Writings

Author: Irene Page 32 of 51

When a word’s meaning changes, it can do real harm

Humans have a tendency to dilute the meaning of words over time. While language is a living thing and evolves, sometimes, the speed at which a word changes can do more harm than good. One of those words right now is “triggered.”

When most people think of the word trigger, they think of a lever on a gun or a psychological stimulus that prompts flashbacks of a traumatic experience. There is a vocal minority who has helped change the meaning of triggered, which is doing damage to people with real mental health issues. This change has come to mean people who get angry at others with opinions different to their own, someone who is upset or annoyed at a person, place, or thing, or hearing or experiencing something you don’t like.

Being triggered is not something I would choose. If those that have warped the meaning of the word could experience what being triggered and the ensuing flashback are really like, I highly doubt they would choose it either.

tomboy

Me on my 6th birthday.

I ride dirt bikes
take the biggest jumps
to enter serenity
where nothing lies between
you and the ground

A pleasant evening

Stretched out on the couch
I’m kept warm
under a comfy snowflake blanket
on a chilly evening
when the rains came

They aren’t originally from here, but neither am I

A big horn sheep at Hubbard’s Gap.

Before Steve and I even got out of his truck we could see them. They were several hundred yards to the north of us. Steve and I grabbed our gear. We made small talk about our choice of clothing that day. I chose my black t-shirt. I was cold now, but in an hour, I’d be warm enough. Steve had on his red sweatshirt and and a goofy knit cap to keep his head warm. He was warm now. We also knew he’d be plenty hot in an hour.

I sometimes forget that my 300mm lens really isn’t that big, especially when you put it next to his 500mm lens. Ovis Canadensis was on our radar today. It would be the first time I would ever see the Rocky Mountain Big Horn sheep in person and the pictures were worth the wait.

Flashback 57

The year that was

For most people, December 31 is a time to reflect on the events in their lives and look forward to what lies ahead. Some participate in making New Year’s resolutions and make goals to do better and be better in the new year. I’ve never participated in these events. I believe if you discover a change in life is needed, do it in that moment rather than wait until some apportioned time set by society.

Since 2017, my new year has been set to November 9. On that day, everything changed. It was the day something broke inside of me, but I do not view it as a bad thing. Over the past year, I have made significant changes in my life, which have helped me to grow as a person and allowed me to start down a path I have chosen rather than settling for the circumstances life threw at me.

Age

For Marcus

There have been a variety of thoughts bouncing around in my mind for some time now. I’ve worked on fleshing them out into a full post, but none have worked out the way in which I wanted them to. Instead of just having them float around in my mind never to see the light of day, I gathered them together to create a bit of an homage to “Meditations,” Marcus Aurelius.

The book has had more of an impact on me than I thought it would and I think this is the best way to put my thoughts to rest and present what’s been rumbling around in my head for the past few months.

I’m still here

A new green sweater

Even though I was there for an article for the Star-Herald newspaper, Barb Schlothauer and her fellow Soroptimists convinced me to help them make May baskets in 2018. It was still chilly enough at the end of April for me to be wearing my green sweater.

Anyone who has seen me during winter for the last three decades has likely seen me wearing my green sweater. Shortly after moving out of the dorms at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and into my first apartment, I had a conversation with my grandmother about being cold. I was on a budget and heat wasn’t high on my list of priorities. Gram wondered if I couldn’t afford to turn the heat up, why didn’t I wear a sweater. I didn’t have one. I didn’t have the money to buy one.

By the time I left her house in Middletown, New York, I had a pocket full of cash to buy a sweater of my choosing. It took months to find a sweater I liked.

Page 32 of 51

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