There’s a moment in life—often fleeting, sometimes lasting longer than we expect—when we pause, look at something we’ve created or experienced, and ask ourselves: What should I call this? It might be a story we’ve written, a feeling we can’t quite name, a relationship that defies definition, or a personal transformation we didn’t plan for. Naming things can be powerful, but also complicated. A name gives shape, meaning, and identity—but what happens when the thing we need to name doesn’t quite fit into a box?
Let’s start simple. Imagine you’re an artist. You’ve just finished a painting. It’s bold, full of color and chaos. Maybe it was inspired by a heartbreak, maybe a burst of joy. You sit in front of the canvas and wonder, What should I call this? If you’re lucky, the name will come naturally. But often, naming is a struggle between what the work means and what it feels like. Do you name it literally—“The Red Storm”—or abstractly—“Silent Shouts”? Or do you leave it untitled, letting others project their own meaning?
Naming isn’t just about art. Think about relationships. You meet someone and things click. You talk daily, you laugh, you share vulnerable pieces of your soul. But you’re not “dating.” Not officially. Not exactly friends, either. And then one day, someone asks, “Who is that to you?” You fumble. What should I call this? The modern world has given us labels—situationship, almost-love, more-than-friends—but none of them seem to quite fit when you’re living it. And so, you’re left searching for a name that makes the other person feel seen, understood, honored… but nothing seems big enough or right enough.
And what about feelings? We all experience emotions that don’t have proper names. The ache when you leave a city you love. The bittersweet joy of watching someone grow away from you. The spark of recognition in a stranger’s eyes. There’s a word in Portuguese—saudade—that captures a deep, nostalgic longing for something or someone that may never return. In Japanese, natsukashii refers to the warm, gentle nostalgia of a fond memory. Other cultures have words for what English cannot describe. And yet we often find ourselves wondering, What should I call this? Because when we can name a feeling, it feels less lonely.
Even our personal growth can be hard to name. Maybe you’ve gone through something life-changing—an illness, a breakup, a rebirth of sorts. You’re not who you were, but you’re not yet who you’ll become. You’re in the in-between. A cocoon of transformation. What should I call this? Some call it a journey. Others call it a breakdown or a breakthrough. But again, none of those words might feel just right for your version of the experience.
Think about childhood. When you’re young, the world is full of things you don’t yet have words for. You point, you describe, you feel. Later in life, that same sensation returns when you’re facing the unknown. Whether it’s grief, love, fear, or change—these are all deeply personal experiences, and naming them is part of how we make sense of them. Without a name, they feel like chaos. With a name, they begin to settle.
Why do we want to name things, anyway? Because names give us control. They allow us to talk about things, write about them, share them. They give our feelings a seat at the table. When we name something, we claim it. But sometimes, trying to name something too soon can limit it. It can box it in before it’s had a chance to show us its full form. That’s why artists sometimes keep projects untitled. That’s why people sometimes avoid labeling relationships. That’s why some moments stay wordless in memory—they’re too big, too layered, too alive to pin down with a single word.
And yet, even in the not-knowing, there is power. Asking What should I call this? means you’re paying attention. It means you’re reflecting, engaging, trying to make meaning out of your experience. That question is a doorway. It invites curiosity, vulnerability, and imagination.
Now, let’s flip the question. What if the name comes before the experience? What if you decide to call something “freedom” before you’ve felt free? What if you name a chapter in your life “healing” even while you’re still hurting? Sometimes, the name can shape the story. It can point us in the direction we want to go. Like a mantra. Like hope. Naming something can be a way of choosing how we want to see it.
The beauty of this question—What should I call this?—is that it never has just one answer. What you call something today might change tomorrow. That friendship might become love. That mistake might become a lesson. That mess might become art. That silence might become strength. And maybe the most honest answer is: “I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring it out
So if you’re reading this and sitting with something that doesn’t yet have a name—an idea, a feeling, a phase in your life—don’t rush to label it. Instead, give it space. Let it grow. Let it show you what it wants to be. Ask the question again tomorrow. Ask it gently. And trust that one day, a name will come—not to define it completely, but to help you hold it a little more clearly.
Until then, maybe just call it beautifully unfinished.
Or maybe just smile and say, What should I call this?
And leave it at that.
