Expats who don’t speak the local language often gripe about not being able to express our full selves. We lumber and clunk through our interactions, exchanging basic information about where we’re from and what we’re doing here, asking directions, and answering questions about whether we like the local specialities. In other words, feeling like – and feeling like we’re coming across as – stupid overgrown children, bulls in a foreign china shop.
But this trip – I’ve been in Buenos Aires for a month – has helped me realize something about the language barrier. It’s not just that I don’t have the vocab to express all the flavors of thought and feeling that are flashing through my head. It’s that I can’t even use the words I do have fast enough. I can’t speak in real-time. And because of that, I can’t improvise.
And that’s where so much of the joy of conversation comes from. It’s not just about swapping information. It’s about building something with someone else on the fly – something beautiful and singular and intriguing and – maybe above all – revealing. Sort of like Hesse’s Glass Bead Game.
* * *
The other day, for the first time, I answered a question in Spanish without thinking about it. It was something small – like “What time is Monique coming to the office?” The answer flew out of me before I thought about what I wanted to say.
It felt like a huge step. My thoughts had found a way to express themselves unconsciously; the space between having the thought and figuring out how to give it shape had collapsed.
And if you can remove that middleman, that linguistic customs official deciding which thoughts and feelings get to come out and which ones don’t, then you can focus more on the thoughts and feelings themselves. And then the dam opens up, and you better have your life jacket on.

