November 23, 1977

Words

In my last semester of college, I took an introductory course in linguistics. It was fantastically exciting to learn that there was an entire field devoted to the study of language, how it arose, how it evolved, and most of all how it affects the way human beings think and feel and remember. How we see the world, each other, ourselves.

Because as far back as I could remember - age three or four - I had been thinking about all these things. So, again, to learn that this was an area that people had been working in and developing an entire science around, for centuries - well, I guess my feelings were, "where have you been all my life?"

I've had to deal with the fact that most people are not terribly curious about language, spoken or written. And in fact the earliest linguists had to acknowledge this lack of caring, or even awareness on most people's part.

So the paradox is - and I still live it every day - that caring and thinking deeply about the way we communicate with the world can actually isolate you.

Because it makes you a freak.

So in order to survive, you have to train yourself to accept that most people don't care that much about the nature of language, let alone the mechanics of it - spelling, grammar, punctuation, and of course, the actual choice of what words to use when.

And you know what? That's OK. It's taken me all these years to realize that if I'm so damn smart, I should use some of that so-called intelligence to listen to people more carefully and figure out what they're really trying to say.