Not Enough Words for Love: A Reflection

Language shapes and is shaped by culture. If one looks closely enough with a curious mind, one can see how values, beliefs, and identity are woven into the words we use. Linguistic anthropologists Benjamin Lee Whorf and Edward Sapir explained in the early 20^th century how and why this process happens, and scholars continue to debate how strongly language and thought are corelated.

Language reflects our values. Just like cold-climate cultures have dozens of words for snow, and folks who lives in the jungle can have scores of words for shades of green, we can tell what is important, crucial, and relevant to a group based on their language.

English is great. We have a plethora of words to attest to this, such as stupendous, wonderful, boundless. We can even add “fucking” in the middle or ends of words for emphasis, stu-fuckin’-pendous is stronger than the original word on its own, as is fuckin’ beautiful.

What we do not have, however, are enough words for love.

I say the same I love you to my mother, my boyfriend, my cat, my friends, and when I talk about things I enjoy.

There’s no word for the love I feel for my friend’s daughter, who hasn’t been born and whom I am already infatuated with.

There’s no word for the love I feel when the man I’ve built a life with slides his hand into mine, which feels like welcome home and here’s to an adventure all at once. There’s not a single word that describes the type of love you have for someone years into a relationship, or how its different than the love we shared when we first said I love you.

I don’t have a word to describe the comfort and companionship I feel when my beloved cat sits on my lap when my anxiety makes my heart race and thoughts speed through my brain.

There’s no word sufficient enough to assign to the bands that saved my life over and over, when every chord, every snare hit, every lyric offered me a lifeline when I was too tired, too depressed, too lonely to exist.  I’m missing a word for the authors whose books I’ve read so many times, I know them as well as my own memories, each word, a drop of my own blood.

We haven’t coined a word for the love a daughter feels for her father, although their relationship was full of strife, and anxiety, and tension and words unsaid and un-yelled, that can never be resolved. Or for a girl who loves her mother, who is Home, no matter where she is or how bonkers we drive each other. Or for the step-dad and step-family who skooched in and moved over, so I could fit in the newer, expanded family photo.

I don’t have a word for the surge of affection I feel for a friend who picked up on the second ring at 2 am and talked me through one of the most humiliating moments of my life, or for the ones who answered endless 4 am self-pitying texts with good humor and kindness. There’s not a single word that captures the depths of my gratitude.

There’s not one single word that describes the lifelong hope I feel for childhood best friends, first loves, first kisses, all of whom I wish the best, even though our paths won’t cross again.

I don’t know how to talk about places that felt like home, a million miles away. Parts of my heart are spread across the world, in neighborhoods and villages and homes I’ll never set foot in again. To be so overcome with love and awe and wonder that I could feel my heart split into a million pieces and saw sprinkled like salt across the soil, is not a word we have invented.

Do we have a word for how I felt when I came home and my dogs were so overcome with puppy excitement that they tackled me and licked my face, even though I'd only been gone a few hours? Or the bond between human and animal that explains why I am willing to experience discomfort for the comfort of my pets? 

I’m not sure how to explain the magical, healing power of friendships. How it feels to see someone or someones for the first time in years- or ever- and pick up like siblings, laughing until it feels like my ribs are going to break open and spill my insides onto the ground. Who could describe how much love there is, spread out all over the world, an invisible spool of thread that binds us across time and space and chaos and joy?

I never could quite explain the pure exhilaration of seeing a long-loved band, while smushed in front of a small stage, covered in sweat, all screaming and moving to our favorite songs.

What do you call it when someone is vulnerable enough lends you their favorite, well-creased book, or battered album and you feel like you can see into their soul? 

We are lacking a word for the humility and pride I feel when I see the people I’ve nurtured, excel, and less of a word for the infinite joy felt when I hear that I played some small part in their journey.

There’s no word for how some memories, some kindnesses so small, stick with you forever, like when the neighborboy you loved as a girl pulls you to his chest at your grandmother’s funeral, so you can weep openly without anyone noticing. Or when a stranger compliments you when you feel repulsive and weird and inhuman.

I’ve yet to explain the proper use of love for the times when I’ve cried while watching bands I never thought I’d see, or experiencing joys I never thought I’d experience, or living a life my fifteen-year-old self would envy, or seeing Iron Maiden for the first time with 120,000 friends, all screaming along with enough enthusiasm to power a bomb.

We definitely do not have a word for the love and admiration I feel for the educators who opened so many doors and introduced me to new ideas, and lent me their shoulders, so I could experience being a giant.

There’s no word for the overwhelming love I feel on those perfect nights I try to commit to memory, so I can have them forever, whenever I need them. Or for the incredible people I'm so fortunate to know, who accept me for me, control freak, awkward, loud, lumpy weirdo and all. 

My friend and I used to say “love you, be good,” instead of goodbye, or even see you soon, because we knew we didn’t have adequate words to explain how much it was exciting and shitty to be apart for so long.

The last time I said goodbye, it was I love you all so fuckin’ much, which is both wonderfully extravagant and not nearly enough.