Starting to learn a new language is terrific. Everything has that “new language smell,” and even tiny successes are a joy. Yesterday, I managed to say “muchos gracias por los cacahuates deliciosos” to my Spanish coworkers after they gave me some of the (really delicious) peanuts that they were eating. A simple phrase, and seeing their expressions after I said it made it worthwhile.
After work, I met my wife for dinner and we spent the evening speaking Chinese. It is no longer significantly more effort to speak Chinese than it is to speak English, and though my vocabulary and usage is still a bit spotty (I guessed, correctly, that 降职 meant “demote,” for instance, and I used 合理 a couple of times when I meant 合算) there is essentially nothing I can’t express. Being able to “just talk” is a great feeling, but it lacks the emotional impact of those first, fledgling efforts.
Perhaps that is why I always feel the urge to start learning a new language – starting fresh is just more fun.
