One of the limitations of conversation is the tragic inability to fully describe experiences.

This week, some friends have asked about my experience skydiving. I always think for a moment, relive the mixed emotions of insanity, bliss and weightlessness in my head, and do my best to faithfully describe it. But no matter how many metaphors I use or how enthusiastic I am, the message is never fully appreciated.

It’s like the feeling of pointing out a childhood home to a friend, or describing a loved one you lost, only to realise that to them it’s just another house, another face. They can to understand, but only you will appreciate the significance of those memories on your life.

The feeling is impossible to recreate if you weren’t there. There is always a certain barrier that lives between the listener and the lived experience.

This is why, I think, families have such strong bonds. They spend much of their lives together, sharing the intimate, mundane and chaotic times, where they forge memories that are unique to them and only them. No external person can fully appreciate, fully understand.

A loving, healthy family can set you up with friends and support for life. The warmth and laughter spent together forges an extraordinary connection. But inversely, having an abusive, dysfunctional family can destroy you and make you feel isolated in ways other relationships will not.

Experience can be both a pain and a curse.

From the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows:
Aulasy: The sadness that there’s no way to convey a powerful memory to people who weren’t there at the same time.