The Magic of Naming
In the summer of 2019, I found myself reading a book for the first time in a long time.
My 60-hour-a-week job and parenting a 2-year-old, while pregnant with our second child, didn’t leave much space to read for pleasure.
My brain was so full, so noisy. When I tried pulling up even the juiciest mystery to read at night, just looking at a page made me feel irritable and defensive. Like the words were demanding the space, or making the noise, that would finally crack me open. Not in a liberating, let in the beauty and awareness kind of way. In a threatening, everything keeping me manic but alive will spill out kind of way.
Which is why I was surprised to find myself, one afternoon, in our oversized comfy chair, reading. My husband and our toddler were napping. Nap would have typically been my first-choice activity, but I felt restless and hungry for something sleep couldn’t give me.
And then there it was. A book that had been recommended to me years ago, that had sat untouched beside my bed for so long that it had become part of the scenery. Ursula K. LeGuin’s 1968, A Wizard of Eathsea. I reached for that book like the hidden salty snack in the back of the pantry.
As I read, my mind grew quiet and spacious. My body slowed to a steady calm.
The book was about Ged, a young boy who discovers he has magic in him and wishes to make use of it. After some twists and turns, he begins to learn how.
In order to channel the powers inherent in his body, he has to first learn the name of anything in existence that he wishes to transform. This turned out to be far from simple. He couldn’t just say “tree.” He had to know the name of every branch and leaf, every layer of light.
“…to lay a spell of storm or calm over all the ocean, the mage’s spell must say not only the word [ocean] but the name of every stretch and bit and part of the sea through all the archipelago and all the outer reaches…” *
Ged also learns that refusing to call something what it really is, trying to cushion, dampen, or mute the meaning renders the magic useless.
As his teacher explains, our powers become most potent when we can name what we want to happen “exactly and wholly.” **
That’s as far as I got. My little one woke up, the world of Earthsea flew back into the book and I stumbled back into my day.
But this idea took hold inside of me: to work magic, you must name the thing you want to change exactly and wholly.
Magic, shifting or transforming something, bringing new energy, form, and color into the world requires “the true naming of a thing.” ***
I had a career that I had studied, trained, and paid lots of money for. I had invested a decade of my time, energy, focus, and identity into that career. But lately, I had been feeling disoriented and discontent. Images of a different lifewere emerging in my periphery.
For a few years, I had tried not to look anywhere but straight ahead at the task in front of me. I was afraid to see what else might be possible. Afraid to let go of what I knew, what I had planned my entire life around, even if the status quo was so intensely depleting that I was struggling to stay upright.
Burnt out as I was, making a change, transforming the world around me, felt dauntingly difficult and heavy too.
But slowly, feeling anything but powerful, I started to timidly voice the names of the things I wanted to change: twelve-hour days, on call, never enough, confined, absence, exhaustion, trapped, all-nighters, all-consuming, missed moments, drowning, blocked, overwhelmed, dull, missed dinners, missed conversations, numb, restricted, lost weekends, depleted, walls, missed bedtimes, missed life.
As I gained strength, I started to name the fragments of light and color that showed up in my periphery, burning to be brought into existence: rest, stillness, feeling, silence, pleasure, play, homemade meals, walking, trees, reading, children seen-heard-held, husband-seen-heard-held, full night of sleep, alive, swimming, creative freedom, writing, coloring, playgrounds, nourished, stretching, snuggling, done by 5, napping, picnics, enough, midday fresh air, bedtimes, presence.
Once I learned the intricate names of what I wanted to change, understanding their meaning and feeling what they would make possible, new energy flowed into me. The power to make changes small, then big, found me.
We have the ability to work magic in our lives, to gather the power to change or transform a situation, to bring new color and form into our existence. Our change begins when we honor what we feel and know by calling that feeling and knowing by name.
To name something is to claim our knowledge of it.
To name something is to acknowledge that it matters.
When we have a vague sense of discontent or dread and we know that something needs to change but won’t hold still long enough to feel our way toward the specifics of the what or how, we stay stuck.
It is the naming of a thing that creates a break in the barrier between what is and what could be. Whether we feel fully ready or not, through that break new life comes flowing into our world to shake us up. The change we fear, resist, deny, or dread demands to be seen, spoken to, and contended with.
Start small. Learn to name which tasks delight you, which people make you feel less alone, which days were well spent. Learn to notice what feels inviting and what feels cold.
When you find the courage to name what you want, to envision a life that energizes and satisfies what matters most to you, the map falls into your hands and the magic can begin.
*A Wizard of Earthsea by Ursula K LeGuin pg 51
**Same book, pg 52
***Same book again, pg 50