Why the Language of “Discovery” Irks Me

This is a minor quibble, probably not worth stating. But it grates nonetheless. I was chatting this morning with a casting director about a famous project she did, one that launched many now-dazzling careers. “Wow, so many discoveries,” was my response. And she said that she refuses to use the word “discover” in that context anymore. I had to take my hat off to her as her point is that the actors were already there, doing their thing, typically graduates from drama schools, theater programs, and so on, hustling for jobs, plying their trade. Sure, she’d been part of a conduit for a life-changing opportunity, but it had been achieved on their own steam, their own hard-work and talent. She just happened to be there at a key moment and recognize their aptitude and gift for a role.

I love her forthrightness about this, particularly within a context where your ego could easily get wrapped up in your ability to identify future stars—and launch them on their path. It’s so easy to own other peoples’ accomplishments when you touched their light in the journey. I deeply respect her restraint and humility.

I feel like we see this type of language all the time in the context of travel, too. And historically I’m sure I’ve done the same. “I discovered this little gem of a hotel/hike/coffee shop.” No, I didn’t. It was there. It feels very Columbus-like, does it not, to presume something only came into existence when you first saw it with your own eyes? It also has the sting of claiming something simply because you think it’s worthy. It’s like scientists who “discover” species and then call them after themselves, as though that species weren’t long-existing, not needing to be named into existence.