Pondering and Wondering

I'm a proud ponderer. I find pondering to be an enjoyable and rewarding pursuit. I like to ponder.

Consider this group of words from Merriam-Webster. I like them all.

Synonym Discussion of PONDER

PONDER, MEDITATE, MUSE, RUMINATE mean to consider or examine attentively or deliberately. PONDER implies a careful weighing of a problem or, often, prolonged inconclusive thinking about a matter. ⟨pondered the course of action⟩ MEDITATE implies a definite focusing of one's thoughts on something so as to understand it deeply. ⟨meditated on the meaning of life⟩ MUSE suggests a more or less focused daydreaming as in remembrance. ⟨mused upon childhood joys⟩ RUMINATE implies going over the same matter in one's thoughts again and again but suggests little of either purposive thinking or rapt absorption. ⟨ruminated on past disappointments⟩

But lately I've been wondering about pondering. Specifically, about the connotations and associations attached to the words "ponder" and "wonder." Because I enjoy pondering, I have positive associations for the word. I think it's a good thing. And for me it is nearly interchangeable with wondering. If I wonder about something, then I will ponder it. I wonder. I ponder. Same thing.

However, a little game with M-W's definitions paints a different picture.

Pondering, it would seem, is oppressively or unpleasantly dull.

Wondering, on the other hand, is a marvelous pursuit of the extraordinary.

Not the same at all.

Thinking is boring and lacks the magic of imagination.

According to those definitions, anyway. And, I would imagine, in the minds of many people. I feel differently and find much more overlap between the two concepts. I think I'll happily keep my personal meaning for "ponder."

(And I know an etymological analysis* would negate my equating of the two, that they have different roots instead of being nearly the same word with merely a simple letter swapped, but let me have my fun.)

On a somewhat related note, some deep thinkers get a bad rap for being "ponderous" when giving voice to their thoughts. For taking the time to think things through and pick their words carefully, with pauses, hesitations, and fillers. It's considered a negative to have too many "ums" and "uhs" mixed in with your words.

However, halting speech may be unjustly maligned.

Your Speech Is Packed With Misunderstood, Unconscious Messages

Many scientists, though, think that our cultural fixation with stamping out what they call “disfluencies” is deeply misguided. Saying um is no character flaw, but an organic feature of speech; far from distracting listeners, there’s evidence that it focuses their attention in ways that enhance comprehension. . . .

Since disfluencies show that a speaker is thinking carefully about what she is about to say, they provide useful information to listeners, cueing them to focus attention on upcoming content that’s likely to be meaty. . . .

Experiments with ums or uhs spliced in or out of speech show that when words are preceded by disfluencies, listeners recognize them faster and remember them more accurately. In some cases, disfluencies allow listeners to make useful predictions about what they’re about to hear. . . .

They found that hearers remembered plot points better after listening to the disfluent versions, with enhanced memory apparent even for plot points that weren’t preceded by a disfluency. . . .

The study’s authors suggest that the seasoned doctors had more disfluent speech because they were sifting through a larger body of knowledge and constructing more detailed explanations while planning their speech. . . .

Disfluencies appear to distract mainly those who have been trained to revile them.

So I don't mind being "ponderous," because to me it merely means deep thinking.

However, there is something to be said for seeking "wondrous." Ponderous may not be bad, but it's not quite magical. It doesn't have the same emotion. To wonder is a verb; the noun is another matter.

I really love the way the following poems express the yearning for wonder, the desire to find enchantment in small, everyday things. Because that's what makes life special.

Though this first one has plenty of cynicism. From Poets.org.

Monologue for an Onion

Suji Kwock Kim

I don’t mean to make you cry.
I mean nothing, but this has not kept you
From peeling away my body, layer by layer,

The tears clouding your eyes as the table fills
With husks, cut flesh, all the debris of pursuit.
Poor deluded human: you seek my heart.

Hunt all you want. Beneath each skin of mine
Lies another skin: I am pure onion--pure union
Of outside and in, surface and secret core.

Look at you, chopping and weeping. Idiot.
Is this the way you go through life, your mind
A stopless knife, driven by your fantasy of truth,

Of lasting union--slashing away skin after skin
From things, ruin and tears your only signs
Of progress? Enough is enough.

You must not grieve that the world is glimpsed
Through veils. How else can it be seen?
How will you rip away the veil of the eye, the veil

That you are, you who want to grasp the heart
Of things, hungry to know where meaning
Lies. Taste what you hold in your hands: onion-juice,

Yellow peels, my stinging shreds. You are the one
In pieces. Whatever you meant to love, in meaning to
You changed yourself: you are not who you are,

Your soul cut moment to moment by a blade
Of fresh desire, the ground sown with abandoned skins.
And at your inmost circle, what? A core that is

Not one. Poor fool, you are divided at the heart,
Lost in its maze of chambers, blood, and love,
A heart that will one day beat you to death.

From Notes from the Divided Country by Suji Kwock Kim. Copyright © 2003 by Suji Kwock Kim. Reproduced with permission of Louisiana State University Press. All rights reserved.

I really love the whole thing, cynicism and all. Particularly the way it captures yearning. Driven by your fantasy of truth. . . . You must not grieve that the world is glimpsed through veils. How else can it be seen? How will you rip away the veil of the eye, the veil that you are, you who want to grasp the heart of things, hungry to know where meaning lies. Where is the magic in life? How can we find meaning? It remains hidden, despite our best efforts.

The second selection provides a response. Again, from Poets.org.

Valentine for Ernest Mann

Naomi Shihab Nye, 1952

You can’t order a poem like you order a taco.

Walk up to the counter, say, “I’ll take two”

and expect it to be handed back to you

on a shiny plate.

Still, I like your spirit.

Anyone who says, “Here’s my address,

write me a poem,” deserves something in reply.

So I’ll tell a secret instead:

poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,

they are sleeping. They are the shadows

drifting across our ceilings the moment 

before we wake up. What we have to do

is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife

two skunks for a valentine.

He couldn’t understand why she was crying.

“I thought they had such beautiful eyes.”

And he was serious. He was a serious man

who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly

just because the world said so. He really

liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them

as valentines and they became beautiful.

At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding

in the eyes of skunks for centuries 

crawled out and curled up at his feet.

Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us

we find poems. Check your garage, the off sock

in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.

And let me know.

From Red Suitcase by Naomi Shihab Nye. Copyright 1994 Naomi Shihab Nye. Used by permission of the author.

Yes. Poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes, they are sleeping. They are the shadows drifting across our ceilings the moment before we wake up. What we have to do is live in a way that lets us find them. Wonder hides. But it can be found.

It can be found.

Just how that finding works is something I frequently ponder.

---

*The Serious History of PONDEROUS

PONDEROUS is ultimately from the Latin word for "weight," namely, "pondus" (which also gave us "ponder" and "preponderance" and is related to "pound"). We adopted "ponderous" with the literal sense "heavy" from Anglo-French ponderus in the 15th century, and early on we appended a figurative sense of "weighty," that is, "serious" or "important." But we stopped using the "serious" sense of "ponderous" around 200 years ago - perhaps because in the meantime we'd imposed on it a different figurative sense of "dull and lifeless," which we still use today.