How We Mostly Don't Understand Each Other
On language, foreignness and the joy of nearly connecting
I have got dressed after a sea swim and am heading back up the windy beach full of endorphins and carrying my wet towel. A woman who doesn’t look Portuguese (I am in Portugal) is walking down the beach wearing a grey leopard print towelling robe (which I somehow know makes her not English either). A fellow swimmer among all the surfers. She gestures to the water. If we were English a conversation about temperature would definitely ensue. But I just give a thumbs up. She says in, I think German, that she’s about to go into the water. I say that even though it’s colder today than it has been, the sea is still warm- but, in my attempt to helpfully mime and intensify my meaning, I cross my arms round myself and rub my forearms and then make a swimming gesture at random points in my sentence. Which she naturally thinks means I am saying it’s cold in the sea. She then says in English something about tomorrow morning and points at the sky. I nod enthusiastically.
Technically we both miscommunicated our way through this exchange- but of course, what we were both really saying is “I see you- loving the sea! We both love swimming in the sea-hooray!”. We tried to communicate, we sort of failed and we sort of succeeded- like so many exchanges of language. Maybe even most exchanges.
My friend has always said he wants to live somewhere he doesn’t speak the language. Not so he can learn it-but because he already feels like he doesn’t fit in and so then he would have a reason not to. He wants to be foreign. I’ve just looked up the etymology of foreign and it comes from the Latin foris- meaning outside- which in turn comes from fores- meaning door. Outside the door feels like it describes my experience much of the time. Language is both my bridge and my barrier.
I don’t generally like not speaking the language somewhere. I’m sorry that I still only know about three words of Portuguese, when I’ve been here nearly two weeks. Though in fairness I’ve mainly been writing or swimming. Behind my own door. I’m guessing any quirkiness people perceive in me will be put down to “Ah, she’s English”. They won’t get to experience any of my sudden spurts of fanciful language or unusual turns of phrase or “over”sharing or random tangents. I’m having to stand back and look very objectively to see that this is what other people might perceive in everyday exchanges with me. It’s just what I do with language. I play with it (“Ah, she’s a writer”). But I’m also equally torn between a constant bafflement of “Why can’t people just say What. They. Actually. Mean. How hard can it be?” and “Well, language doesn’t really connect one person’s insides and intentions to another person’s insides and intentions, so we might as well just mess about with this lovely tool. If we have the energy”.
I’ve been reading a classic paper on a theory of Autism (and- it turns out probably- ADHD) that really clicked with me and my long-lost memories of the time when I was first learning language. It says that people tend to use one or two word utterances with pre-linguistic infants to draw attention to what they’re interested in and help promote language learning. The toddler is looking at a cat so you go- “Cat! Cat! Pussycat!”. Excellent- unless you’ve got an infant who is perpetually sensorily overwhelmed, so they’re not really taking it in. Or- an infant who is focusing on their own interests- whatever makes their brain go ping. They’re now excited by the beautiful colours and spinning motion of the ball- but you’re still going “Cat!” because you want them to look at the cat instead. They pick up that language is something that other people use and manipulate to shift their attention and interest- and that can feel painful and hard work (subconsciously me I think). OR (and this one is definitely me)- they get into language as an object of interest and satisfaction in itself. It’s less about what’s communicated or meant and more “Oof- these lovely words in my head and mouth”. An example is quoted in the paper of an autistic adult recalling how they didn’t use language until they were four and then:
“When I did decide language was helpful I used it in a pedantic way with words beyond my years.
For example, ‘these food substances do not fulfil my culinary requirements’”.
Attention, Monotropism and the Diagnostic Criteria of Autism paper
The classic “talking like a book”. I was ALWAYS being told I talked like a book when I was at school. Obviously because I spent more time with books than people. But also- a book just said what a book said. It didn’t also have facial expressions and a bird singing in the background and a subtext and wanting to teach you, or bond with you or keep you at an appropriate distance.
So now, as an adult, I return to either wanting very straightforward communications of fact and information (the eternal struggle of how much politeness and waffling to put in an email that is primarily for someone to tell someone about a thing) OR the joyous, imperfect but quite truthful process that is people authentically connecting up what makes their brains and hearts go ping for a while in a dance of understanding and nearly understanding;
“The sea! Our joyous swims! Ah-you’re off to your life of Other Things now and I’m off to my life of writing and thinking too much about meditation, croissants and the whereabouts of the Princess of Wales. Let us not try persuade each other into interests we don’t have, but leave that happy encounter there. Look- a cat- but only if you really want to!”.
Loved that insight on language! It's also interesting how you noticed how that person didn't look Portugese from the get-go. That definitely resonates with me. When I lived in England I could speak the language but did not look like I belonged. That made me feel like I was an outsider even more than when I visited Japan and I looooooved it despite not knowing a single word. Humans are fascinating and articles like this open little doors into someone else's experience that we would never otherwise peer into.
As a fellow Autist, I love this piece. I had forgotten how often as a child I heard “you sound like a book!” I was also asked on a regular basis what *country* I was from, despite living in the same area in the Midwest throughout my childhood, because of my precision in language.
Now I want to go spend a week in a place I don’t speak the language and really observe how that feels.