November 30, 2025
Within languages from all around the world, there exist certain words that simply don’t translate directly to any other culture’s experience of what those words actually, deeply mean. A definition or description of that word may be provided to reach some basic understanding of its intended meaning, but there is often no direct substitute for that word and its associated purpose- which is far from basic.
In English, for instance, we do not have an equivalent term for the word gökotta, which in Swedish means “the act of rising early to go outside and hear the birds sing”. Nor can we concisely (in one word) sum up the Portuguese word saudade without the explanation: “a deep emotional state of longing for something that is far away from you”.
These types of “words” function more as threads embedded within a cultural fabric, than a vocabulary that we’re used to saying and hearing; and they’re often regarded as beautiful, because they reference some type of emotion or feeling that one may experience which seems to exist beyond words. For this reason, even translated descriptions of these experiences may often fall short of conveying the actual essence that the term itself defines.
Uitwaaien is a Dutch term that means “to go outside when it is windy” in order to refresh and clear one’s mind. Those who subscribe to this practice regularly have described it as “letting the wind blow your worries and stress away”. Now, the Dutch do many things that are widely considered both intelligent and healthy; but this one ritual, if you will, is a perplexing phenomenon to many who learn of it, perhaps because it’s seemingly pointless and uncomfortable- or maybe because it’s something so impossibly simple, that it actually works.
Being outdoors provides plenty of health benefits, so it makes sense that when nature is literally flying around and hitting us in the face, that we’d be receiving a hyper-dose of it. We inhale phytoncides and antibacterial particles released by trees that support immune function and reduce stress hormones. A chaotic atmosphere of thrashing wind, whisking in thousands of years of carbon and wisdom seems like it could amplify that effect; plus it theoretically shakes us out of the tendency to be comfortable and helps to reset our nervous system, which we know is a net gain for our personal physiology.
A direct translation of uitwaaien combines the two English words “out” and “blow”. So I pose the question: “If we’re doing any version of this ‘out blowing’ in the U.S., what does it look like?”
Chi Your Best
Chicagoans do this inadvertently on their daily commutes or when heading out to grab groceries or meet up with friends at the corner pub. Perhaps the intensity of these micro-adventures makes the food taste a little better once they finally make it home; or the beer may feel like a sweeter reward for the efforts in braving the storm; and, as they punch the clock, shivering and wind-whipped, if nothing else, at least they’re indoors now and earning a paycheck (or happily spending it).
Intentionality is a key component to the seemingly opaque cultural practice of Uitwaaien: the idea that one may self-elect to embark into the wild, spasmic exterior of their domain (be it home, office or school) just because it is nasty out there. The great citizens of Chicago endure punishing winds, sleet and all kinds of destructive weather, as they continue on with their lives with a little more grit; but most of them don’t seek out this extreme exposure, let alone bask in it– they just manage to get through it.
This acceptance can promote attitudes that may be useful in navigating or even surviving challenging circumstances– it can also turn unsuspecting knobs on our pride. Quite often we find the inhabitants of such blustery American cities or towns to be hard-working and even more hard-headed, particularly toward visitors who have not experienced the same level of perpetual hardship. I lived in one of these places for a long time (a mountainous version of the Windy City) and it does something to the psyche, where, physically battered and mentally drained after years of gritting it out (and even resenting tourists who have it easy), we may start to wonder, “just what type of game am I playing out here?”
I’m reminded of language learning apps that have pings and whistles and bouncing icons that dazzle us with imaginary rewards for our singular accomplishments. We polish these truths about ourselves and collect them like little trophies; and after we have endured, we are inwardly pleased enough to maintain a rigid and impenetrable hubris that doesn’t end up doing much for other people.
Immersion, on the other hand, is the ultimate expression of intentionality, for there is no better or more efficient way to learn than submitting ourselves to “going there”, in humility, to the roots: and it is there that one may often begin to question whether or not we were previously learning anything or simply playing a game- our vocabulary is useless if we aren’t pushing its boundaries.
‘Show Me’ State
When it is blustery outside and we see someone just walking around without a briefcase or backpack, we might wonder what in the hell they are doing– maybe they’re lost, unhoused or mentally ill? The inability to comprehend such defiance of convenience and comfort leaves some people utterly perplexed and even gratuitously compassionate. When I told some of my buddies about my daily cold shower routine, one of them offered to come over and inspect my water heater (we had similar experiences when we elected to live out of a camper van with our kids: “are you guys like, okay?”).
This illustrates that context is extremely relevant, and not just when juxtaposing our version of “blowing out” with that of the Dutch. For instance, if I was surrounded by chopped logs in the forest and seen holding a buzzing chainsaw, most people wouldn’t think much of it; however, if I were standing in the parking lot of a shopping mall, or worse, in a shopping mall, holding that same buzzing chainsaw, people would be screaming and running for their lives (similar to Black Friday). Luckily I’m not super comfortable operating that type of machinery, so in either context here, everyone is safe.
Culturally, we endure these challenges because we have to in order to achieve some greater goal (getting to work, making it to class on time, etc.). Most of us don’t consider doing the difficult thing just for the sake of doing it, because: a) that makes no sense and is, therefore, a waste of time; and, (perhaps more importantly) b) there is no reward at the end of the tunnel; no paycheck, no pat on the back, no casual conversation about how unpredictable the weather is and what it did to us on our morning commute– nada.
This is all fine and we should be able to rally through hardship as a community– a round of caroling in single digit temperatures or protest demonstrations in the pouring rain serve as excellent examples of compassion en masse. And while we feel and recognize these events as actions of high importance, it is still common, if not standard, that if we can’t see or measure the immediate results of our actions and our struggles, then these efforts are pointless.
Our culture has a tendency to believe that if gratification is not instant, then at the very least, it should be imminent or in writing; in other words, if the benefits don’t smack us in the face, then why do it at all? This is the question that centers around our global mental health crisis today. “If I don’t see a six-pack forming after 2 days of situps, then I quit!” or “I don’t feel any younger!” after that first green smoothie. This sounds ridiculous when we see it typed or if we were to speak it out loud, but this is precisely how our modern brain works when it comes to doing something uncomfortable, something real and something that may not beep or ding every time we make a positive choice.
This problem is two-sided in that, the less time we spend “out blowing”, the greater the probability we’ll spend that time, instead, engaging in more behaviors that increase our internal pressure. (i.e. scrolling, gossiping, overeating, drinking). If we don’t make the effort to let some steam out of the valve, we’ll eventually explode, but we don’t have proper measurements for this. So while such combustion is highly avoidable, the detonation may be, inevitably, a slow burn- I’ll have to see if there’s a word for that somewhere.
Gettin’ Hygge With It
The Dutch also have a non-translatable word, gezelligheid, which means “a feeling of coziness, warmth and togetherness”. This is similar to the Danish word hygge, which has achieved mainstream accreditation as being a trending cultural craze that people seem to easily get on board with: “warm pastries, hot cocoa, pillows and friends around a fire? Ja, behage!”.
It’s no surprise that people, Westerners especially, have started to identify with this foreign word. Upon hearing its translation, many of us might boast, “Oh hell yeah, we hygge all damn weekend brah”; whereas, upon learning about uitwaaien, the response might be something more like, “Not me brah, what are they crazy? Yo, toss me another Stroopwafel”. It’s the pleasantries, you see, that always attract.
The vast majority of the pride that swells from living in a place like Chicago or the high mountains comes with time; it is mostly pure and it is well earned. We may underestimate just how hard the wind gusts in places like this, including the Netherlands– where time blows through us, despite our inclinations to decline or oblige; and whether or not we blow anything out, this force will surely outblow us, especially if we don’t make friends with it and embrace it.
We may not be able to condense our understanding of a distant cultural concept down to one word, therefore it is incumbent upon us to find meaning beyond the language and to experience, not just “the word” and its meaning, but its origins, the cultural values that have helped to form it, and its essence. We tend to hear what we want to hear and believe only what we’ve been trained to believe, all that is within our vocabulary; then we go out there and either defend what little we know or we take leaps, we live curiously and we listen– why not listen to the wind for a change?