The sentence that stayed

On a cold snowy day, Xie An gathered the family. He asked what the snow resembled.

His nephew said: it's like salt thrown up into the air.

His niece, Dao Yun, said: it's like the wind blowing the willow catkins up.

Xie An laughed out loud. The niece was rewarded. She became known as the woman of the willows.

Everyone has heard this. The reason it's still quoted isn't that the version about willow catkins is lovelier than the version about salt. It's that the second half of a description is the only part that's alive.

The salt is accurate. It's also dead. In a family packed with clever men, a girl of twelve compares snow to something that has none of the qualities of snow and all of the qualities of snow.

I think about this when somebody tells me about their week using entirely correct words. Busy. Fine. A lot on. The words are salt. The sentence somebody would actually remember is willow catkins, and it's usually in the middle of them, waiting to be told honestly.

If you had to describe this week with one image, not one adjective, what would it be? That's usually the version worth writing down.

MOJOWAY's intake takes the client's own phrases and keeps them. Language that's accurate is useful. Language that's alive is what a coach can actually work with.