Transformation Through Language

There are several major events in my life that I would call transformative—two tragic but others uplifting. One of the uplifting events was an exchange trip in the summer after my sophomore year in college. I stayed for a month in Paris at the home of my exchange companion, Pierre, who then stayed a month with me in Beaumont, Texas where I lived at the time. Although I was gone for only 4 weeks, I returned to the States entirely transformed from inside out. A close friend picked me up from the airport and said that the minute she saw me, she saw a different person.

Fireworks at the Eiffel Tower

I had been living in a foreign country with no contact from home, living with a family who spoke no English, barely able to speak French myself due to my own fear of sounding stupid (the French really do not like it if their language is spoken poorly). For three weeks, I spoke the bare minimum, unable to find the right phrases or just shy. I listened to everything around me, showed appreciation for everything that was offered. I walked all over Paris, learned how to use the bus and metro system. Loved the ritual of a four course dinner with wine every night listening to the heated arguments about politics, sports, philosophy. I hung out many nights with Parisians my age: we went bowling and ice skating, we went out for pizza, we watched fireworks on the Champ de Mars in front of the Eiffel Tower on the 14th of July accompanied by the 1812 overture—cliché but beautiful and moving. Afterwards, we drove like mad through the streets in the French equivalent of the VW Beetle—Citroën 2CV—driving on the sidewalk to get around the backed-up cars. (That was to impress the three American women in the car). 

There are so many stories that I could share from those four weeks. What was interesting is what happened in the fourth week. I began to talk. I still remember, Pierre's father including me in a conversation (as they always did) and to his shock, I jumped right in, speaking fluent French, giving my opinion about whatever the topic was. The expression on his face was clear. He couldn't believe that I could say so much in one breath. The little quiet mouse had disappeared. After that, I spoke as much as a I did at home. By the end of the fourth week, my primary emotion was disappointment that I had to leave. I knew that this was just the start of becoming fluent and that it was being cut short. Luckily, Pierre spoke almost no English. For the next four weeks, we continued to talk exclusively in French and I acted as his translator whenever he wanted to tell a story or explain something in depth to my friends.

The impetus to suddenly speak French was not something I thought about beforehand. It just happened. I had something to say and the words came to me. This I think was the moment of transformation. I had been introverted, uncomfortable in social settings, holding back due to my insecurities and here I was in the most extreme situation: out of any comfort zone, wanting to express myself without "butchering" the language and all of a sudden it didn't matter. After that experience I lost my shyness. I was never really extroverted, but I could adapt to most any setting; feeling comfortable in my own skin was enough for me.