I have a long-standing love affair with words. Some people collect stamps, others collect coins, and I collect words. But not just any words—those esoteric ones that most people might only encounter while playing Scrabble or reading a philosopher’s manifesto. My husband loved to throw around obscure terms as though they were part of everyday vernacular. He introduced me to so many strange corners of the world, where words were whispered in back alleys or muttered over books filled with things so bizarre and specific they could only be described as esoteric.

Take pernicious, for example. I first fell for that word during a keynote speech I gave about seven years ago. I was trying to describe something that wasn’t just harmful but sneakily, persistently destructive. Pernicious captured it all—a slow burn that chips away at the soul or society before anyone really notices the damage. It became a word that, once used, found its way into conversations again and again. There’s something palpable about it, the way it carries weight and menace. I feel things deeply, and words like palpable help me name those emotions that are almost, but not quite, tangible. My emotions often feel thick in the air, waiting to be spoken into reality.

And then there’s lucid, like my dreams—so vivid they make me question if I’m awake or still wandering through my subconscious. I have always been amazed by how clear and crisp my dreams can be, giving me moments of clarity I often don’t experience in the rush of daily life. Lucid is like a flashlight in the fog, one of those words that pierces through confusion with its sharpness.

Of course, not every experience can be so clear. There are times when life throws me an aberration—a glitch in the matrix, a break from the norm. I’ve come across so many aberrations in my time, moments that defy logic, situations that feel like they’ve been lifted from some alternate reality. It’s in these moments that I often find myself retreating back into language, trying to wrap my head around the inexplicable with the comfort of words.

But let’s face it: words, no matter how fancy or obscure, are part of the collective energy we swim in—the zeitgeist. A term I learned in high school and use every now and then when I’m feeling extra philosophical, zeitgeist is the spirit of the times. And right now, we’re in an era where emotions, words, and experiences are all in flux. The energy is thick, the stakes high, and the zeitgeist? Well, it’s as wild as ever.

So there you have it: pernicious, lucid, aberration, esoteric, and palpable. These words, each with its own story and texture, form a part of my mental landscape. They might be big and fancy, but they’re also deeply personal. And isn’t that the beauty of language? It shapes us as much as we shape it.