Feeling like a toddler again

If you have talked to me for any amount of time in the last couple of years, you probably know that I have a niece. Her name is Lydia, she is one and a half years old (20 months if you want to get technical), and I think she is the best, cutest, smartest little person who has ever lived.

I mean, seriously. The cuteness is real.

She's at a really fun stage where she's growing and learning so much. Whenever I get to Skype with her and her parents, I love hearing the new words and phrases that she has picked up since the last time we talked. During our call on Christmas Eve, my sister told Lydia, "Say Santa," and she confidently replied, "Hee-ha." Even though that's obviously not quite right, it's funny, and still a step in the right direction. There's very little pressure on her to speak well. No one expects her to be a master of the English language right now, so every new word or phrase is celebrated as a huge victory, and mistakes are brushed over, or seen as an opportunity for growth.

Learning a new language sometimes makes me feel like a toddler.

Today I came across a recent post by Jerry Jones at the Culture Blend in which he speaks of this very thing:

"It was one of those powerless foreigner moments that expats get used to.  The chasm between my irritated desire to express my true feelings and my pathetically lacking vocabulary was monstrous.  I’m basically a two year old in situations like this."

Amen. I don't always know the right thing to say. Pronunciation can be hard. Understanding people can be extremely hard, especially if I am tired. I rely on the few words that I know really well to get through unexpected conversations. Sometimes I think I do know the right word to use, but when I say it in conversation, I'm met with confused stares, or my favorite question, "Is that English?" to which I sheepishly reply, "No... I think it's French... but maybe that's not right."

The thing is, I'm not a toddler, and I'm just not cute enough to totally butcher new words and have people applaud anyway (except maybe my parents--thanks, Mom and Dad). And I don't want to be seen as a toddler. I am an adult, fully capable of expressing deep and complicated things when necessary, but so many people that I interact with don't see that side of me, because of this pesky language barrier.

The good thing about these moments of frustration is that they motivate me to keep learning, and they make the good moments even more rewarding. When I use a new expression correctly, or when someone asks me a question and I am able to respond without asking them to repeat, or when I'm able to follow most of the sermon at church--these highs are worth all the lows.