Why I’m Not Decluttering My Old Thesaurus

I’m flipping through the yellowed stacks of miscellany stuffed into a forgotten corner of my bookshelf.

Bone-dry Victorian novels that I just couldn’t finish. Illustrated brochures from art gallery exhibits. Travel magazines in Thai that I picked up during a layover in Bangkok.

And then the most useless tome of them all: an old beat up thesaurus, heavy as a clay brick.

“When was the last time anybody reached for this?” I ask myself.

It’s been years since I even thought about flipping laboriously through those pages, tracing my index finger down the alphabetical list to find the right word.

The thesaurus needs to be decluttered, I thought. It needs to be donated or sold for a pittance to some begrudging used bookstore clerk.

The freed-up space on the shelf can be used for beloved novels and lighthearted rom-coms that can stand a re-reading.

After all, these days I can just Google synonyms whenever I’m at a loss for words.

Or I can just ask AI.

Better yet, I can get AI to write an entire outline and just add a few anecdotes to make the writing personal.

I can train AI in my voice and write entire essays, easily articulating what my tired, burnt-out brain often can’t.

That way my tired, burnt-out brain (exhausted from hours of scrolling AI videos of cats) can free up a few hours to scroll more videos of cats.

But then I stop myself.

I grew up watching technology make my life easier. I emailed my parents from the university library instead of racking up long-distance phone bills. I texted my friends my location instead of sitting for hours at the wrong cafe.

But this feels different.

Because I don’t miss paying astronomical phone bills. I don’t miss coming home to my answering machine to hear a friend apologizing that we’d missed each other.

But I do miss flipping through a thesaurus!

A thick thesaurus buried in clutter is just part of my romanticized image of a writer’s desk. Along with manila folders, scribbled notes on legal pads, empty tea cups stained with Earl Grey and old issues of literary magazines.

And flipping through a thesaurus (and getting distracted by an unusual word and going down a wormhole about its Latin origins) is just one of those things writers do on rainy days.

Flipping through a thesaurus is an age-old ritual – a pause to reconsider thoughts, a moment of clarity, a decision that makes that final word choice all the more satisfying.

Writers aren’t supposed to sip protein shakes while typing prompts into AI to optimize their output and produce successful content that makes millions in revenue (with just a team of 3 people!)

Writers are supposed to guzzle coffee on an empty stomach while staring at an empty page until enough time passes for the frustration to force the words out.

And that old thesaurus found during my decluttering session serves as a timely reminder that writing isn’t supposed to be easy.

Thinking critically, struggling to find the right words, failing, being misunderstood, becoming irrelevant and finding our authenticity over and over again is all just part of the journey.

It’s meant to be difficult.

And conquering difficulties is exactly what makes life worth living.

We live in a world where students earn college degrees online in just a few months, breezing through their course work with AI-powered essays so life-like that they’re undetectable by professors.

And in this AI-powered world, flipping aimlessly through a thesaurus is an ultimate act of rebellion.

Yes, I know I can just Google a synonym.

Yes, I know I can just get AI to write the whole paragraph.

But those are like breadcrumbs on a forest path leading straight into an evil witch’s hut. Into a roaring furnace and the death of everything that makes me feel alive.

Because first it was emails that kept me in touch with family when long-distance phone calls were impossible.

Convenience.

Then it was asking AI to rephrase an awkward sentence.

Questionable.

And what will it be next? An AI bot that speaks in my voice and holds entire conversations with friends, family and clients while I watch cat videos in bed?

Dystopian.

If you look up the word “convenience” in a thesaurus, the listed synonyms include “comfort.”

And it’s definitely more comfortable to type into a phone than to flip through a thick and heavy thesaurus.

But keep reading because other synonyms for “convenience” include less-obvious choices like “satisfaction” and “enjoyment.”

Do I really “enjoy” flipping through a heavy paper thesaurus while noticing my tea has gone cold again because I was thinking how I could use non compos mentis in a sentence?

Yes, I definitely enjoy it.

And if “enjoy” isn’t exactly the right word to describe it, then let me get back to you.

I hear the tea kettle whistling.

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About the Author: Dee is a writer, coach and former journalist living in Cairo, Egypt. She explores the intersection of analog living, creativity and journaling with tips for overwhelmed people in the digital age.