Conversations swirled around me this morning as I sipped coffee in a small shop just outside of DC. There was the woman feeling lost in her own life, eloquent as she related a life spent taking care of kids and a husband, and now, with both leaving, she poured out her loss and fear to a friend who listened intently. There was the group of well dressed teenagers, in a language of their own, rich and rough, talking heartbreak and angst. Two suited men with official looking ID cards hanging around their neck huddled together at a nearby table, the few words that escaped their table were all equally official sounding and had the ring of dire issues.

I have one of those faces. You know, the kind that says “Sure, come sit with me you perfect stranger, and tell me your life’s story.”. And it happened again this morning as an older gentleman asked if there was room at my table. He sat and for the next twenty minutes, I heard about the perils of aging, and the loss of his wife. His voice and his hands, always moving as he spoke, were expressive. He was right, even though neither of us knew it. I was interested in his story. Then he was off to his work, a shadow in the window and gone.

Then there was the couple directly across from me. Middle aged and obviously in love. Their eyes were fixed on each other in a way only lovers look at each other. Leaning towards each other, hands touching across the table, they spoke softly, when they spoke at all. Not a word escaped or found its way to my ears. They were in their own world. It was hard not to smile at their intensity.

I thought to myself, “That is what I need to write about this morning. That kind of joy.”

Because my life has been a place of loss and struggle for nearly three years now. Loss of a job. Loss of a parent, two really as my father slowly fades from his dementia. The end of a relationship. Loss of a family home as we prepare it to sell. Years of depression. I have developed a rich vocabulary of loss and pain. Writing it out is part of my way of coping, of framing it and dealing with it without becoming overwhelmed. It has become easy for me to find metaphors for the struggle.

I am happy to say things are turning around. Yes, there is still loss. But it is not as intense. Slowly, things are coming back to me. I have a new job that I like and am good at. In the most recent struggles, existing friendships and family have grown closer to me, and new ones are emerging. I am making progress in my long slow battle with depression. My kids are home for the summer and their presence is a joy to me, always. I have time to create. My life has far more joy in it than pain. It is time to begin writing of that joy.

So, I sat at my table and began writing. Or at least trying to write.

I have discovered something this morning. I am lacking in vocabulary. I have lost part of my vocabulary of joy.

Oh, I have some words, fresh from the dictionary and thesaurus. But they lack the power and depth of honesty that my words of pain have. My words have not caught up with my heart.

I can recall reading a book once that talked about how the words we use, the things we say, actually change our thinking. That whole power of positive thinking thing. It has been repeated so often that it’s a cliche. Only it’s not. The science is behind it. At this point they have discovered that our language influences how our brain works. We can convince ourselves to be happier and stronger simply by consistently saying we are. Or we can surrender to our brains’ darker side, and let our language reflect that darker side.

My own writing, particularly my poetry, has long been a way to sort out my emotions, particularly the ones I struggle with. But now, as life has begun it’s turning around, begun the upward cycle (and I firmly believe life runs in cycles.), I am feeling better, less stressed, less wounded, and discover…. that I lack the vocabulary to express it well.

Maybe that is because good feelings don’t need working out, They just are. We can wallow in them, glory in them, bask in them. But we generally don’t have to struggle through them. Like the couple at the table across from me, it is enough to simply BE happy.

Or maybe it is something else. Perhaps I lost that vocabulary over time as well.

I was slow to find the vocabulary of struggle. It was hard for me to say what I was feeling when things got hard for me. Poetry was part of my path to find those words and it took time. And I suppose it will take time to find the words of recovery. But they will come.

I don’t like being someone who has to fight getting things out. I wish I had a natural eloquence, a direct flow from my feelings to my words. But I have accepted that is not who and what I am. And I am grateful for the people in my life who listen, including you who read here regularly, for giving me a canvas to practice on. I appreciate your kind words, and I appreciate hearing that when I share my struggles, I often tell your stories as well.

I think that is what we do when we share. We connect. We lighten each other’s burdens. We make sure none of us feel alone.

So bear with me over the next few months. There may be some smaltz. Some cliches. Some silliness along with my struggles. I’ll figure it out. That’s what I do. I rarely know anything. But I figure it out. In words. I just have to find some new words to go with the vocabulary I already have.

Be well. Travel wisely.

Tom