In the summer of 2001, my then girlfriend (and since a couple years later, wife) and I spent three weeks traveling together. Each equipped with a small backpack, a three-week Greyhound pass and a very modest daily budget, we made our way from Minnesota, to Seattle, then slowly down the coast to Southern California and finally back home.
One morning we found ourselves in beautiful San Diego. We were only there for a couple days and on the (early) morning of this story, we were somewhere near Balboa Park. I do not remember much of it, except: it was already warm and sunny. We were happy to just be out and about, exploring – and we were kind of lost. We must have looked it, too, perhaps debating back and forth over a paper map.
Suddenly, a group of really very awake runners approached, sort of formed a half-circle, greeted us, then offered to help us figure out where we are and where to go. We were happy for the help and they absolutely delivered. After they had left again, we looked at each other, then one of us exclaimed “those were some very happy runners!” and the other one responded “it was a pack of happy runners!’
Can you picture it? Do you know what I mean? I sort of did. But, I did not run back then.
The experience stayed with us, as a memory that has lost many of its details but has retained its critical structure. We would refer back to it over the years, and most importantly the (pack of) happy runners became and remained a recognizable part of our shared vocabulary.
When I use the expression, my wife is reminded of that morning in San Diego and vice versa. But also, we might be out and about and see a few people running, who clearly look energetic, strong, caffeinated, perhaps laughing or talking animatedly and she might point out in recognition “there! pack of happy runners!” Yep.
I doubt I used the term pack of happy runners before that chance encounter in the summer of 2001. Certainly it did not have the same descriptive quality for me until after that day.
Here is a well-known anecdote related by Richard Feynman.
Looking at a bird he [his father] says, “Do you know what that bird is? It’s a brown throated thrush; but in Portuguese it’s a . . . in Italian a . . . ,” he says “in Chinese it’s a . . . , in Japanese a . . . ,” etcetera. “Now,” he says, “you know in all the languages you want to know what the name of that bird is and when you’ve finished with all that,” he says, “you’ll know absolutely nothing whatever about the bird. […]”
Feynman, Richard P.. The Pleasure of Finding Things Out: The Best Short Works of Richard P. Feynman (p. 4). Kindle Edition.
I appreciate this as it so clearly distinguishes between the label (vocabulary) and what it stands for (understanding).
I have grown to enjoy running over the last fifteen years. This means that I have now had numerous experiences of running (at times early in the morning) by myself or with others, feeling and appearing very energetic, happy.
In fact, one day my wife saw me arrive at the parking lot, finishing up a trail run with a few friends. Later that day, she told me “you all looked like a pack of happy runners. You’ve become one of them, haven’t you?”
It was obvious as soon as she said it, but I did not see it before then.
In the summer of 2001, I learned a label, a piece of vocabulary – and a sort-of grasp of what it meant. Accreting clearer understanding of its actual meaning took many years afterwards.
It took me years, thousands of miles, on roads and preferably trails, by myself and with friends.
Now I get it (better).