It started with… a sandwich.

Not a metaphorical one — an actual turkey-and-cheese situation I threw together on a rushed lunch break. For some reason, I wondered why we call it a “sandwich” in the first place.

Wasn’t Sandwich a place? Or an Island?

A quick google search later, I’m staring at the ridiculous story of John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich, too busy gambling to step away for dinner, so he ordered meat stuffed between bread. And now, centuries later, here I am — not a nobleman or aristocrat, just a guy eating his Earl-named lunch.

It was just kinda funny at first, but then the chord struck: this completely normal, everyday word carried a whole story inside of it — a story that almost nobody knows. This study of the origin and evolution of words, I found, was called etymology.

So I kept going. I started studying the etymology of even more words. And that’s when things got weird.

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The Rabbit Hole Begins

Take “clue,” for example.

I always thought a clue was just… well, a hint. Something Sherlock Holmes sniffs out. But the word traces back to “klew,” meaning a ball of yarn — like the one from the Greek myth of Theseus. He didn’t solve the labyrinth with a sword or brute force; he found his way out by unwinding a ball of thread, or klew, to retrace his steps.

A clue wasn’t originally about solving something — it was about finding the way home.

Then there’s “sincere.” We use it to mean genuine or honest, but its roots go back to Latin: “sine cera” — meaning “without wax.” Back then, sculptors would use wax to cover flaws or cracks in their work. A statue that was truly flawless didn’t need the cover-up. It was sine cera — pure, unhidden, whole.

How wild is that? Sincerity, at its core, isn’t just honesty — it’s wholeness without the cover-up.

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Words That Hold More Than We Realize

The more I dug, the more I realized how many words hide deeper, almost poetic truths.

• “Disaster” — from the Greek “dis” (bad) and “aster” (star). It literally means “bad star,” a misfortune caused by the heavens.

• “Companion” — from Latin “com” (with) and “panis” (bread). A companion isn’t just a friend — it’s someone you break bread with.

• “Ecstasy” — from Greek “ekstasis,” meaning “to stand outside oneself.” It’s not just joy — it’s a moment so powerful it pulls you out of your own being into a state of bliss.

And then I stumbled on something bigger — words that didn’t just hold history, but felt like they were pointing to something about humanity itself.

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Breathing in the Divine

Let’s talk about “inspire.”

It’s a word we hear all the time — motivational speakers throw it around like confetti. But the root meaning knocked me sideways.

“Inspire” comes from the Latin “inspirare,” which literally means “to breathe into.” It wasn’t about feeling motivated to write a book or start a project — it meant being filled with breath, with life itself.

It’s the same word used to describe how God breathes life into “Adam” in the Genesis story — the very breath of existence. I’ll dive in to the etymology of Adam and Eve another time…

Inspiration wasn’t about productivity. It was about being alive.

Desire, Fire, and Stars

Then I found “desire.”

It’s another word we think we understand — wanting something, longing for it. But its origin is so much more than that.

“Desire” comes from “de” (from) and “sidera” (stars). It’s origins literally mean “from the stars.”

Desire wasn’t about craving or lust. It was about yearning for something beyond this world — a pull toward the heavens.

And the more I sat with that, the more I couldn’t ignore the pattern:

• Disaster — a bad star.

• Desire — a longing from the stars.

• Inspiration — the breath of life itself.

• Ecstasy — to step outside yourself.

It’s like these words were trying to remind us of something — that we’re not meant to be stuck down here in the dirt, chasing power, money, cars, impressive titles, or just surviving. We’re meant to breathe deeply, reach for the stars, and step outside ourselves.

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The Awakening Beneath the Words

Somewhere in this journey, it stopped feeling like I was learning trivia. It felt more like I was waking up to something ancient — something we used to know but forgot along the way.

Words are time capsules. They carry not just definitions, but stories, beliefs, and truths that our ancestors lived and breathed. And those truths still pulse beneath the surface, waiting for us to notice them.

We didn’t invent language to make small talk. We invented it to name the things that stir our souls.

We long for the stars — desire.

We’re filled with life — inspire.

We ache to step outside ourselves — ecstasy.

And even our disasters are written in the heavens — stars.

Language, it turns out, isn’t just about communication. It’s a mirror — one that reflects back who we’ve always been: creatures caught between earth and sky, longing for more.

I’m not sure if words saved my soul, but they sure as hell woke it up.

And to think… all of this beauty and wonder and history started with… a sandwich.