Ta-Nehisi Coates is one of my favorite and most-visited bloggers. He writes over at The Atlantic. He's not the most polished – he often makes glaring or embarrassing typos in his entries (this seems to be one of the great challenges of frequent blogging), but he's a talented writer and sometimes he will drop the most profound and remarkable stuff in the most off-handed way imaginable.
Lately, Mr Coates has been in France, because he's decided to learn French. Deciding to learn a language while long past one's presumed youth is an undertaking near-and-dear to my heart, as most people who know me know well. His most recent blogpost, as many recent ones, is about this experience. His last two paragraphs about his efforts to learn the language are really striking, to me – they are the sort of pep-talk I need when I feel the despair and frustration in my own efforts to learn Korean. It hoves so close to my own experience and insights.
Before I came here everyone told me that the enemy was the French. It would be their rudeness, their retreat into English that would defeat me. But I am here now and it is clear that–as with attempting to learn anything–the only real enemy is me. My confidence comes and goes. I have no innate intelligence here–intelligence is overrated. What matters is toughness, a willingness to believe against what is apparent. Learning is invisible act. And what I see is disturbing. In class my brain scatters, just as it did when I was in second grade. I have to tell myself every five minutes to concentrate.
The hardest thing about learning a language is that, at its core, it is black magic. No one can tell you when, where or how you will crossover–some people will even tell you that no such crossover exists. The only answer is to put one foot in front of the other, to keep walking, to understand that the way is up. The only answer is a resource which many of us have long ago discarded. C'est à dire, faith.
