Discovering a concept that describes an emotion your culture has no word for can help you make better sense of yourself and be more able to cope with life's stresses.

This happened to me several years ago when I discovered a concept deeply ingrained in Japanese society. It’s called wabi-sabi and expressed things I had no words for but long felt.

Wabi-sabi is pronounced wobby-sobby and is not to be confused with wasabi - the green condiment with the strong pungency eaten with sushi.

It’s notoriously hard to explain and there's no direct translation of wabi-sabi into English. That's because a wabi-sabi way of seeing the world is different from the way we typically see things in the West, especially when it comes to expressions of beauty, and if a culture lacks a word for something we can take that to mean it’s not considered important or significant.

It’s easy to forget ideas of beauty aren't universal. In the West we lean toward Greek ideas about beauty, which focus on perfection - symmetry and proportion, glossiness, newness and freshness. Wabi-sabi shifts the meaning of beauty away from perfection and more towards authenticity.

Wabi-sabi is expressed in certain physical characteristics; it delights in things earthy, modest, organic, rustic, simple. Things that are withering or bear the mark of time are considered to be wabi-sabi.

It helps to know wabi-sabi started out as separate terms.

The word sabi appeared in 8th century Japanese poetry. At its core, sabi is about flux and the limited mortality of all things. It celebrates the beauty of things withered. It honours the graceful toll living takes on everything - the aging of objects in nature as well as things made by hand from materials like wood, wool, clay and cotton. Autumn leaves, a fading flower, aged utensils and weathered wood are considered authentic and beautiful.

Wabi emerged in the 15th century as a reaction to the traditional Japanese tea ceremony, which was an expensive and lavish affair, and a means to show off wealth. The ceremonies, mostly involved the ruling class, were extravagant. Tea houses were gaudy and expensive imported goods were used.

The wabi way of tea is the opposite; humble, quiet, simple. Tea is served in locally fired bowls. Decor consists of natural elements such as bamboo and fresh flowers in weathered baskets. Beauty exists in the modest and imperfect. Hospitality not pretension is what counts above all else.

Now wabi and sabi are combined, interchangeable and shorthand for celebrating the imperfections of life, and peacefully accepting the natural cycle of growth and decay.

Wabi-sabi is often summed up in three truths:

nothing lasts,

nothing is finished,

nothing is perfect.

Maybe you find wabi-sabi too gloomy and grim a concept. Or maybe you're like me and find it unshakable.

There’s value in viewing life through a wabi-sabi lens. It's a way of engaging with life that, although bittersweet, puts me at ease. Accepting life as imperfect, unfinished and transient feels quite freeing.