Life in New Terms

Girlfriend and Fiance

Life has a strange way of handing you new vocabulary—labels you never practiced, never rehearsed, never imagined saying out loud until suddenly they’re yours.

Take fiancé, for example. When I proposed to Mary, I had to start introducing her that way. It felt unnatural. It sounded pretentious, like I was suddenly auditioning for a French film I didn’t remember signing up for.

“Hi, nice to meet you… this is my fiancé, Mary.” It felt like I was wearing someone else’s coat—nice, but not mine.

The Early-Stage Labels

Growing up was full of titles: freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior. You move through them, repeat them, forget them.

But my first real “adult” label was girlfriend.

Elizabeth was my first. And saying, “This is my girlfriend” never rolled off my tongue naturally. Not because of commitment issues—I was fine with that. But because the word itself always felt like I was announcing something too big for my age. Labels always came with a little static for me.

The Marriage Vocabulary

Then you get married, and the vocabulary shifts overnight:

Wife. Husband. Spouse.

And somewhere along the way—because I grew up hearing my parents do it—I started saying honey. Who the hell calls their spouse “honey”? Well… apparently I do. And it happened without me noticing. Like an heirloom passed down in the DNA.

The Big Scary Words

Eventually the word pregnant showed up—maybe the biggest “ready or not” word of them all. We were excited, terrified, hopeful… and suddenly using language we had only heard other adults say.

Then came:

Children. Kids. Parent. Daughters. Son. Our family.

The first time I caught myself saying, “We have three wonderful kids,” it felt surreal. Like I had stepped into a role I’d seen my own parents play, and now I was the one saying the lines.

The Harder Words

Then life brings in the vocabulary you never want:

I’ve been fired. I’ve had to fire people. Both words bruise in their own unique ways.

And then there’s the heaviest word I’ve ever spoken: funeral.

As a preacher’s kid, I’d been to plenty of them. But when my dad died in his early 60s, the word changed. It became personal. Different. I had to say things I never imagined saying about him. Funeral. Obituary. Passed. Death. Closure.

There’s no preparing for that kind of language.

The Maintenance Vocabulary

And then come the bodily repair terms:

Hip replacement. Physical therapy. Cochlear implant. Recovery.

Words I used to hear older people say and think, “That must be tough. ”Now they sit in my own vocabulary like uninvited guests who plan to stay awhile.

And then there’s the word I use more than I’d like:

Achy.

In my 20s, “achy” wasn’t even in the building. Now it’s basically my personal weather report.

The Surprising New Words

But life doesn’t just hand out the hard words. It also gives you new ones that feel surprisingly bright.

Recently, in the car with a Greenland Shark, a word came up that I never thought I’d say with optimism: Retirement.

We weren’t joking about it. We were actually imagining what it could look like. And the conversation didn’t feel heavy—it felt… good.

Words like:

Hobbies.

Unhurried.

Newspaper.

Create.

Compose.

GIve.

Wander.

Grandparent (if I’m lucky).

Father-in-law (Maybe).

Rest.

Morning sun.

Time.

There’s a gentleness to these words that I didn’t expect.

The Vocabulary of Gratitude

Looking back, every phase of my life has been marked by new terms—some exciting, some painful, some awkward, some hopeful. And for all my resistance to labels, each one has shaped who I am.

I’ve lived enough life to know that more words are coming. And I’m actually looking forward to them—whatever they may be.

My dad used to say, “Be audacious.”That’s a word I plan on keeping in heavy rotation.