I spoke to a new learner yesterday. She is a journalist and
a television host. When I heard her speak of her work, I heard her express the
enthusiasm and fascination for her work that I feel for mine. In writing this I
realize that with the exception of my friend Linda, a third grade teacher, I
don’t usually hear people talk about their work this way. Both Linda and my
learner yesterday speak of their work with a sort of lilt in their voice, with adoration
for the people they encounter and a sense of enchantment in the description of
their experiences. I too love my work
and though Monday always comes too soon, I face my day with an excited sense of
anticipation. I fall a bit in love with
every learner I encounter. They all become a part of me.
My first lesson begins at 6:00 a.m. my time or 1:00 p.m.
France time. Before my first lesson, I
drink a cup of coffee and scan the International news. If the French president
has made a speech or if the European Stock Market drops, I need to know the
details so that I can have a relatively articulate conversation on the issue. I
find that people learn to speak English easier if they are speaking on a
subject which is important to them.
I sometimes become so absorbed in my work that if I am not
interrupted by the normal course of the day, such as my husband coming home for
lunch, I become stuck in a sort of nether land.
I have one foot in another time zone, another culture and another way of
thinking. I enter into board rooms, family dinners, presentations and employee
evaluations. I hear details about tense
conversation between colleagues, fears about the decline of production and the
excitement of a promotion. I become so bonded with my learners that after the
first few minutes of a lesson I once sensed my learner’s vague nausea and asked
her if she was going to tell me that she was pregnant. She gasped and said,
“How could you know, I’ve told no one”. I’ve silently wept as a female executive cried
explaining that her husband left her “again”, this time for good.
When my last lesson ends I tend to look around me, notice
the light filtering into the room and I’m often shocked by my
surroundings. I notice a film of dust on
a picture frame, a photo of my smiling children, a plastic figurine of “Yoda” (he
looks down upon me silently imparting wisdom) and then I enter into the reality
of my world.
I sometimes carry with me the things that I have heard, a
story about a ninety year old grandfather living in Breton who has mastered the
internet and uses his mobile phone with the skill of a teenager, the image of
my learner who describes the beautiful new shoes she bought which she later
learned hurt her feet or the frustrations of a 28 year old engineer who hates
his job and longs for employment which offers more immediate results, like that
of a baker. I sometimes carry with me the aloof air of a Parisian, silently
judgmental of the processed foods in the grocery cart of the person in front of
me. I find myself stopping before dashing out the door to the supermarket in my
workout clothes and meticulously choosing a skirt and applying cosmetics.
Perhaps the most magical experiences are those with a new
learner in which they are initially shy and very nervous. Over time I have the
opportunity to hear them gain enough confidence and vocabulary to begin to
express themselves and their personality blossoms before me. I learn that they
have a hilarious sense of humor or a tender heart or that they are a cancer
survivor. It is those moments that I sit at my computer on my side of the
world, close my eyes and bask in the wonder of that connection.
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