On plateaus, language learning, and growing.

Just got through my third “sheet” of words (though, the sheets keep doubling in the number of words I put on them) and in my everyday life, I can get around fine. I can order food at restaurants, figure out a semblance of directions, count, negotiate at markets, and say basic hello, how’s your day, and what did you do this weekend sorts of things.

Which is great, but also terrible - because it means that in my ordinary life, my language skills are hitting a natural plateau.

I’ve been watching my good friend Mary take huge risks and chances, starting up a cohesive, really-her business (mixing her excellent massage therapy, editing, and writing skills), and many times I talk to her, there’s this strong sense of fear, of intensity, of brain-melting amounts of activity.

And I think that’s the key. I think that’s what growing, pushing yourself, doing something actually amazing feels like.

I had a saying written on my wall for a long time:

Being bold feels like scared.

It told me that that fear, that my raised heartbeat and sweaty armpits were beacons instead of warning lights. They were guides, saying over here. Just a little further.

So tonight, ruminating on language, growth and being true to ones self, I’m working on a corollary. Something like:

Stagnation feels like comfort.

Don’t get me wrong. I got nothing against a hot cup of cocoa. But I want (and I suspect maybe all of us want) something more than to have drank cocoa for all our lives.

Comfort, for all its warm fuzzies, is the opposite of those heart-pounding beacons. It’s the sirens, singing us softly to sleep with high-school yearbook songs: Don’t ever change.