Hyperbole

"Sometimes, talking to people makes me tired."

I looked up from my book as she spoke. Sun slanted low through the window adjacent to our sitting area, illuminating her intricate wicker chair in a cloak of golden silk. Dust particles floating free and lazy blinked in the aureate beam, snowflakes meandering gently towards no destination in particular. Her eyes mirrored gems of topaz, shimmering in the sun's resplendent and luxurious display of warmth. I smiled slightly, a vague sense of bemusement crinkling around my eyes.

"How so?"

"Well, I suppose in many ways. But recently, I've been paying closer attention to how the people around me talk."

A bird murmured a summer song above our window. The mellow air breathed, bringing with it smells of aged wood, dusty paper, and the faint, but distinct, odor of sun on exposed dirt.

"People seem to speak in binaries – everything is either 'literally the best' or 'literally the worst'. There is no room for anything in between. We seem to, at least in our language, oscillate between these extremes. Each action can..."

She shifted in her chair, sending a kaleidoscope of caramel refractions across the room.

"No, must, be fit into these categories. 'I had a coffee today. It was literally the best coffee I've ever had'. 'I got a B+ on my assignment, this is literally the worst'."

She sighed.

"When did we stop allowing for ordinary emotions in life? Where did 'pleasant' and 'disappointing' go? Why can't a coffee just be a coffee? An assignment, just an assignment? I'm not saying that coffee can't be good or bad, or that we can't be happy or sad about our performance in work, but using such exaggerated language leaves us no way to express ourselves when awful or amazing things really do happen."

"Life is a spectrum of goods and bads, and not all are equivalent. 'I lost my mother' certainly outweighs 'my coffee had too much milk'."

I found that my book had closed in my hands. I was absorbed by her speech, with no memory of having moved my hands from one position to another.

"People like to categorize; it makes moving through life easier. You develop schemas, your own perspective for 'how things are', and the world begins to make sense. But life is more dynamic, arguably richer and more complicated, than the absolute best and absolute worst moments. There are thousands of subtler joys and sorrows in between each breath. And the language we use to describe things that happen to us affects how we perceive the world. If we tell ourselves things are either terrible or incredible, we will we come to live our lives with the expectation of extrema, and extrema we will find."

"I like waking up in the morning and immediately making a hot cup of mint tea. I find short walks liberating, but sometimes I get a little cold and have to cut them short. The commute to work annoys me as the traffic often takes a long time to clear up. My lunches are fun because I get to spend them chatting with my friends. My project is sometimes frustrating, and other times immensely rewarding. I like coming home because I get to see the people that I love."

"Little tiny sources of happiness exist everywhere, hiding in the details, waiting to be discovered if you're willing to look for them."

She had gotten a little red in the face as she talked. When she got worked up about things, she would often forget to breathe. Her cheeks, lightly dusted with crimson, complemented the colors that adorned the sky as the sinking sun waved goodbye.

"All of this to say, I sometimes wish people were more direct. I wish that they said what they felt instead of determining which category a specific feeling fit into. I find the swinging gives me nausea."

I smiled.

"I suppose, then, that you just need to find people who will tell you, 'I enjoy your company'."