I should've just bought a pedometer
I'm in search of a word for a very specific feeling; can you spare one of yours?
Does anyone have a word I can borrow?
I’m looking for a word that can give shape to the feeling of suddenly, out of nowhere, being gripped by a meaningless embarrassment. There’s something vicious about it; it tastes like copper on your tongue and weighs on your esophagus like a roll of pennies.
Example: When I was eleven, I decided to count every step I took in a single school day, as an experiment. (Literally only the Lord themself knows why.) I counted the steps to the bathroom, to the kitchen, to the sliding-doored blue carpool van our neighbor Theresa drove. At each checkpoint, I’d jot down the number in my notebook.
At school, the rowdy classroom challenged my attention. I walked slowly over to the hand-crank pencil sharpener, attempting to ignore my classmates who were throwing one of Johnny’s giant gym shoes back and forth like it was a football. (Again, please consult the Lord for further information on why.) With my newly sharpened pencil in hand, I began counting the steps back to my desk—and SMACK! A white Air Jordan sailed right into the side of my face.
What gets me, after all these years, is this: I walked away, still counting my steps. Johnny ran over to me, and as I tearfully noted my number, asked if I was okay. In that moment, the number was the only thing keeping me from crying in front of the cool kids. I put my whole energy into how its shape took to the page.
Why did I keep walking? And counting? Even now, my face turns a shiny red whenever I think of that moment. Perhaps if you look close enough, you might see the vague outline of a size 11 basketball shoe.
That’s the feeling that I don’t have a word for. It’s not shame, or anger. Can embarrassment linger that long, and that intensely? These memories sting to the surface once every once in a while, and I don’t know how to forget them (or if I should).
Whether or not there’s a word for it, I’ve been polishing up a remedy in my mind. I try to imagine the feeling of relief: when I’ve finally sent a scary email, made the final payment on a loan, learned the test results were negative. When a single song breaks my heart, and in the space of a resolved chord, stitches it back up again.
Relief lightens us, even when the smallest things are heavy. I’m embracing it, even if it means I end up carrying more or going farther.
Especially if it means that.
Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, think of five moments you’ve felt relief, and breathe deeply into them. And watch out for flying shoes.