The perfect word for a difficult situation

One of the wonderful things about exploring different languages and cultures is the opportunity to discover words and phrases that are absent in English and yet illuminate some universal corner of the human experience. The German language is somewhat famous for producing these terms, and words like ‘zeitgeist’ and ‘weltschmerz’ have edged their way into our lexicon, filling in linguistic gaps and treating the user to the wonderful experience of finding the perfect word for a difficult situation. Using words like this is like finding that last piece of the jigsaw puzzle that had fallen beneath the table, slotting it into place and then running your hand over the perfectly joined surface of the completed work.

I encountered a number of these words when I was traveling; words that have a beautifully specific meaning that can turn a complex idea into something syllabic. One of my favorites comes once again from the Germans, who have no compunction about pressing existing words together to make something new and unpronounceable. “Torschlusspanik.” This literally means “gate-closing panic,” but as explained to me by a German friend with excited eyes and an infectious laugh, it means so much more. It is the fear of ever decreasing opportunities as we get older — be it not having children or sinking deeper into a career that you do not love. When something important slips by, “torschlusspanik” takes that feeling from the pit of your stomach and drops it on the page, acknowledging slyly the foreignness of this concept to youth. This word perfectly sums up the idea that as we move forward on our unique path through life we inevitably leave behind a pile of missed opportunities and untraveled forks in the road. All this in four syllables. Words like this make me happy that the good teachers at Sherrod and Swanson Elementary schools were successful in their Herculean task of teaching me to read.

The French, with their witty use of language and love of verbal jousting send us “L’esprit de l’escalier.” Literally meaning “the spirit of the stairway,” it refers to a situation that we all know and despise — that feeling when someone gets the better of you in an argument and your rebuttal consists of crickets chirping and tumbleweeds rolling by. But, on your way out, heading down the stairs your brain breaks through the concrete barrier that separates you from the witty and you think of the perfect thing to say, but too late. It is one of the cruel jokes of humanity, and one that the French have expertly labeled. When using this phrase, everyone knows that feeling of disappointment that accompanies it, that feeling of knowing that you could have come out on top, that the winning moves were within you, they just took too long to get out. It seems much crueler than simply failing outright.

My Portuguese colleague introduced to me another term that I think will resonate solidly in Alaska. He was a sharp man who would expertly avert disaster with few resources and only seconds to spare while exuding a calm assuredness that this MacGyver-like approach is the only real way to get things done. It turns out that there is a Portuguese word for this: “desenrascanço.” And while literally the word means “to disentangle something,” to the Portuguese it really just means to pull a MacGyver. How can the country that invented MacGyver not have a word for that beautiful moment where everything comes together perfectly? When your back is against the wall and you have nothing but your wits and a toothbrush and a feat of impromptu engineering leads you to a solution that brushes past brilliance to a new and beautiful state-we should have a word for that.

My personal favorite phrase is one that upon hearing, I immediately felt great gratitude towards the French, as they described an urge that has lurked somewhere deep in my bones since youth. “L’appel du vide” — “the call of the void.” It is that almost indescribable urge to throw yourself off of a mountain, or anywhere high; the small troublemaking twinge within that goads you to follow the siren song into the unknown, to free your feet from land and take that step, regardless of the consequences. It’s not an urge we normally follow, but it is there, and I feel a little better knowing that it has been labeled.

Back to the Germans for “handschuhschneeballwerfer.” Try to say that one fast…actually, I’ll be impressed if you can say it at all, I certainly cannot. But despite its unwieldy constellation of consonants, I think it is quite a clever one. Have you ever tried to make or throw snowballs with gloves on? It doesn’t work so well — in fact unless the snow is perfect the balls don’t stick together and sometimes when you muster a mighty toss the glove soars off with more speed and accuracy than the ball. What would drive someone to do such a thing, to impede one’s ability to win a snowball fight by wearing gloves? The Germans answer that question with “cowardice,” and you know, they are right. That person is afraid of getting cold, and deserves to lose. “Handschuhschneeballwerfer” literally means “someone who wears gloves to throw snowballs,” which to the German (and any rational) mind translates to coward. Beautiful.

Pete LaFrance grew up in Palmer and has moved back to the area after a number of years living abroad.