, people whose intangible essence shows more than their outside.)

In everyday conversations, we need to talk more abstractly. We need to share ideas and not just recommend our favorite collagen powder. We need to converse as if the only things that matter are conceptual. Because they are. Our beliefs are the only things that give life meaning. Our beliefs and love, both of which, again, are invisible.

So, yeah. Let’s talk about our emotions, our observations, our religion, our relationships, and not our latest online order. These things, these abstract nouns, are a connective tissue holding every human to one another. We need them to understand that humanity is a scary but beautiful thing–another abstract noun–in which we can all find peace with one another during our short stay on Earth.

Your beautiful home will fall to pieces, but your soul never will. Show it to everyone.