So it all ended with Flan. Flan if you didn’t know improves everything, unless you are not a flan fan which means you’re probably incapable of feeling happiness. That’s unfortunate. The start of my second day in France was equally unfortunate. It began with failure at the Alliance Francaise. The whole point of this trip was to take a language class (at the Alliance Francaise) for one month and receive credit for it at my college. I have been taking French classes at my American college for the past two years, and taking the online examen, I placed in the 2B level which was more or less where my transcript said I should be academically. Oh ho ho, the test was a little less than accurate. I am convinced that the class I wandered into the first day of school was perfectly fluent in French; they were just working on small grammar corrections and French culture when I arrived. My French teacher also did not speak English, and, as a disclaimer, I didn’t harbor a culturally biased, unfair expectation that she would speak English; I was just kind of hoping she would. Just a little bit. But no. And since that day, I’ve discovered that my French skills primarily centered on reading and writing; I had very weak aural skills and virtually no speaking skills. Lovely.
A little bit about me: I really don’t like speaking in class, even in English. I’m better in smaller groups, but I prefer to observe and work through my thoughts at my own pace. I hate feeling pressured to give an answer and I hate even more to be put on the spot. So I knew that a French speaking class that requires active participation would not be my forte. Nevertheless, I didn’t think that it would be quite this difficult for me to speak, but I really (really) struggled to keep up, to explain myself, and to relate to the people around me. Side note: my respect and empathy for international students has gone up exponentially since this trip.
So I struggled, a lot, my first day. And the rest of the day was dedicated to worrying about tomorrow. I clearly could not keep up, but I couldn’t decide if it was because of nerves, or maybe the first day is always difficult, maybe I could do it, or maybe I really couldn’t. Mostly, the words from every professor, family member, tv show, and inspirational Pinterest quote were circling in the back of my mind saying things like: the only way to fail is to quit trying, the road to success is never easy, you can do anything you set your mind to, etcetera etcetera. My kind friend put up with me for a very long afternoon as I debated whether or not to switch classes. If I moved back down a level, was I giving up? Or shying away from a challenge that could really improve me for the better? Do I stick it out and suffer or do I give into the fear that I can’t do it and switch classes.
My friend and I spent the afternoon at Notre Dame, which I didn’t even enjoy because I was too upset over my predicament. (Don’t worry, I went to Notre Dame three more times before I left France, so I did get to appreciate it properly after my head came down out of the rain clouds). Before dinner, my friend and I stopped at a bakery. There I saw flan for the first time. I ordered the confection successfully in French which boosted the argument for camp “tough-it-out.” But I was sitting there eating my flan—experiencing what would become a love affair for the next month of my life—and it grounded me. Sort of like that technique you can use to calm yourself down from a panic attack: by identifying the sights, smells, and sounds in your immediate surroundings, you remind yourself that you are in immediate control and the anxiety is a mental projection. While I was experiencing Flan, I looked up and I was in France.
I’ll tell you what I did: I gave in and switched (which was in of itself another anxiety riddled process). It was probably one of the better decisions I made on this trip. I honestly can’t tell you whether or not I would have survived the first class. Occasionally, I still feel like I might have copped out too early and I gave into self-doubt by changing. But then I squash that insignificant feeling by reminding myself that the class I switched into was perfect: the teacher was excellent, the ability expectation was possible, and I met some wonderful people in that class. It was much less intimidating and I learned so much in that class despite the fact it was not necessarily easy and I’m pretty sure the teacher disliked me*. Oops.
Ultimately, I decided that couldn’t predict the future to know if I would have been okay. All I knew was that I couldn’t keep up with the class’ pace and the amount of anxiety I was feeling over the matter was a detriment to my experience. That delicious piece of flan reminded me that I was still here in France, I was still trying, and I had still made personal progress. Therefore, it was a step back rather than a failure. Plus there was no one teacher, adult, or ignorant-of-individual-circumstances inspirational quote. I could shape this experience however I wanted, the only thing giving me pause was a skewed sense of failure, something probably taught to me by the media or a lifetime of social conditioning ecetera ecetera.
Looking back on this trip, I had such a valuable, positive experience because I was realistic with myself about how I learn. I took the steps to support myself even if that meant admitting that I needed to take a step back. I have flan and myself to thank for that. Another important realization came to fruition when I told my family on Facebook about my decision–literally no one cared. There was no sort of reprimand or anything climactic about my decision at all; my parents weren’t disappointed in the slightest. They said, “Oh, good deal babe. Glad it will work better for you.” Then proceeded to ask, “So what fancy, French thing did you eat today.” While I was slightly miffed that I went through this whole emotional episode without any sort of climactic event, I was more than happy to describe the religious experience that is flan.
*Side note: I think it is so crazy that people can interpret you to be an entirely different person in a foreign language! The reason I think my teacher disliked me was because I gave really bland answers all the time and I didn’t participate actively in that class and she thought that I was not really trying. BUT, I was trying really hard, I just struggled to express myself and could only say what vocab I knew, which wasn’t always how I actually felt either, it’s just what I knew how to say. So in an English speaking class, I think (think) I sound adequately competent whereas in my French class I was perceived as very timid. I just thought it was so interesting because I couldn’t express my normal personality (an odd blend of sassy and curious) so I got to be someone else when I spoke in class.
lifesansflan 