We leave for France tomorrow. Normally, around this time—while I’m frantically tossing clothes into a suitcase and daydreaming about crisp baguettes—a wave of guilt hits. I feel sheepish for returning to my husband’s homeland with no more command of the French language than the last time. But this time feels different.
Last month, I had an epiphany: I genuinely want to speak French. It wasn’t just another item on my list of things I should do, like eating more kale or reading financial advice columns. It was a revelation, much like the one I had when I quit smoking—it had to be something I decided I wanted. For three years, I’d told myself I should learn French. The social pressure was constant. Friends and family would ask, “So, do you speak French yet?” I went through the motions: adult education classes, language CDs, French movies, even that Bastille Day street party that did absolutely nothing for my language skills.
But one cannot learn a foreign language from occasional exposure and half-assed commitment. It requires immersion. And though I can badger Mr. P to speak only in French to me, he will understandably refuse when I can neither understand him or respond in a timely, coherent, or pleasant manner.
So I am finding other ways to immerse myself in French.
First, I bought a set of CDs called SmartFrench. “Learn French from native speakers,” the tagline on the package says, which I showed to Mr. P. “Look, I bought CDs so I can learn French from native speakers,” I said wryly. The goal of SmartFrench is to increase listening comphrehension. It essentially plays the same excerpt from an interview six times, instructing the listener to listen, or repeat, or follow along in the booklet, or take note of particular phrases. SmartFrench is teaching me very little vocabulary, but it’s tuning my ears to pick up words in French conversation.
Second, I started downloading French language podcasts onto my Shuffle. No more music for me: It’s always Louis with my daily French Pod, or the French Coffee Break, or the French Word of the Day. The podcasts are improving my vocabulary. Like, for the past week I’ve been listening a podcast about the people in Amsterdam who hid Anne Frank’s family. “Je cache et aide les jeunes filles juives.” I announced this morning to a startled Mr. P. (Translation: I hide and help young Jewish girls.)
Third, I’m back on the flashcards. But instead of writing “Shoes” on one side and “les chaussures” on the other, I’m writing entire sentences, dialogues, and famous quotes, like “Dans toutes les larmes s’attarde un espoir” (In all the tears lingers a hope, Simone de Beauvoir) and “Le jour est paresseux mais la nuit est active” (The day is lazy, but the night is active, Alphonse Daudet).
And finally, speaking French to Mr. P. I realized that if I wanted him to engage with me in French, I’d have to lead by example. He still answers me in English most of the time, but he corrects my pronunciation and grammar. And as I improve, I hope it’ll feel less like a linguistic novelty to both of us and more like the natural exchange it’s meant to be.
So, tomorrow we’ll step off the plane, and for the first time, I’ll feel like I’m carrying more than just a suitcase. I’ll carry phrases, fragments, and a real desire to engage, not just exist. I may not be fluent, but I’m ready to try. Because maybe, just maybe, this trip will be the one where French becomes not just his language, but ours.
