Sonder is a term that describes the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own; in essence, the word strikes a sense of not only sorrow due to meaning itself, but also comfort, an echo that radiates between the two syllables and connects the six letters into a hopeful hopelessness. When I first learned about the word, I was listening to my playlist as a new song by Brent Faiyaz popped up in my recommendations: “Sonder Son.” Intrigued, I pressed the play button, immediately enraptured by the smoothness of his voice and even more by the meaning behind the song title itself.
In Faiyaz’s song, as with the word, there’s a sense of sadness that reveals itself due to the idea that the stories and the lives of others will never truly be our own. While intriguing and also complex, this concept also renders a sense of sorrow that we can never claim as our own. Coined by John Koenig, the creator of the Dictionary of “Obscure Sorrows,” the word most hauntingly reveals that we are “merely an extra” to someone else’s story. Perhaps it is the awareness that our part to play is not the leading role, that we are mere specks of grain in a grand cosmos, that we exist simply to fulfill the lives of others. These tumbling thoughts can send us spiraling into an existential, earth-shattering philosophical dilemma — at least it did for me.
As with most trends, social media has brought about new takes on and concepts that are repeated by those who are influenced by such videos or content. One particular idea that has surfaced over the past few years is that of being the “main character,” that we are indeed the lead stars of this show we call life and that everyone around us is merely a participant or side actor to each season of the series. Our story becomes the most important one because it is entirely our own, and therefore, everyone around us defines the timeline of our story. We stare out the bus windows listening to sad music so we feel like our pain means something. We order intricate coffee in aesthetically pleasing coffee shops where ivy hangs from the ceiling and fairy lights twinkle in the background. We read our books about self-care and positive affirmations.
Main character syndrome, as it’s been defined, may give the once unseen person a chance to experience life through a lens of admiration and love of their own life, a romanticization and coping mechanism for the pain that life may bring. But at the same time, the reinvention of oneself into the main character may instead come with a lack of empathy, awareness and accountability. This is where sonder’s beauty and mystery come in. Everyone has a story, but the fact is that we will never know anyone’s story completely but our own. Telling someone our complexities, fears, triumphs and struggles is never the same as actually experiencing them. We each have our own heartbreaks, losses, pain and grief, but so does that person sitting right next to you on the bus. So does that person who sits near you in your psychology class, the girl whose tote bag is covered in eclectic pins, the professor who never smiles, the frail lady whose wrinkles hold mysteries and whose laugh lights up the sky.
It’s 8:30 a.m. I stand outside the bus stop while the chilling wind brushes against the side of my cheek, furrowing my hands deeper into my pockets. As soon as the bus comes rolling down to the stop, people move closer to the doors, pushing and clamoring in an attempt to make it on the bus.
In a school with more than 40,000 students, one cannot help but feel like an extra to life. In the midst of the bustling crowd, there are the students with accolades and awards, the prettier versions of yourself, the better test takers, the more studious students and the less lonely. With such a school comes great unity, but also a prolonged sense of loneliness. The romanticization and main-character centeredness that many rely on for a sense of comfort allows one to feel special, in a sense, within their own way. Yet there again comes sonder, which reminds us that each of the 40,000 students here at the University has a life as varied, complex and rich as our own. Koenig takes care to describe sonder as “an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.”
One of the reasons that the realization of sonder often may strike a harsh chord is because humans strive so deeply to be distinct, to be unique and special from their counterparts. People who endeavor for a unique sense of distinctiveness often search for opportunities where their uniqueness can be exhibited, and try to live as their most authentic selves. With this, however, also comes the sense of belonging, and the balance of self-authenticity and group identity is one of the most important aspects that plays into one’s self-esteem. Particularly, main character syndrome stresses the importance of individuality and living life as authentically as one can. Sonder reclaims this individuality as a concept that focuses on not one singular person but the unique experiences as the collective individual.
I grip the metal rail as the early, packed bus was quiet and loud all at the same time. In the back sits a person who cradles a half-eaten bagel sandwich in her hand, crumbs on the sides of her mouth while she talks loudly but tenderly on the phone with someone who I can only assume to be her mom. Next to her sits the person who watches Netflix on their phone, snickering every five seconds while some try to get a glimpse of what they are watching. Then, the bus driver: Humming the words of his favorite song under his breath while sipping his morning coffee. This right here is sonder: watching others experience their daily lives through a lens of understanding, an almost type of frustration that one is unable to truly understand their story.
I’m not saying that sonder entails not feeling like your own life doesn’t matter. In fact, I believe quite the opposite. Sonder makes one appreciate the beauty that is present in one’s own life. It is a revelation, an exposition, an unveiling of the beautiful, the mundane, the terrible and the ugly. Sonder’s beauty lies in the fact that it is not all beautiful, yet that there can be beauty found in the not beautiful, that each of us is simply trying to live but also to be appreciated in all our complexity.
So maybe we are all the main characters. Because what sonder reveals is that all of us have a leading role, but also a much smaller part to play. Sonder makes us both appreciate the beauty and the insignificance of our lives. It allows us to look from an outsider’s perspective but also from an insider one, allowing us to open to various perspectives and revealing how not all of life’s mysteries need to be solved. Sonder, in the sense of the word, grants us the chance for connection with others in a way that truly allows us to feel and empathize. This is what sonder beautifully reveals.
Statement Columnist Chinwe Onwere can be reached at chinweo@umich.edu.