My friend grew up in Hungary and speaks four languages; she’s learning Spanish, which would be her fifth. She has come to visit for a couple of months and wants to improve her English while here. So far, her most complex linguistic lesson has been differentiating between “say” and “tell.” “There has to be a rule!” she keeps telling me. I respond that I agree, and I am sure there is one, but mostly, I know when to use which word based on instinct born of experience. That does not help her.
Looking the words up in the dictionary does not clarify much:
Say - to speak, declare, or express an opinion.
Tell - to give an account or report.
(Both definitions are from dictionary.com and represent one of about 15 provided for each word).
When she employs a variation of “say,” she is often grammatically correct. However, culturally, we choose some variation on “tell” instead, much preferring that verb for whatever reason. I correct her at her request, and she groans and then says, “Why?”. I cannot answer in any satisfying way. Now, when we meet friends in town and visit with family, she asks them to try to explain it. They have had no success either. Every time, she repeats her refrain, “There must be a rule.”
My weak attempts to help her improve her English have me pondering other culturally preferred word choices and terms we struggle to define, but all assume we understand. The movie Reality Bites came out when I was in high school and quickly became a favorite among my friends. One of the more amusing scenes from the movie depicts the main character leaving yet another failed job interview. In this particular moment of rejection, the interviewer asks her to define “irony.” She fumbles in her search for a proper definition, stumbling over her words, until she spits out, as the elevator doors shut in her face, “I know it when I see it!” The irony is she had interviewed for a writing job.
Now, thanks to the internet and fast computers, within seconds, I can pull up the definitions for “irony,” “say,” and “tell,” as well as their synonyms and antonyms. I use the online thesaurus regularly when I find myself using the same term too often in my writing. Any decent search engine pushes a working definition to the top of its results, answering with a speed I envy. I wish I could answer questions so quickly and accurately. I love to write, yet I cannot distinguish between “say” and “tell” for my friend. How we define a word does not consistently equate to how we use it.
Dictionary editors revise their definitions annually, adjusting for changes in usage and adding words new to the vernacular. Thanks to Gen Alpha, “skibidi” and “rizz” now appear alongside “ineffable” and “loquacious.” I feel my age in my judgment of the new slang, yearning for the eloquence of language past and cringing for the apparent degradation of language future. I marvel at Shakespeare’s mastery of the insult: “Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, bull’s-pizzle, you stock-fish!” Henry IV Part 1 (Act 2, Scene 4). Mumbling “Skibidi toilet Ohio rizz” as you walk away from a conflict does not have the same punch.
We fill our linguistic coffers with the tool of vocabulary and then apply them in accurate ways, but also according to our culture’s whims and our personal preferences.
I can call on dictionary.com to tell me the meaning of “good” and “mother”:
Good - of high quality; excellent.
Mother - a woman who has borne offspring; a female parent.
Though the two words have precise definitions, put them together, and the water becomes considerably muddy. Our understanding of “good mother” relies entirely on our cultural setting. For one set of people, being a good mother means “spare the rod, spoil the child,” something greatly frowned upon. In this instance, a good mother disciplines liberally and pushes her children to engage in activities, sports, study, instrumentation, and more, with utter disregard for the child’s preferences or discomfort. In a different setting, being a good mother depends entirely on her spoiling them. For this mother, giving her children anything and everything they ask for means ensuring her children never experience discomfort or need.
We stand on shifting ground once we combine a noun with a modifier. A term’s meaning does not equate to the sum of its definitions. I love terminology, vocabulary, and clever turns of phrase, but I have become more cautious about how I define them. More specifically, I consider to whom I give the authority to imbue my words with meaning, especially as they begin to define me. “Good mother,” “excellent writer,” “successful businesswoman, “effective leader” all of these terms gain their meaning from those who apply them, not from an objective gauge for assessment.
Ultimately, we serve ourselves by curating our own dictionaries based on our values and principles. Easily said but not easily done, given we undermine our gifts for discernment, believing more readily in the opinions of others rather than in our own instincts. That’s not to say I don’t believe in the value of advice. I seek it out as much as the next person, but recommend we filter it, taking into consideration the whole of the person offering it. Each of us develops a measuring stick for life based on the influence of others.
“No one tells me what to think. I decide for myself.”
“And who first taught you to think that way?”
In seminary, I had the privilege of studying under American ethicist Stanley Hauerwas. He shared the above exchange at the start of nearly every course he taught. Undergraduate and graduate students alike studied under him, and he told us that every semester, at least one student made the above proclamation, to which he proffered the response. Even the idea of “independent thinking” had to be gifted to us by someone else. Talk about irony.
I do not form the measuring sticks for my life out of nothingness. Generations of “shoulds” trickled through time to land before me as words of guidance, encouragement, rules, and regulations. Once I realize this, I better understand the power I have in defining and redefining subjective terms that directly impact my sense of self-worth. Should I hand the reins of value to the wrong person, my sense of self and value plummets and I doubt every decision of my life. I walked into a friend’s home the other day, seeing their beautifully appointed and tidy space, and wondered what I had done with my life that I could not manage such a space. Blessedly, my friend snapped me out of it, pointing out I had different values for my life and found joy in eclectic collections of people, places, and objects. These values bring curated chaos to my spaces and fill me with happiness. What a “well-appointed” home looks like depends on the speaker's perspective, not on some objective base for comparison.
So, too, is the case for being a “well-appointed” person with a “well-appointed” life. We do not become who we are out of nothingness, nor does anyone else. Be intentional in granting authority to others in defining what is right with you. Learn to spot people you love but whose advice you do not. Keep an eye out for others who may annoy you but whose wisdom you value. Place more significant weight on the words of those who share your values and less on those coming from ones who don’t. All advice deserves to be heard, but not all should earn the right to your obedience. Take heed of what others tell you while holding confidence in your heart and mind, listening first to your spirit and how she guides you. By curating your own dictionary, you empower yourself to maintain your sense of self-worth rather than relying on the skibidi whim of culture.
Curating Your Own Dictionary