For over half a year now, I have been learning to speak Spanish. Learning a new language is something that I have always wanted to do, and like with writing, something that I have given up on time and again. For a couple of years, my sister and I went to a nice lady who tried to teach us French. When that failed (or I gave up), I bought into Michel Thomas. A master linguist who promised me a new language in a matter of hours, I was hopeful that he would succeed where our previous teacher hadn’t. And who doesn’t love the promise of a quick fix. I listened to his CDs on repeat in the car, parroting his building of sentences, but without really understanding why. Maybe I’m just not good at French, I reasoned, before giving Spanish a try.
Over the years, I flip-flopped between the two, doing little more than confusing myself. When apps became a thing, I tried all of those, but nothing stuck. My problem was, if I didn’t pick it up straight away, I would presume that I wasn’t clever enough. Now, I can see that I just didn’t have the patience, nor did I trust the process. I wanted to be fluent, without putting in the work that was required.
Undeterred
Every foreign holiday I’d try out words and sentences, loving the way they felt as they rolled off my tongue. Then, like a deer in the headlights, I’d stand in shock when I received a response. I quickly realised that understanding a new language is even harder than speaking one. Native speakers converse rapidly, shortening words or leaving them unfinished, unlike the overemphasised version of the language that we learn as non-natives.
Undeterred, I’d research common phrases in every country that I visited, wanting to at least show willing. My daughter would try to discourage me, mortified by my overenthusiastic attempt at the accent. The hand-gestures that I included in Italy almost tipped her over the edge.
Benefits of learning a language
When I started my grown up gap year, I decided to try again. I was wasting a lot of time procrastinating and I wanted to put that time to better use. It was also a year of “now or never” and so I resolved to fully commit to the process.
Going back to school at my age has been tough. My memory isn’t what it once was and as hard as I try, new words slip from my mind as quick as they enter, like water through a sieve.
Also, it felt like an odd thing to do, to ask my voice to converse in a foreign language when, due to the panic attacks I was experiencing as part of the perimenopause, I didn’t fully trust it in my mother tongue. As it turns out, it is one of the best things that I could have done. My teacher, Alexandra, conducts our lessons predominantly in Spanish, ringing a bell when I revert to the safety of English. I am a teacher’s pet, so I park my fear and get on with it. Besides, I am so busy trying to remember the words that I don’t have time to worry about whether or not my voice will desert me.
And, in challenging my brain, I am increasing neuroplasticity and creating new neural pathways. This is massively important as we age, benefits include: a sharper memory (yay), increased concentration and improved cognitive skills. Research also suggests that it can have a positive effect on depression and anxiety.
Progress
A couple of weeks ago, I was on the island of Ibiza. I chose Spain specifically so that I could practise my new skill. To be clear, I am far from fluent; learning a new language is much more difficult than I imagined. Now, I understand why I gave up so many times before. Still, I was keen to give it a try. More often than not, the people I spoke to reverted to English when they heard my faltering attempts. But I had a couple of semi-successful conversations.
On our last day, I approached the hotel bar and steadied my voice: ‘Buenos días”, I said to the barman, letting him know that I’d be speaking to him in his native language and preparing myself to do just that. My voice shook as I placed my order and I didn’t pronounce everything perfectly, but he understood me. It felt like such a win.
At the airport on our way home, much to the amazement of my husband, I had a full conversation with the barista as I ordered our drinks. My husband didn’t need to know that I’d pretty much butchered the language; we got what we ordered and he was suitably impressed.
I still have a long way to go. Sometimes I’ll add in a French words mid-conversation, which is embarrassing, but, I am in it for the long haul. I get such a feeling of accomplishment after a positive lesson or exchange. It gives me purpose and, I like to think anyway, it is keeping me young.
