Not on the Tip of My Tongue: Learning Burmese, Weeks 13-14

The cadence of the past two weeks has been unusually choppy, with several language classes disrupted by the Thanksgiving federal holiday, Area Studies, and an untimely bout of illness. These interruptions have contributed to my feeling lately that I can’t think of much to say in Burmese.

Week 13 felt very short due to an early dismissal on Wednesday, Thanksgiving on Thursday, and the option to request leave for Friday – one of FSI language students’ rare “no progress days.” Of course I availed myself of this leave day.

As an FSO coming from a previous domestic assignment, I’m not eligible for PCS lodging because I’m not on overseas to overseas orders. So I can’t avoid paying rent throughout my long-term language training just as I couldn’t during my Washington assignment. The silver lining is I can take annual leave without reimbursing the nightly lodging rate back to the Department – or losing the per diem I don’t get anyway – for each day I’m not “on duty.” (Small wins?)

So the four-day weekend downtime was a nice chance to recreate and get the jump on Christmas preparations. But it didn’t do wonders for my Burmese acquisition. ‘Tis the season.

Week 14 had a similar end result but for different reasons. After class Monday, I began feeling unwell. I barely left my warm bed until Thursday morning (save once for a doctor’s appointment) when I dragged myself to FSI for Area Studies, a non-Burmese class day.

I don’t know what happened. Maybe I picked up a bug on a winery tour we went to with friends Saturday. Or during our first-ever NFL game on Sunday. But I kind of doubt it; I sanitize my hands like it’s still the height of 2020 (or for me, anytime since 2008).

What I do know is that of the past 10 weekdays, I’ve been in class for five days. If 50% attendance were a grade, I’d be failing.

Obviously it’s within our abilities as FSOs to use paid sick leave. Coming to class in-person when you’re not well isn’t a good idea for you, or those stuck in a small room with you all day. On Tuesday and Wednesday I could barely sit up in bed, let alone study Burmese. I didn’t do anything I wanted to do (hiking, decorate house for Christmas, write Christmas cards), nevermind what I needed to do (Burmese assignments, check work email, clean bathroom).

And yet, despite this inability to attend class, I felt my usual guilt for not being at work. As if honoring the immediate need to take care of myself were somehow a reflection on my (lacking) professionalism.

This is retrograde thinking. As a manager, I have never begrudged my team members for needing sick leave. But giving yourself a break can often be the most difficult grace to grant.

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And even if you do give yourself a pass, there are still the practicalities. Work doesn’t stop when you’re sick or away. Language class marches on and missed assignments foundational to the next lesson pile up whether you’re focused on them or not. I know any time I take off to recuperate from illness will feel punitive as I fall behind and struggle to catch up, just when capacity to redouble my efforts feels low.

Missing two days unexpectedly isn’t bad in the grand scheme of a 44-week course. But I was already feeling like I was getting behind.

Since we lost our second teacher at the start of week 12, and dropped from two classes of two students down to one class of four students, we’ve all had less instructor attention and less speaking time. And for me, the getting-behind feeling has increased exponentially since that class format change.

Sometimes when it’s time to say something in Burmese, it’s like I open my mouth and can’t even form a single statement. Worse, I feel detached from what I’m doing, like I can’t even conjure a thought in Burmese. Or like if I tried it would take so long I would be bothering everyone, which makes me uncomfortable (although I have as much right as anyone else to take class time).

This is despite hours of study each day and doing all the homework. I listen to what other students are saying and think, When did we learn that? or Why can’t I put that together when I know the words? or simply Huh?

I never felt this way during the first 11 weeks. Back then, learning the language felt like a more rewarding journey. In every language I’ve studied, I’ve felt syntax and synthesizing what I’ve learned to produce speech weren’t my strong suits. Still, I managed to succeed because I put in the effort and had a genuine passion for learning those languages.

But now I just feel like I’m in the wrong class. Ironically the language score for my position is also the highest bar anyone has to reach.

I try to avoid comparing myself to other students, whether I feel I’m doing better or worse, because it’s simply not productive. No one should feel obligated to downplay or hold back their progress to protect someone else’s ego. What another language student is doing has little relevance to what you need to focus on. Each person will reach the required level in their own way. Ultimately, everyone is working toward the same goal and is responsible for bringing their best attitude and effort to class.

However, comparisons are unavoidable when some students are producing complex speech and reading smoothly and others are slower to do so, and it’s evident the curriculum is moving quickly.

The material also appears to have been introduced at different paces in the two original classes. From the start, this—combined with individual differences and varying prior language experience among students—created a noticeable gap. For me, it feels like that gap widens with each passing week. We likely should have rotated and mixed the groups earlier to minimize this effect. However, the instructors, who are the only ones with a full view of our progress, chose not to implement such changes for whatever reasons.

Being in language requires a high degree of self-management. A sense of humor. Not getting too much in your own head. And. Support from the program to meet students where they are, full stop.

When you feel like you’re not making progress and your efforts leave you speechless, self-doubt can creep in. I don’t know about other people, but even when I am neutral and intentional about not making the perfect the enemy of the good, I still tend towards introversion and caution before I speak in a work setting. That inhibition can trigger a self-protective instinct that hinders the vulnerability necessary to embrace the mistakes essential for growth. And so, the cycle continues.

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These things are normal. But even if I was the most neurotic, least self-aware student on the planet, the reality still is that having one instructor for students at varying skill levels rarely benefits anyone. Advanced students may become bored with the slower pace, while those who work hard but need more time to absorb the material can fall behind, feeling set up to fail. It’s far from ideal.

The material itself is challenging. This language class would already be difficult and discouraging even without the frustration of feeling like your efforts fall short.

And FSI language classes can have a way of making even the smartest individuals feel inadequate, with corrections coming dozens—if not hundreds—of times a day. We’re talking about a group of Type A, perfectionist, high-achieving individuals. It’s no wonder I’ve often heard the joke that pursuing an FSI language score leaves you with a 0/0 in confidence. The highly interactive classroom dynamic, where students are required to speak with each other as well as the instructor, can make this struggle even more painfully obvious.

It certainly isn’t how I thought I was going to spend 44 weeks of my life, somehow? Even though I knew I was bidding on a boutique language? And those language departments tend to be small with less classroom options? I guess 2023 me was just thinking about the actual job and found the idea of language study abstract at that juncture. I’ll-cross-that-bridge-when-I-come-to-it type of thinking. I-can-handle-it vs. Do-I-want-to-handle-it? type of thinking.

I’m a naturally optimistic person and what I keep coming back to is this: language class isn’t the job. The job is to be a consular manager at Post. For a year. That I know how to do. And language classes are a gift to help me do it better. The crisis environment at Post is going to be the real challenge.

I’m not trying to deny or diminish the importance of the current challenges —they do exist and matter. On a daily basis I have to manage them, and myself. I’m kind of too far along in my career and have been in too many broken jobs to sincerely buy into the narrative that if I just x,y,z the inherent institutional issues will all be solved. Poof! I’m also willing to put a fine point on where my side of the street is when needed.

And, mental toughness is going to be required to work in an active civil war zone. There are colleagues who will depend on my leadership. There are U.S. citizens who will need consular assistance. There will be visas to adjudicate, business processes to learn, unexpected problems that arise, security circumstances to manage. Colleagues, including me, will privately be managing health problems, family separations, deaths of loved ones, and whatever other invisible life stuff that affects our brains and dispositions. There will be the upheaval for my family of two PCS moves in one year. All of this will also happen in circumstances that aren’t perfect, or fair, or totally under my control. And that is a huge part of being an FSO.

So.