Chloe Wright
Editor-in-Chief
Doing improv in a second language is an experience I would recommend to people if they wanted a unique way to learn a foreign language. However, doing improv at an intensive language school in rural Vermont is a completely different animal.
In the basement of Middlebury College’s Sunderland Language Center, my French-Canadian teacher and her theater director friend watched me perform a sketch with my language colleagues. I pretended to be a mermaid begging a sailor to take me to the shore. Flopped around on the floor and yelled my line: Je suis une sirène. Our native audience had much to say on our quiet volume level, so I’m sure Bernie Sanders also heard me.
Attending the School of French this summer propelled me into adulthood quicker than I anticipated. In the foothills of the Green Mountains for seven weeks, I communicated only in French as per the requirements of the Language Pledge (or l’engagement sur l’honneur depending on your persuasion). In such an immersive environment with no room for English or other languages, I had no choice but to push myself into the land in between the comfort and panic zones: the learning zone.
The college provided a plethora of activities to practice the language. I played volleyball and learned that I am not destined for volleyball. My Parisian French teacher and her educator friend taught me how to mend clothes. A German school student and I had a two-hour-long conversation with each other in our respective languages, which took plenty of hand gestures and generous English loan words. Even La Gazette, the school’s newspaper, published my travel blogs.
After four-hour-long classes every morning at eight a.m., sharing meals with my peers in the target language and the extra-curriculars, I was crevée. A daily nap sounded fantastic. But, being surrounded by dedicated students made naps, nights-in and occasional English conversations with my family feel like cheating.
Each day, I would meet a new adult who knew five languages, accomplished pipe dreams, spoke confidently and bluntly, and carried themselves with grace. Although the school was a place of learning, and I succeeded in my classes, the feeling of falling behind became very familiar.
My tutors often agreed to practice conversational French with me since that skill is my weakest. However, during a 30-minute-long session, one of them corrected me almost every 20 seconds. Near the end, when I used a vocabulary word incorrectly, my overworked brain interpreted her look of confusion as disgust.
In tears, I explained to her that I failed myself and the program. She narrowed her eyes and snatched her laptop to search online. When she flipped around her screen, I saw a drawing of a blacksmith next to the idiom: c’est en forgeant qu’on devient forgeron. We must forge to become a blacksmith. Practice makes perfect.
Then, I understood. Some of these shiny, new, competent adults studied languages their entire lives at the best institutes in the world. Meanwhile, I have focused my time on other goals and am, simply put, younger than them. During the program, academic and mental stress controlled my daily life, which contributed to my emotional decline. Despite that piece of context, why would I compare myself to others if the goal is to damage my self-confidence?
In front of my bed, the Language Pledge perched on a shelf as decoration. Unintentionally, the way I positioned the paper made it look like the Pledge was watching us sleep. There is a reason why I sleep with a face mask; I would not start off my mornings having a staring contest with l’engagement sur l’honneur.
I will now thank the sheet of paper that dominated my life for seven weeks. My mental stability and capability to handle stress have exponentially increased by virtue of the program. The friends I made still motivate me to pursue French with a keener eye and happier mindset.
I became a learner of two foreign languages: French and self-love.