Poco a Poco

Before I left for Spain, I had a myriad of friends and family (and sometimes strangers) assure me that I need only give myself one month here and I’d be speaking Spanish like crazy. One month was the popular answer everywhere I turned. One month and I’d be fluent.

This is a complete lie.

To be fair, everyone told me this as an act of encouragement. I was a nervous wreck about surviving with my minimal Spanish skills and I needed the confidence boost.

Upon arriving and finding that I was indeed way in over my head in a sea of Spanish, I clung to my one month deadline like a life raft. One week passed and I had barely spoken any Spanish beyond the necessary words to order at a restaurant or direct a taxi driver. I was just trying to make it to my town and get settled. The second week I was on my own. My job hadn’t started yet, I was too nervous to speak much with my roommate, and I spent most of my days holed up in my piso or wandering the streets by myself with no opportunity or reason to speak to anyone else. The third week I had a little more exposure to the outside world in general. I was able to speak with both English and Spanish speakers as I ventured back and forth to Córdoba capitol filling out paperwork and attending orientation. And my job finally started, which meant I needed to fumble through my Spanish to talk with other teachers in the staff lounge, like it or not. (For the most part I do like it; I like the practice even when I sound hopelessly foreign and probably end up saying things like “I she goes to the city two week past.”)

The thing is, though, I am still struggling hard every day. It has yet to feel easier or more natural. Some days I feel as though I’m beginning to improve. I understand most of what is being said to me with minimal need for repetition. But then the very next day I’ll feel as though my head is made of cotton candy and my brain is dissolving quickly as I barely make out five words in a conversation the entire day.

Luckily, just when things feel hopeless, I find wisdom around me. This first piece of advice—or rather truth-- comes from a new American friend I’ve made who is in her second year of teaching in Puente Genil. She has much knowledge. What she had to offer was this (paraphrased):

The process of Spanish immersion is indeed bash-your-head-against-the-wall difficult, there is no shortcut, and the truth is that the “timeline” for fluency is really more like six months, not one.

Although this is an overwhelming piece of information that might at a different time (say, before I left) have made me feel terrified, now it makes me feel hopeful. Hearing this literally made me feel like I can breathe again. I have been given a reprieve—it is ok that I am not fluent yet. I have not failed. I have more time. Finding out that in actuality it takes most learners much longer to “get there” with Spanish has renewed my optimism that I can do this. Slowly, but surely. Or should I say, poco a poco.

There is one thing that people say to me all the time here and that is “poco a poco.” My fellow American friends promise me “poco a poco” and the warm Spaniards who take the time to speak slowly and talk with me reassure me “poco a poco.”

Poco a poco means little by little. It means little by little I will understand more and little by little I will speak more. Little by little I will make fewer mistakes, feel more confident, know more people, understand the Spanish lifestyle, be a better teacher, etc.

Every time I feel completely overwhelmed looking at the next eight months as a whole, I try to remind myself to focus on one day at a time. That’s truly the only way to do this—poco a poco.

And...I still have 5 more months 'til I have to panic. ;-)