Today I learned a new English word: “languishing”. My German dictionary offers “schmachtend” as translation, but in the context of our COVID times, a better fit might be “dahinwelkend” — slowly withering away. I picked this up from Adam Grant, who wrote a brilliant piece about it in the New York Times.
Languishing — that slow meandering through no man’s land without any big goal, sticky and thick, slowly melting away. You only notice it when you pay close attention. Otherwise it works undetected in the background, stubbornly eating up time and nerves.
Languishing is the emotional opposite of “flow”, which only comes when you’re completely relaxed and throwing everything into the moment. In flow, everything becomes light, fast and simple. In languishing territory, everything is murky and heavy. Like walking through quicksand, sinking deeper almost unnoticed.
I can imagine much of the lockdown period felt like languishing. That’s why the word is getting new status — as the neglected little sibling of the bigger “Mental Health” conversation.
Side note: From my youth in the Rhineland, I know the word “längeln”. My father used it when he caught me lounging too casually on the sofa. “Stop längeln around like that, it leads nowhere.” He already knew. Though I’m not sure the word actually exists — my father had somewhat unusual word choices at times. Example: “Don’t play so much Daktari!” Whatever that meant. Perhaps this “herumlängeln” was the Rhineland translation (or even the origin) of hip languishing.
What do we do with this cheerful observation? End it quickly, for starters. But what I definitely want to try is responding to the usual “How are you?” (where everyone expects “Fine, thanks”) with “It’s okay, I’m languishing right now.” Though I’m actually emerging from the längeln phase myself and moving straight towards flow.
Originally auf Deutsch at reinergaertner.de, running since 1997. The translation had AI help. The typos are all mine.