As Bryce has been finding comfort in the commonality and humanity of our “incomplete” condition, I have been searching for joy in my failures. I hate to fail. I see it as a reflection of my character and myself. I respect the wisdom of Lincoln in that it is better to remain quiet and thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt. It is part of my quiet nature, maybe not a primary piece but affects the opportunities in which I choose to exert myself. With time and maturity, this has waned some, but it remains part of me. Now, I better be careful or this could turn into one of my Dad’s sermons on grace, and if that is your frame of thinking it would certainly be relevant, but as I learn a new language and struggle in an entry level position searching for this joy is an integral part of my day and time here.
As I’ve learned more and more German, I haven’t been amazed about the struggles that have followed as much as amazed that I was ever able to learn English. As the old adage says, the more I know, the more I realize what I do not know. At work I have gotten into a somewhat comfortable communicative rhythm with my coworkers. The base of our communication is in English, with some it is the only language used. This is easy, and hard to avoid, but I am left questioning my choices. If I coast through and learn little German, I would be disappointed. The days that I come back from work feeling good are the shifts that I work with people who speak less English. I am forced to put the little knowledge that I have to use. What escapes is severely broken and incomplete, but enjoyable. I am grateful for the patience and understanding of my coworkers, and trust that they see me as competent, even if I am not in their language.
Competence in my tasks at work is another struggle and failure I have to work at consistently to stay positive. The list of tasks I cannot due is long. I cannot answer the phone, I cannot do things on my own very often, I cannot help a resident if they need to communicate something I do not understand (most often I seek a coworkers aid to reveal something like “he was just showing you what he will use for his teeth later tonight”), I cannot chart any notes, I cannot do inventory of food when delivered, I cannot distribute medication, and I cannot hold extended and meaningful conversations with residents and coworkers. These are some of the simple duties that I am unable to perform, out of which I hope grow no resentments from coworkers. The procedures that I have been taught and learned have taken considerable time. Not only are there new cultural styles to adapt to, but also being taught in a simpler or incomplete English style. Added to this an apparent scolding by the boss to the staff to pick up their slacking duties and the lack of understanding can become overwhelming. Necessary are daily reminders of big pictures, what would I do for myself in my morning routine, or to clean up for the day and apply these to the residents (feel free to insert your “well Dan your cleanliness is substandard” jokes here).
There is a list, equally long and some would say more important, that I am able to accomplish. And great joy comes from these and the, accumulating, successful interactions with residents. But each day brings constant reminders of the gap that was not visible when I lived in an area where my communicative ability was standard.
Finding the joy in these experiences can be easier in some instances than others. I was asked to bring one commonly opinionated resident to the local grocery store recently. She would normally walk on her own, but due to the snow I was asked to bring her in a wheelchair. I was instructed that she knew what she wanted and had the money necessary. Our previous interactions were congenial although it usually ended with the only thing I understood being her saying “You don’t understand do you?” While going through the market we picked up some apples, she asked me to weigh them in order to print the label necessary to pay. She grew a little frustrated as I tried to ask what code to use for the apples, as I did not see one. A store employee eventually bailed us out. Following the produce I spent considerable time pushing her through the isles in the chair with her repeating various patterns of “Nein, hier, da, and zuruck (back).” The looks on the store workers faces implied that they were enjoying themselves. And in honesty so was I. Eventually, she gave up on me and got out of the wheelchair to retrieve her own items, but was grateful to me for bringing her and helping her as best I could.
As much as I know the importance of this process, it is something I continue to need to push myself to do. Some days, it is nice to speak English. The number of conversations I have started is minimal. Speaking in groups of 3, 4, or 5 gets increasingly intimidating. But it is something that I will regret if I do not do.
