What you learn when you keep trying

By Louise R. Shaw

First published on March 14, 2013 in the Davis Clipper

One of these days it might be necessary to admit to myself that it is becoming ever more likely that I will never be entirely fluent in French.

Despite the workshops, the workbooks, the CDs, the story books, the tapes, the emails, the classes and the trips I've dabbled in here and there over the years, I might not ever make it to conversant.

In my defense, this is not because I'm totally inept, though I may have lost a few connections in the brain - synapses or something - that younger language students still have.

This is not because I haven't been motivated, though I'm equally motivated in about five other areas and spend equal dabbles of time on perhaps too large an array of projects.

This is simply because there are just too many French words and too many ways to string them together, some of which require too many ways of conjugating. And that's not even to mention that every noun is either male or female (car is feminine, taxi is masculine) and every adjective must be either masculine or feminine to match.

It may also be time to admit to myself that all those books in my basement that I printed thinking people would want to read them, may remain in my basement.

This is not because I haven't tried to find people to love them through bookstores and galleries and websites.

This is because ... I don't know why this is because. Or I don't want to admit I know why.

But not learning French and not selling books is not failing.

And that is because of all I've seen and done, all I've learned and felt, everyone I've met and every way I've grown in the process of trying.

I loved meeting the French people (all six of them), whose English was worse than my French so they listened long enough to try and figure out what I was saying.

I've loved opening my mind to a second language and developing a greater appreciation for another culture.

I'm glad I could learn more about my own language by studying another.

It's good to have a greater understanding of what others go through as they try to learn English (which not only has more words but has more exceptions to rules).

And just maybe I'm keeping a few more synapses in the brain functioning by continued studying and memorizing.

As for publishing a book, I loved when someone wrote to tell me the thoughts in my book had meaning to them or inspired them to do something or helped them recognize something meaningful they would otherwise have missed in their own lives.

And reading again the words penned in a different phase of life has kept the memories of that phase, and all its richness and all its challenges, alive.

Sometimes trying has its own reward.

Admitting that my dreams may be a bit out of reach, sometimes because of my own limits and sometimes because of things over which I have no control, will not make me quit trying.

I'm made of sterner, stubboner, more irrational stuff.

Not making it to the end of a journey doesn't make the sights you pass along the way any less worthwhile.

There is still a chance and only quitting would take that chance away.

No matter if it's likely or a stretch, I'm going for that chance.

 

 

When it hits you

It's been three years!! It is time to share again. 

This column first appeared in the Davis Journal in January, 2021. I hope it gave the Davis County readers something to think about, and now I am sharing it with you. 

I have been publishing a column in Davis County's newspaper for more than 10 years. My messages cover everything from politics to people, gifts to gratitude. I hope to share a few more with you, some current, some past.

Please enjoy ...   

In This Together: When it hits you

Jan 21, 2021 11:09AM ● By Louise R. Shaw

Every once in a while, it hits you, how much things have changed.

It hits you when you see the photo of your granddaughter waiting in line for her kindergarten class to start, standing six feet away from the other students. Each with a mask on.

It hits when you have to push the “unmute” button before anyone will hear what you’re saying.

It hits you when you’re sitting at your computer watching a ballet, dancers having been taped performing on the street instead of in a theater, their faces covered by masks that match their costumes, accompanied by a chorus singing from little squares on your monitor.

It hits you when you need to decide what to do at home another night because the restaurants aren’t safe and your friends have been exposed to someone who’s been sick.

And then you kind of get a twinge inside. A twinge because your granddaughter isn’t hugging and smiling with her little friends. And because those dancers can’t smile at their audience or hear their applause. And because you don’t have a grandchild on your lap or a friend across the table.

There has been a lot of twinging going on lately.

But those twinges over those little sacrifices are nothing compared to the punch in the gut you get when you hear of a group that picketed the home of a government official who was trying to keep them healthy by establishing safety protocols.

Or when you hear of someone getting a sickness that could kill them because someone else refused to wear a mask.

Or when you see someone walking around the grocery store without a mask, knowing they wore it to get in and their defiance is nothing short of dishonest.

There is a lot that we’ve had to adjust to, and some of us have done better than others.

Kindergarteners don’t seem to mind at all. But too many grown-ups have shown us their “doesn’t play well with others” side.

More disheartening than the response to the battle to contain the coronavirus, is the battle to restore civility in our country.

When you see a woman harass a United States Senator in an airport, for example, you get a twinge.

That kind of behavior didn’t used to be acceptable, much less something one would be so proud of they’d broadcast it online.

And when you see angry protestors attack the U.S. Capitol after being whipped to a frenzy by the president of the United States, you get a punch in the gut. And the heart.

Things have changed. 

We’re the only ones who can change them back.

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