The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

by John Koenig

According to linguists, that is the most commonly understood word in the world, the closest thing we have to a master key. The only problem with that is, well, nobody seems to know what those two letters are supposed to stand for. “Orl Korrect”? “Old Kinderhook”? Or perhaps it was borrowed from one of a dozen other languages around the world, any of which could make a plausible claim to the origins of the term. Nobody knows for sure, and we may never know. But somehow it doesn’t matter. And the fact that it doesn’t matter says something fundamental about how we use language. For a dictionary, the parable of okay is a reminder to stay humble. To be sure, words are enormously powerful; they give meaning to everything they touch. But a word on its own can’t give meaning to itself. It doesn’t matter what its origins were, how long it’s been out there, or how many people know it. Context is everything. Perhaps the only thing. In language, as in life, meaning isn’t something that’s built in. It emerges spontaneously in the interactions between elements, even those that are meaningless on their own—a single word, a single moment, a single life. String a handful of notes into a song, and anyone who hears it can be moved to tears, or break out dancing. But a note by itself means nothing at all. Finally, here was a satisfying answer. Yes, my words are made up—but then, all words are made up. Every single one. That’s part of their magic. As much as we all tend to take them very serio...