Category: daily life

The Decline of Language Originality.

Have you noticed that our language has gone stale?  Once vibrant words and phrases have been replaced by a handful of recycled expressions that people toss around as if cheap confetti.  We’ve become a culture of verbal shortcuts—catchphrases, memes, and pre-chewed reactions—leaving very little room for originality, nuance, or even basic thought.

So perhaps it’s time to retire a few of these linguistic relics and replace them with something more intelligent, more intentional, and frankly, more dignified.

Take cringe, for example.  This single word now is deployed as a universal dismissal, a way to avoid forming an actual opinion.  Instead of describing what makes us uncomfortable or why, we simply slap the “cringe” label on it and move on.  It’s the conversational equivalent of shrugging.

Then there’s the ever popular “What! What?”  That’s a phrase that pretends to express astonishment but usually signals nothing more than performative confusion.  It’s noise masquerading as reaction.

And of course, the internet’s favorite template:  Tell me you’re ____ without telling me you’re ____.  Perhaps it was a clever structure the first time it appeared, perhaps even the second time.  But now it’s a tired formula, a linguistic Mad Libs game that saves us from the burden of crafting an original thought.

“How cool is that?” has also run its course.  It’s a placeholder, a filler, a way to feign enthusiasm without committing to any real sentiment.  It’s a way for the older generation to be hip with the kids.  It’s the verbal equivalent of nodding politely while thinking about something else.

“The fourth be with you”—a absurd pun that has lived far, far beyond its natural lifespan and continues to resurface every May, as if repetition alone could make it clever again.

And finally, there’s IYKYK (“if you know, you know”).  Here’s a phrase that pretends to signal insider knowledge but usually functions as a way to avoid explaining anything.  It’s exclusivity without substance.

Here’s a list of my suggestions of clichés and phrases we need to retire post haste:

Glow Up

Gaslight

Today years old.

Narcissist / Narcissism

Tell me you’re ____ without telling me you’re ____.

Chilling (as in, “chilling details,” “chilling video,” et cetera)

W’s (or anything using “W” for the word “win.”)

May the fourth be with you.

Awesome / Amazing

Asking for a friend.

You (We) got this!

How cool is that?

Game changer

Wait!  What?

IYKYK

Literally

Cringe

Iconic

The “F” word

These expressions are simply worn out, dehydrated by overuse, leaving behind only the dry husk of what once felt fresh.  Language deserves better, and so do we.  Thoughtful speech invites thoughtful living.  When we choose words with care, we sharpen our minds, deepen our conversations, and reclaim a bit of originality in a world that keeps trying to flatten everything into sameness.

If we want richer conversations, we must start by choosing richer language.  Retiring these worn-out phrases isn’t about being pretentious; it’s about making room for clarity and genuine expression.  In a culture that thrives on shortcuts, choosing real words might just be the most radical act of all.

 

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The Stankles.

I lived in a large mid‑rise building, the kind with long hallways, welcoming vestibules, perpetually humming vents, and a cast of neighbors who could each anchor their own documentary.  Life at the Sage Pointe Condominiums was never dull, especially if you had a sensitive nose.  In today’s essay, I’d like to introduce you to one of our more… aromatic residents.  I have lived in buildings that have friendly doormen or fresh flowers in the lobby, and a dedicated cleaning crew that cleaned and deodorized a couple times a week.  However, at Sage Pointe Condominiums we had odors—layered and evolving.

Whenever I opened my front door or step off the elevator, I braced myself.  I never knew what invisible cloud would greet me, or what new olfactory assault would come barreling toward my unsuspecting nose.

The most infamous contributors were Adonis and his family, whom I privately referred to as The Stankles.  If it were scientifically possible for a scent to take physical form, they would have travelled through life surrounded by a perpetual soft green fog—something between a cartoonish stink cloud and a government chemical weapons test.  Each member of the family seemed to believe that the only way to apply cologne was to marinate in it.  Not spritz.  Not dab.  Marinate.

When that throat‑tightening, eye‑watering haze slapped me across the face, I know exactly what it means: The Stankles had either left for work and school or had triumphantly returned.  They lived on the opposite end of the hallway from me, which maked the reach of their fumes all the more impressive.  For the stench to drift all the way to my wing, it must have been clinging to them like a second skin, and through all seven layers, too.

I imagined inside their condominium.  In my mind, a greenish mist hung in the air like a permanently stagnant weather system.  The scent must have ripened throughout the week, as it settled into the carpet, the curtains, the couch cushions, the walls; every surface absorbing a different note from each family member’s chosen fragrance.  One of them preferred something sharp and citrusy, another something musky and sweet, another something like patchouli mixed with body odor, and yet another something that smelled like a gas station bathroom trying its best.  The combination was… unique.

The elevator, of course, had its own adventure.  It faithfully recorded the comings and goings of the building’s most pungent citizens.  Step inside, and you could tell instantly whether The Stankles had recently passed through.  But they weren’t the only ones who left their mark.

There’s The Princess, whose perfume was so distinctive it might as well be trademarked.  She rocked through the building with her dogs like a scented comet, leaving behind a shimmering trail of powdery, floral, dirt, and a slightly sweaty body odor insistence.  And then there was the unmistakable contribution of The Weede Family, whose fusty skunk aroma drifted through the vents with the determination of a creature lazily seeking freedom.

Their stories and their scents deserved essays of their own.  And believe me, I’ll get to them in future essays.  Life at the Sage Pointe Condominiums provides no shortage of material.  For now, consider this your first whiff of the cast of characters who made my building unforgettable in ways I never asked for.

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Are Our Lives Truly Well-Lived?

A lifetime spent chasing approval, possessions, and the noise of the world gradually drifts away from its own center.  From an early age, we learn to shape ourselves around external expectations, as if our worth could be measured by admiration, status, awards, or the objects we manage to collect, and the amount of money we amass.  Yet these pursuits, however dazzling in the moment, dissolve quickly.  What remains is the quiet sense that we have been living outward rather than inward – living as part of the world, rather than in it.

Philosophers across centuries have warned of this drift.  They remind us that the self becomes fragmented when it is scattered among too many desires, especially those desires that are not truly our own and those that make us look “better” to our family and friends.  Simplicity, then, is not merely a lifestyle but a discipline.  It is the art of refusing to be ruled by the shifting opinions of others or by the endless accumulation of things that promise satisfaction but deliver only distraction.

To live a life well done is not one that has a swanky mansion, a jet set lifestyle, and a fat bank account.  It is, rather, one that turns toward what endures: clarity of mind, steadiness of good character, faith, humbleness, and the courage to act from one’s deepest convictions.  Approval fades, possessions decay, and the world’s applause is notoriously fickle and false.  But integrity and true faith — quiet, unadorned, and often unnoticed — has a way of anchoring the soul.  It allows us to move through life with a sense of coherence rather than fragmentation.

When we stop performing for the world and begin listening to our inner voice that asks for honesty, restraint, and purpose, something positively shifts.  The anxieties that once governed our choices loosen their grip.  We begin to see that the real measure of a life is not what we accumulate but what we cultivate: meekness, compassion, wisdom, and a mind unburdened by the distractions of excess.

This is the freedom available to anyone willing to step away from the noise and chaos.  It is the freedom to walk lightly, to choose meaning over clutter, and to rest in the quiet assurance that a life of depth will always outshine a life of accumulation.

Peace,

Susan Marie Molloy

 

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Unexpected Kindness (1)

Not long ago, we stopped at our favorite little diner for a simple breakfast.  The place was alive with the familiar bustle of morning— clattering dishes, the soft murmur of conversations, waitresses moving briskly from table to table with warmth and admirable organization.  Even in the busyness, there was a sense of comfort, the kind that comes from being in a place where people know how to take care of one another in small, steady, and professional ways.

When we finished eating, we waited for our bill, chatting and enjoying the last sips of coffee.  After a few minutes, we flagged down our waitress.  She hurried over with an apologetic smile, but instead of handing us the check, she delivered a surprise: another patron — already gone by then — had paid our bill in full.

For a moment, we were silent— stunned, in fact.  Then we laughed, not out of amusement but out of the sheer delight that comes when kindness breaks into an ordinary morning.  There was no explanation, no name, no chance to say thank you.  Just a quiet act of generosity left behind like a blessing.

Without hesitation, we asked our waitress for another table’s bill, and we silently paid it.  It felt like the natural response, almost as if the kindness had momentum of its own.  I like to imagine that it continued moving through the diner that day — one table of patrons blessing another, and another, until the whole place was strewn with grace.

Experiences like this renew my faith in people.  They remind me that kindness is not extinct, though it might be rare these days – it just isn’t always readily visible.  It simply tends to work quietly, without fanfare, often unnoticed unless you happen to be the one receiving it.  And yet, these small acts have a way of softening the heart.  Moments like this remind me that God does work through the hands of strangers.  It reminds me that there are good people out in the world, especially on the days when discouragement creeps in.

There have been times when I’ve given gifts or extended gestures only to receive silence in return.  I admit, there are times when I grow discouraged.  I’ve given gifts that were never acknowledged, and extended gestures that were met with silence.  No acknowledgment, no thank you.  It’s easy to conclude that some people were never taught gratitude or the joy of giving in those situations.  It can feel disheartening to offer something freely and receive nothing in return — not even a basic nod of recognition.

But then something like the breakfast that morning happens, and my perspective shifts.  I remember that for every person who forgets to express appreciation, there is someone else who goes out of their way to brighten a someone’s morning and day.  For every moment of grave disappointment, there is a moment of kindness and decency waiting quietly around the corner.

Kindness doesn’t need applause.  It doesn’t require a spotlight or a stage.  It thrives in the unnoticed spaces of everyday life — in a paid bill, a held door, a handwritten letter, a phone call, a warm smile, a greeting card, a small sacrifice made without expectation.  These gestures may seem insignificant, but they carry a peaceful power. They remind us that we belong to one another, that goodness is still possible, and that the world is held together not by grand gestures but by countless small ones.

And perhaps that is the most hopeful truth of all: kindness usually is contagious.  One generous act inspires another, and another, until a single moment of goodness becomes a chain of kindliness stretching farther than we will ever see.

We left the diner that morning with more than our breakfast paid by someone else and us paying for someone else’s.  I left with renewed belief in hope.  For every moment of ingratitude I’ve encountered, there are countless unseen acts of goodness happening all around us.  God is still at work in the world, often through the simplest gestures.

And perhaps that is the heart of it: kindness is a small echo of Divine Love.  When we give it freely, we become instruments of grace.  When we receive it humbly, we are reminded that kindness often arrives in unexpected ways— sometimes in the form of a stranger who quietly pays your bill and slips out the door before you even know his name.

 

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