From the Editor-In-Chief
Je suis fatigue. If you see me walking along Frankfort Avenue with my dog early in the morning and it appears as though I am talking to myself, I promise I haven’t lost my mind (at least not yet); I am making my most concerted effort yet to try to learn French. Because my brain’s absorption ability when it comes to foreign dialects is like a ball bearing ricocheting off a steel plate, this time around, I am staging a multi-pronged attack. I’ve subscribed to apps, listen to repetitive “learn to speak” YouTube videos on my morning walks, watch all sorts of French television shows and movies, and find myself reciting phrases on nights when sleep is elusive. Je comprends.
With my French-speaking daughter Claire and my husband Matthew at Locust Grove’s Soirée. Photo by Chad Henle
By using the time I’d typically spend doomscrolling to studying, I am finally making progress, resulting in a few awkward attempts at conversation with my daughter’s Parisian copain during their recent visit. Mumbling to myself while walking is easy; mustering the courage to practice what I’ve learned, even with family, not so much. There are certain “eu” sounds, like in the word sœur, that I can’t just seem to wrap my mouth around. Apologies in advance to my sister if I ever need to introduce her to anyone in French. Je suis heureux. Even though a language barrier has led to many endearing interactions while traveling abroad over the years, I am confident that becoming more proficient will finish coloring in the lines, leading to more authentic experiences. While I am far from grasping the French meme du jour —un ver vert va vers le verre vert—like its subject, I am inching toward understanding. Je continuerai à apprendre.
Bridget Cottrell, Editor-In-Chief
bridget@slmag.net @SOPHISTICATED_BRIDGET
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