There and Back Again

Maybe it’s because I don’t have a deadline, but I find it hard to post regularly on this thing. Other than simple laziness, though, it’s possible that I’ve been refraining from writing on my blog because I don’t want to remind myself of the feelings of disappointment and inadequacy that seem to be hounding me.

That’s not to say that my life here is in shambles. Through some wheeling and dealing, I was able to make my current job much more lucrative—full time hours, pay increase, the whole bit. It’s still not the best job I could have, but accounting for the odd time of year that I came, it’s not bad. Certainly, it’ll be enough to get by until March and April, when the academic and work seasons start up in full force, and there are plenty of jobs available.

This past weekend, I went to Mendoza Argentina, for the main reason of renewing my tourist visa. When I entered the country, I paid $100 for a 90-day tourist visa, and once those 90 days were up, I could have paid another $100 to the Chilean government, or left the country and then come back, and get it renewed for free. Clearly, the latter option was the best.

But other than practical reasons, the trip to Mendoza was a good punctuation mark to my first three months here, and offered some time to take stock. I like traveling by myself, since my thoughts seem to take on much more significance when I’m visiting a new place. Put more bluntly: when I travel by myself, I feel like my solitude has a purpose.

I only read reviews of the book, but in Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, the author took a year-long trip around the world to put her punctuation mark, and even page break, into her life after a divorce. Her most useful skill for traveling, she said, was the fact she can “make friends with anyone, anywhere.” I’ve seen people like this here: friendly, bubbly individuals who can start talking to strangers and, before long, know the names of all their children. Moreover, these people pick up Spanish rather quickly, since they talk to people with such frequency.

I have almost the opposite skill. I’m good at, or at least capable of, traveling by myself because I have a significant capacity for solitude, or even loneliness. I’ll admit, it becomes useful on occasion. But more often, I’m frustrated with my shyness and timidity around people here, since it doesn’t help me learn this language one iota. I’m much more comfortable interacting with this foreign language through ink and paper, words on pages.

When thoughts like these occupy my mind, which is often, I end up wondering why learning Spanish is so important. I’m honestly not in love with the country and the culture, and I don’t expect to become so enamored. The rote answer that I’ve given as to why I chose to study and learn is that, as a rather extroverted and emotive language, it does something to get me out of me whenever I attempt to speak it, and interact with others on such terms. Basically, I’ve pursued it because it’s so unlike me. I used to study German, a brooding, pensive language much closer to my own disposition, and eventually gave it up in favor of Spanish because I felt the need to work against myself and my natural inclinations.

But now, living in this country without the safety net of a study abroad program, like I had in Spain, I’m feeling the strain of this unlikeness rather strongly. I want to learn Spanish, or at least I think I do, but in order to try and have conversations with people, however rudimentary, I have to do so through the medium of this doubly foreign language. When I was making my plans to come here, I had fantasies that I would become fluent in this language in a year or so, and then find part-time work translating Spanish books into English. Now, that scenario seems more and more hypothetical each day. I’m years away, really, from fluency in this language, and more to the point, I really wonder if I have the interest and disposition to become culturally fluent with this new place. For many of my students, the study of English is a fact of their life, and they’ll probably learn my language better than I learn theirs.

There are times when I feel more optimistic about my study of Spanish, but this minor key is what I always seem to return to. We’ll see if it progresses at all.