All or nothing thinking & language learning

 

They don’t go together.

Binaries in our minds

I have been thinking about all or nothing thinking, also called black and white thinking. This cognitive distortion seems to go hand in hand with anxiety, perfectionism, corporate culture, and a whole bunch of cultural spheres and overtones. I’ve seen people connect it to white supremacy.

Examples:

“I want a perfect home.”

“Healthy food” versus “junk food”

The idea of a “good mother”

“It’s not worth doing if you don’t do it well.”

“There are only two options: stay together or break up.”

Pushing kids into competitive sports.

“I quit.”

I notice it in myself a lot. It makes me happy when someone punctures the all or nothing bubbles in my mind.

For example, a friend told me she signed up for a dance class because it was in her neighbourhood. Instead of searching the internet and asking around to find the best dance studio, she chose a class at a community centre because it fit into her life. What a reasonable, sustainable act.

I think about that anecdote, and feel freer to choose something, rather than all/the best or nothing.

As KC Davis put it on Tik Tok, “motivation suffocates in all or nothing thinking.” We can make an action seem so big and looming that we forget more accessible, more delightful, options. KC invites people to care for their homes without self-criticism or shame.

I want to invite people into language learning in the same way.

All or nothing thinking in language learning

Unfortunately, totality is embedded in the way we talk about languages.

“Do you speak Spanish?” (binary, all or nothing)

“Do you know Spanish?” (binary, all or nothing)

We try to get around this:

“A little.”

“Some.”

“I’m learning.”

“I used to, but I haven’t practiced in a long time.”

Underlying the question is the idea that it is possible to totally speak or know a language. This is a fallacy! I have reflected on it before, when I noticed I was “learning English”, my native language, during my masters program. 

We are always somewhere in relation to a language.

Another binary: We must be actively learning/studying/improving or we are doing nothing, perhaps even backsliding.

As if that is even possible. The mind is always moving. The environment is always prompting. But when we buy into the all or nothing idea of language learning, motivation is suffocated.

Compare:

“I need to learn Spanish.” (all of it)

Versus:

“Ooh, what is the verb for ‘wonder’?”

Or:

“I want to browse the Wikipedia entry for Spanish, find some weird facts.”

Or:

“I wonder if there is a local Spanish class this fall, maybe in my neighbourhood?”

Let’s not suffocate ourselves. There are always an infinite number of ways and opportunities to learn language.

Noticing, in gardens and languages

Once you start to notice something, you notice it more and more, both in plant identification and in language learning.

Some say that this noticing is essential to language learning. It's the key. You can't really learn, or it's hard, if you aren't noticing – whether it's a new word, a recurrent phrase, a strange grammatical ending, or the way people greet each other.

There will be an organic, individual order in which you notice things. You'll focus on one thing now, another thing in a month. Different features of a language will stand out to you more than to another person. Teachers can draw attention to language or even try to elicit noticing. But, inevitably, they will try to teach you things you haven't even wondered about, haven't even encountered.

So, if noticing is essential to learn a language, how does one turn the noticing on? I propose it is natural, if you aren't under duress.

I actually consider attention a marker of well-being. Am I able to pay attention to things outside of myself? Be interested? Not in a vigilant way, of course, where all things are noticed as threats. Sometimes the honest answer is no. I'm too stressed, too anxious, too overwhelmed, too preoccupied with the latest worry. That said, I can often walk myself back into a state of "soft fascination", to use that term from psychology.

The rhythm of walking, the fresh air, the movement through time and space... I begin to see the floppy poppies, the dark-eyed pink rock roses, the blackberry blossoms to return to later. I notice the wind in the familiar, beloved eucalyptus. The season announces itself as chestnuts form from flowers. Walking helps restore my view of the world as a safe and interesting place (thank you, Artist's Way).

Those two poles – safe and interesting – do different things to and for my nervous system. The first offering, "What if there is nothing wrong?" Saying, "You can breathe, you can move, you can look around." The second saying, "Not only that, but there is stuff worth breathing for, walking for, looking around for. Behold the colours and textures."

I think the same world view is useful for learning a language. To be neither drowning nor bored. Try it out. Say: "Learning [French/Spanish/Etc.] is safe and interesting." From this position, you can stand comfortably, as if in front of an abundant garden, and begin to notice. What draws your eye first? What is familiar? What are you most interested in today? You don't need to learn and catalogue everything today, or ever. No one has.

Spring & monastery: a common word?

One of my favourite words in Turkish is bahar, the season of spring. It can also mean blossom. I know a few women lucky to have Bahar as their name. 

I was idly searching for more background about the word, when a sentence jumped out at me, claiming that bahar in Persian also means monastery. Apparently it came from Sanskrit vihar.

Spring and monastery. How delightful. Imagine a common word root growing out to a time of flowers, colour, and freshness, and to a place of balance, beauty, and spiritual refreshment.

Alas.

Turkish bahar is not related to Sanskrit vihar. At least not in any way I can find.

A Wikipedia article at this time of writing still maintains that there is a connection. I found no evidence to back it up. 

Archeology and transliteration

The confusion may originate here: an ancient Buddhist monastery complex in northern Afghanistan.

The monastery is known as Nava Vihāra, or New Monastery. Great. Here is where things get interesting for anyone who cares about transliteration, the art of translating alphabets.

In Sanskrit, this is written as नवविहार. 

With a basic Googled Sanskrit alphabet, you can transliterate this and sound out the word, going left to right. Something like "Na-va Va-ha-ra". I had never worked with Sanskrit, so this was a fun little exercise. I think the scythe shape in the middle divides the two words.

In Persian, it's written as نوبهار‎. 

The Arabic alphabet is close enough for me to be able to muddle my way, right to left: "Now Behar". Hmm. Here is where I think internet knowledge went astray. B and V often get mixed up. I have known many Spanish speakers who struggle with the distinction in English. 

In Persian, I read, you cannot start a new word with the و, which can be sounded as 'v' 'w' or 'oo'. So, instead of writing it as "Now Vehar", a Persian speaker heard the name and wrote it down as "Now Behar." And then people got poetic about vihar and bahar.

I understand the desire to connect. A woman once suggested that çok in Turkish (meaning 'a lot') related to the English expression 'chock-a-block.' I felt embarrassed for her ignorance. Then I was the one who went around telling people that computer in Turkish was 'information palace' (sayar vs. saray being my mistake).

Language facts are beautiful enough without us making them up, poetic as the possibilities may be.

Image source: Okar Research Blog

That awkward phase of vocabulary learning

in which you know 'bad' words, but can't rely on yourself not to mix them up with other words

boşaltmak (to empty) and boşanmak (to divorce)

These words I know and want to use, but they are momentarily far too risky to try, because I may well open my mouth and say

boşalmak (to ejaculate)

So...

The other night someone called me out on my use of o zaman.

He was like, "What is it in English?" "What do you think you're translating?"

I have asked students and non-native speakers exactly the same questions, when they are using a word in a strange way or simply overusing it. 

In my head, o zaman is the perfect expression, and can be used in the following ways:

Tamam o zaman                        OK then

bla bla blah, o zaman....            bla bla bla, so / therefore / as a result / in that case...

O zaman, senin fikrin nedir?     So, what do you think?

O zaman, ne yapacaksın?          So, what are you going to do?

The first usage is probably ok. The second one could or should be replaced with o yüzden or böyle or a bunch of other options. The third and fourth are apparently just unnecessary. Drop the o zaman altogether.

But then we get into idiolect, the individual use of a language. In English, I say "so" a lot. More than most people. Especially when I am teaching. "Ok, so..." is an expression that students have actually made fun of me for. 

O zaman... at the end of the day, there will of course be some compromise. I will probably continue to use this expression more than most Turkish speakers, and in slightly inappropriate ways, but I'll use it less than I did last week.

Yeah, it is hard, actually

Qué clase de amigo?
What kind of friend?

Sí, es mi marido!
Yes, he's my husband!

Hijo de puta!
Son of a bitch!

I thought it would be hard to watch Head-On dubbed in Spanish. (I failed to find the second half with English subtitles, or even just in the original German and Turkish). Instead, to my dismay, watching the movie in Spanish was easy.

I haven't spoken Spanish in years, and I used it for less than a year in total, but I could follow the conversations just fine.

Wah. I've been living in Turkey for four months now, and basic phone conversations in Turkish still scare me. I can't follow native speakers when they talk together. I can't enjoy a local movie. I can barely read news headlines.

I generally espouse the beauty of Turkish grammar, the clean lines of its pronunciation, and the memorability of its words. When people say, "Oh, Turkish is so hard!" I quickly point out that it uses the same alphabet at English and that it lacks almost any exceptions (screw you, French). I don't like to succumb to the weary intonation: "Turkish is hard."

But, yeah, it is hard, actually.

Learned today: prophet, west coast

iletişim          communication

neyle ilgileniyorsun?          what are you interested in?

Cem Evi          worship place for Alevis

hazreti           his/her holiness

peygamber          prophet

batıda deniz kenarı          west coast

kısas          retaliation/reprisal

The "one country, one language" myth

I dragged my mother to the first annual Vancouver Turkish Film Festival to see this documentary. On the way into the make-shift theatre, a man asked why we had chosen this particular movie.

The synopsis, I said, reminded me of Bahcesaray, a village in Eastern Turkey that I had visited for the sake of its name ("Garden Palace"). In this beautifully named village, I had learned a startling truth: Not all Turks speak Turkish, at least not as a first language.

The documentary reminds us of this truth. The pale-skinned, silver watch-wearing, Turkish-speaking teacher from the West is confronted with it when he arrives for his two-year posting at a primary school in the East. Many of his students only speak Kurdish. At once, his task shifts from teaching mathematics and social studies to teaching Turkish.

"He's a language teacher with no language training!" I whispered to my mother partway through.

The title is Iki Dil Bir Bavul ("Two Languages One Suitcase"), but the English title was given as On the Way to School.

Native speakers, eh?

Mariusz came from Poland to Canada five years ago. He ties rebar. At his new job site, there are Mexicans, a Russian, and a Serb. Mariusz is happy, because now he can understand what people are saying in English. At his last job site, he worked only with Anglo Canadians. They spoke so fast and shortened words so much that he was lost. And these people were working; they were too busy to slow down and help. Now, with the other non-native English speakers, he can actually participate in English.

German joke

What's between vier (pronounced "fear") and sechs (pronounced "sex")?

fünf

Haha. I guess it only works if you speak English and know your German numbers.

Vier=4. Fünf=5. Sechs=6.

It reminds me of the English joke: Why is 6 afraid of 7?

Because 7 ate/8 9.

Silly, but great.

Linguistics and kids

Believe it or not, I've never taken a linguistics class. Now I am taking one. It's my last class in the M.Ed. program. I'm learning that almost all linguists who write about first language acquisition in kids are talking about their own kids. They record the kids at home and in the car and then analyze.

Stephen: I wonder where you get tiger food.

Brother: Tigers eat meat.

Mother: [teasingly] Give it a little boy.

Stephen: [pause] Is a boy meat?

Stephen is four.

Mother: A creature is anything that's alive.

Stephen: [sounding astonished] Are we creatures?

The linguist reporting these conversations, Clare Painter, is talking about how kids learn to draw inferences from linguistically presented information. In the margins, though, I just have "Hahahahaha" and "AWESOME" and "!". I'm less interested in analysis, and more interested laughing at the hilarity of kids. Yeah, I totally want one.

If we all spoke the same language...

Is a society more cohesive if everyone speaks the same language (and only that language)?

How do you argue with someone who thinks so?

My mom says that all the kids in her neighbourhood played together outside in a big group. Now she never sees crowds of kids like that. The suggestion was made that language plays a role. Our nearest neighbours speak Greek and Chinese as first languages, and yes, I suppose I never see the kids from those houses playing together. But there are other factors, right?

And what about my own childhood in Saudi Arabia? Navaz's mom didn't always speak English to her. Zabrina's never did. Lorraine and her brother had a Greek tutor. Yet we friends were very close.

And what about last year in Morocco? Oriane spoke French first, Maria Swedish, Julia Portuguese, Abderrahim a Berber language, Fatima Arabic, and so on. Depending on proficiency, who else was around, and sometimes mood, we would speak French or English or Spanish or, if people were feeling patient, Arabic. Yes, there was an English cluster within that--Alaina, Caitlyn, Eric, and I could curse, joke, mutter, obscure-reference, and slang-drop together in a different way--but does that diminish the importance of my friendship with Oriane?

And what about Rwanda and Somalia, Sam pointed out in class (these questions I posed during a presentation on identity in multilingual settings). The common language among people in Rwanda and among people in Somalia failed to prevent disaster and war.

These questions are really important, I think.

The importance of being earnest

In speaking a foreign language, we tend to lose years, as well as other kinds of time, to become gentler, more innocent, more courteous versions of ourselves. We find ourselves reduced to basic adjectives, like "happy" and "sad," and erring on the side of including our "Monsieur"s; and we are obliged to grow more resourceful and imaginative in conveying our most complex needs and feelings in the few terms we remember (like a child rebuilding Chartres out of Lego blocks).

... Speaking a foreign language, we cannot so easily speak our minds; but we do, willy-nilly, speak our hearts.

... And even when we're not speaking Spanish, but only English that a Spaniard will understand, the effect is just as rejuvenating. Reducing our own language to its basic elements, we find, of a sudden, that it becomes new to us, and wondrous. How vivid the cliché "over the hill" sounds when we're explaining it to an Osaka businessman! How rich the idiom "raining cats and dogs"! Speaking English as a second language, we find ourselves rethinking ourselves, simplifying ourselves, committed, for once, not to making impressive sentences, but just to making sense.

Pico Iyer, from the essay "Excusez-moi! Speakez-vous Franglais?"

Monolingualism starts to sound like a disease

On native speakers of English:

Not only do the majority not speak languages other than their L1 English, but they also tend to be less competent than many non-native speakers in their acquisition and use of accommodation strategies, and instead expect non-native speakers to make all the adjustments. This may in part be the result of their monolingualism.

in the near future, those who occupy the top of the English language hierarchy will no longer be native speakers of English, but bilingual speakers of English who have the skills to function comfortably in multilingual communication.

--Jennifer Jenkins, in her article, "Exploring attitudes towards English as a lingua france in the East Asian context"

It's his attention to detail

I was asking if you wanted to zone over :-)

I'm stroll staffing it up

Going to head out finnish

Chime over later?

You've sleazy southern airport might not mean what I say, auto text humor! Auto text!

It really just writes hawks

mejor aquí

Tengo una amiga que se llama Alaina, que una vez me dijo que para ella, el español es un idioma seguro. Nadie ha gritado a ella en español. Nadia ha hecho daño en español.

Esta noche, corrí diez kilómetros y yo sólo escuchaba música en español. Yo quería un lugar seguro. A veces inglés no puede ofrecer eso.

Cool your horses

More advice from my awesome brother.

Word of the day: sublime

Greatness with which nothing else can be compared, beyond all possibility of calculation, measurement or imitation. From the Latin sublimis 'sloping up to the lintel, uplifted, high, lofty, elevated, exalted.'

Thanks, Wikipedia.

A lot of people have thought about what is sublime.

The decline and fall of the native speaker

A "native speaker" of English is someone who grew up speaking English (though there are problems with any definition here). Language schools all over the world want "native speaker" teachers, so students can speak like "native speakers" themselves. But Evelyn from Chile, Amine from Morocco, and Oriane from France will probably never sound like me. Why is this comparison so important?

"If, on the the contrary, bilinguals are regarded as multifaceted individuals who possess a different, albeit more complex, mental organization, we are finally questioning native speaker dominance and native speaker idealization. In such a case, monolingual competence will be replaced by multicompetence as the optimal state of mind, and experienced multilingual users will have the upper hand."

--Enric Llurda, "The Decline and Fall of the Native Speaker" (2009)

Don't jump the bullet

is my brother Andy's advice.