I’ve been experiencing an interesting phenomenon. Somehow, I have created social opportunities for myself, even while I am feeling like I have very little to offer in conversation. I’m not saying this to gain pity- it’s honestly something I am trying to wrap my head around. I always thought that perhaps I had friends because of certain qualities: friendly, funny, a good listener, etc. Here, while I can be friendly with a smile and ‘hola’, I cannot quickly engage others in friendly chit chat as I have relied upon the rest of my life. I cannot really be funny, because I don’t have enough mastery of the language. And I am definitely not a capable listener! I mean, I’m definitely eavesdropping on conversations, and I am looking straight at your face while you speak to me, but I am understanding MAYBE 80%, and not at top processing speed.
Here’s an easy example. Today, Chris and I took the metro into Barcelona. I was sitting next to a grandmother and her two young grandsons. I was listening in on their conversation, and the youngest was describing losing his first tooth in front of all of his classmates. Normally, this is a conversation I would easily be able to join in, in a friendly manner, because I used to teach kids this age and have lots of funny tooth-loss stories. But instead, I sat there silently, trying to decode what they were saying. I couldn’t be my friendly, communicative self like I am in the US. And it felt like a loss. I genuinely want to connect with people, but my less than stellar Spanish makes me hesitate. And it makes me feel like I am not my full self here sometimes.
At the same time, I have two standing social events per week on my calendar: a ceramics class with a mom of one of Colin’s classmates, and a dance class with my neighbor. I might add a third with another neighbor- either African drumming or another type of dance class. I go to the library to study with a neighbor, and I go to the gym regularly. I also have study sessions with Chris most mornings at a coffee shop after we drop the boys at school. These daily interactions are a huge change for me. Over the past 6 years, there were some days where I did not speak to another adult for the whole day.
I miss homeschooling, and a huge part of me is still grieving. I sometimes still cry when the boys walk off to school. I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what I am grieving in those moments- is it my loss of importance and purpose? I wonder if some of this feeling comes from having lost so many of the roles in which I felt most capable. For years, I was the person teaching my kids, organizing their days, finding the interesting connections, and making things happen. I was also someone who could walk into a conversation and find my place in it. Here, I am learning how to be a beginner in almost every part of my life. And while that can be exciting, it can also leave me wondering what, exactly, I have to offer.
I went to a school assembly for Will’s ‘primary school’. They sort the students into houses like Harry Potter. He is a Centaur! The best part was seeing him get up in front of a whole school and do a little celebration dance. He told me he was excited to be Centaur because a lot of his friends are in that group (he plays soccer with many different kids at recess ). It was so cool to see a happy, confident, outgoing Will… for his first time in a full day school, in a new country, while learning a new language… I was so proud of him.
Colin just went on his first overnight trip with school classmates. They went for two nights and three days to the mountains. No cell phones/watches/electronics allowed. We got lots of photos from the trip, and he was in many of them, with a big smile on his face. He came back saying he had a great time! He was able to navigate weird middle school issues (like someone peeing in a bag on the school bus?! GROSS!) and is growing closer to new friends.
Watching the boys find their feet here has made me wonder whether some of the things I thought I needed in order to be myself are actually less essential than I imagined. My kids are figuring things out without me translating every interaction, organizing every experience, or helping them navigate every unfamiliar situation. I can’t take credit for all of who they are becoming. But I like the idea that all those hours we spent together are traveling with them, even when I’m not there to witness it.
Perhaps my own competence isn’t tied to language skills or my role as a teacher. Maybe it’s a willingness to be friendly and warm, with or without words.
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