At this point in my life, I've studied a total of ten languages to some significant beginner level or above. Every single language I've studied has been deeply enriching and life-changing in myriad ways, and opened my mind to new ways of building words and structuring thoughts, new mediums of expression, new music, new literature, myths, folklore, and most of all, new friendships and human connections that I would never have been able to have or access otherwise.
Among all of them, my experience learning Icelandic has been quite unique. Not only because of the unique challenges of learning Icelandic specifically as a language (my favorite Icelandic writer, Alda Sigmundsdóttir, very accurately describes her native language as "a bloody mess grammatically, a nightmarish mishmash of inflected nouns, verbs, adjectives, and pronouns, corresponding to four different cases, three different noun genders, moods, voices, and constructions, plus any number of exceptions that rules that seem completely arbitrary, and very often are,"). But also because of the odd ups-and-downs in my timing learning the language - absorbing lots of it in shorter periods of time, but then having it remain relatively dormant in my everyday life for long periods of time, consuming it passively through movie clips or music at best.
I first started learning Icelandic three years ago. I first found myself fascinated with Icelandic when I was falling in love with languages in general around the age of twelve, watching dubbed Disney songs on YouTube, and spellbound by its unfamiliar sounds and distinctive, old letters. But the language had been hovering at the top of my list of languages of greatest interest after I got greatly interested while I was an exchange student in Egypt in high school, and found myself watching videos by a girl who was on exchange in Iceland the same year and with the same program as me, AFS Intercultural Programs, and spent the year hosted in the tiny community of Seyðisfjörður in the Eastfjords. After hearing about her experience - how beautiful the country was and how comfortable she seemed to be there - I did a lot of research about the country and especially the language, and found myself fascinated by its unique history, its strong literary tradition, its expressive and beautiful way of constructing words for new concepts from existing root words in the language, and its importance to the sense of national identity. Being already interested in Nordic languages because of my American grandmother's Swedish heritage, it became one of my languages of greatest interest. When I entered college, I was awarded a grant from my college to construct a project of some academic or professional importance, and decided to take advantage of the chance to finally go to Iceland and try to pick up a little Icelandic.
I participated in the 2016 A1/A2 Icelandic immersion summer course at the University Center of the Westfjords, which was hosted in Núpur, a former well-known boarding school now turned hotel, on a breathakingly beautiful, isolated farm property on the shores of Dýrafjörður, about a half hour drive away from the 2,000-strong de facto capital of the Westfjords, Ísafjörður.
In the old classrooms in one of the far wings of the main building, with majestic views of rolling steppes home to fluffy, free-roaming sheep, and extinct volcanoes slumbering peacefully above the waters of the fjord in the distance, we all learned to express our first tentative and stumbling thoughts in Icelandic, and about the defining characteristics of the language - its cases and verb classes, its unique and sometimes maddening sounds, and its graceful and beautifully constructed compound words. From simple introductions, we passed to simple conversations. From simple conversations to numbers, then to directions, fruits and vegetables, to telling time, talking about ourselves, and so on. At the end, even though the program had only lasted three weeks, we left with not only incredible memories and pictures of the ethereal places we'd been which could barely begin to do them justice, but with a strong base in one of the world's most beautiful, complex, and oldest languages.
Then two years went by without actively studying Icelandic at all.
I did my best to try to keep my understanding of what I'd learned in the Westfjords alive by absorbing the language in passive ways - watching Icelandic clips and videos on YouTube, listening to Icelandic music, even reading passages and sentences from Icelandic Wikipedia articles, writing them down by hand in my notebooks, and underlining or translating unfamiliar words.
But that was about it.
Two full years and a few exchanges in decidedly non-Icelandic-speaking or Nordic countries later, I found myself back in Iceland, this time in Reykjavik, to study in the month-long summer institute at the Árni Magnússon Institute at the University of Iceland, which I had wanted to do since I was seventeen years old and had seen someone post about it in a language enthusiast Facebook group I was a part of, simply called "Polyglots," recommending it to those interested in learning Icelandic.
For a month, together with my dear Italian friend Sofia I'd met on my first program in the Westfjords, together with a whole bunch of fun and friendly new faces, I spent a month cranking my Icelandic back into overdrive. Having spoken scarcely a word of Icelandic in the two years since I'd been there the first time, I figured I'd be speechless for a few days. But in a few icebreaker activities we got started on the first day, I was struck by how naturally and effortlessly "Hæ, ég heiti Nico, ég er frá Bandaríkjunum," (Hi, I'm Nico, I'm from the USA) rolled off my tongue again.
We spent the month in class in a room tucked into a cozy room on the far corner of the bottom floor of Árnagarður, close to the heart of the University of Iceland campus, learning from a teacher named Gísli, who had been the teacher of the other class on my Westfjords program. Due to a month of intensive practice, thankfully with a particular emphasis on developing our speaking skills through rigorous debates, presentations, in-class discussions, and so on, my skills absolutely skyrocketed over the course of the month. Close to the end of the program, I finally met up with my friend Unnur, a Reykjavik local who my friend Salma met at a Youth Parliament in Vienna and put me in contact with, and we had a lovely, nearly two-hour conversation over coffee in which we barely ever resorted to English. Something which I barely imagined being capable of when I started studying Icelandic, and which seemed like a distant dream even when I'd started the month. But yet, there I was, just kind of...doing it, and managing.
That conversation took place two days after the two-year anniversary of when I landed in Iceland for the first time. And it felt like coming full-circle, in a surreal and amazing way - here I was, two years later, having just finished the program I had set out to participate in to begin with, and capable of having a two-hour conversation in Icelandic with relatively few grammatical errors, and scarcely having to fall back on English.
Then I left, and although I was already at work on my Fulbright application to come back as I have now, once again I didn't practice Icelandic almost at all for a year, as I focused on finishing my final year of my undergraduate degree, and dealing with readjustment issues on campus after returning from my year abroad, heartbreak, depression, anxiety, and just an all-around struggle of a time.
Now, of course, I'm back to do (at least - rain check on posting more on current thoughts re:future plans) the first year of the B.A. program in Icelandic as a second language at the University of Iceland through the Fulbright. I've been in Iceland four days shy of two months, and actively learning the language again for a few days less than that. Over the course of my time here so far, I've already improved my language skills tremendously compared to the day that I stumbled off my flight from Chicago back onto Icelandic soil, cheerily humming "Ég er kominn heim" ("I've come home," a famous Icelandic song about homecoming). But I've also reflected a lot on the evolution of my language skills, and come to realize that beyond the unique challenges Icelandic presents as a language, my own experience learning Icelandic has been quite distinct from learning any other language I've studied.
As mentioned, I've learned Icelandic in quite intense and concentrated bursts, with long periods in between where I barely studied it, perhaps occasionally absorbing it in passive ways. But within all the programs that I've done, most of the Icelandic studying I've done has been in immersive classroom environments where everything is done in Icelandic, including explanations of grammar and syntax, with only occasional deviations to English to compensate for moments of truly dramatic incomprehension, or to quickly clarify unknown grammar terms. Additionally, due to the fact that before I was taking part in shorter term programs where I was housed with and spent most of my time around other foreign Icelandic learners, I've only just started to make Icelandic friends this time, and so before I didn't have many chances to practice my language skills outside of the classroom with my Icelandic teachers, and lacked fluid, or especially more colloquial input from native speakers as a result.
As such, my Icelandic knowledge is full of somewhat bizarre contradictions, and areas of great knowledge and ease, complimented by others of total unfamiliarity, even if they're much more applicable to everyday conversations.
I remember quite complex terminology that I learned during the intensive speaking-based immersion of my second summer program, like "opinbert tungumál" (official language), "tvítyngdur" (bilingual), or "málvísindi" (linguistics) with great facility and ease. But when I first arrived this time, I found myself completely stumped by far simpler and everyday conversational words like "aðeins" (something like "[just] a little [more]), "klikkaður" ("crazy"), or "skó" (a ubiquitous filler word with no direct English translation which is usually used at the beginning or end of a sentence or thought).
I still remember numerous scathing and creative Icelandic swear words that I learned during an elective afternoon on my first program in the Westfjords three years ago (I'll do without listing or explaining them for now). But I still mix up "þolfall" and "þágufall" (the words for the accusative and dative cases) every single grammar class.
In the first couple of days, as the cogwheels started turning in my brain and my Icelandic knowledge started to come alive again, I found myself suddenly feeling comfortable doing things again very quickly that I never would have been able to access in my mind quickly and easily a few days earlier, when I hadn't been back or practiced in over a year. I suddenly felt quite capable of handling the simple bureaucratic matters I was running around trying to take care of during my first days in the country ("Góðan daginn, ég flutti nýlega til Íslands og þarf að skrá inn heimilisfangið mitt/sækja kortið mitt, o.s.frv." - "Hello, I've recently moved to Iceland and need to register my address/pick up my card, etc...). But I would go to the IT desk at the university for help with getting my router set up in my dorm room (as the building lacks WiFi), and stand in line like a dear in the headlights, with absolutely no idea how to begin talking about what I needed help with (uh...tölva...samband...herbergið mitt... - "uhh...computer...connection...my room....), so much so that I didn't even try, and in those cases allowed myself to just speak English guilt-free.
With constant and insistent practice sitting in the cozy loft space of my dorm, declining noun after noun and adjective after adjective for hours on end while slowly sipping cups of fruit tea, my grammatical accuracy is slowly improving, and the connections between various endings and cases are gradually growing stronger in my mind, and rolling off the tongue naturally and with greater ease. But I only just learned the phrase "að vera skotinn í [einhverjum]," literally "to be shot in [someone], meaning "to be fond of" or "to have a crush on" someone.
As I've started to get more involved in community spaces with locals, such as the University Choir and the AFS volunteer and returnee community, and make friends within them, my Icelandic skills have taken on entirely new dimensions, and I've been proud of what I've been able to contribute to those conversations, albeit often tentatively and with great trepidation. Depending on the context, speed, and speaking style of the locals around me, I find that I'm often able to understand great chunks of what is going on, and also to contribute, to extents that often surprise me. I played a game of "never have I ever" mostly speaking in Icelandic in a hot tub with people from the choir during our recent choir camp. During the AFS volunteer retreat I participated in earlier this month, I contributed a bit of niche knowledge of bizarre time zones in the Pacific Ocean (specifically how American Samoa and Samoa proper are twenty-three hours apart, in spite of being just over a hundred kilometers from one another) to a conversation about geography and the International Date Line. But conversely, there are times when I am barely able to make sense of anything happening, and have to struggle so much to express myself that my budding skills are scarcely given any benefit of a doubt. I spent a lot of time with the three Icelanders and my Icelandic-speaking Danish professor on a trip I recently went on to a conference outside Copenhagen, and did my best to speak Icelandic with them, but for some reason that I can't quite nail down, I just...struggled. To understand them, to get what they were talking about, to join in conversation. At times, when I feel nervous for what ever reason, my tongue rebels and my mind seems to stop working, and my normally decent accent and conversational flow just disintegrate.
Since people here are so used to speaking English with foreigners, they often switch to English without even thinking of it, or really realizing that they are. In the past, this was something that I struggled with a lot, wondering if that meant that my linguistic knowledge was insufficient or holding back efficient communication, and it would always make me feel frustrated. Due to the overwhelming tide of English influence around the world, but especially here in Iceland, I often feel guilty speaking English abroad, especially when I'm somewhere to learn the local language (which is usually the case when I'm living abroad). Since I worked so hard to get back here specifically to learn and study the language, I feel anxious or guilty for feeling like I'm not taking enough advantage of opportunities to practice with locals, or improving fast enough. But through many conversations with people about these very topics, I've gotten some great perspectives, and realized that it's usually something people do without thinking with foreigners around, just because they're so used to it, and it's not (in most cases, at least) anything that reflects badly on my own abilities or knowledge.
I've also learned over the course of my time learning Nordic languages so far in general to prioritize quality and consistency over quantity in interactions. While it might be frustrating sometimes when people switch to English in short, transactional interactions like paying for groceries or ordering coffee, I would so much rather prioritize having regular, dynamic interactions with friends of mine from the AFS community or the choir where I get much more practice in. Even code-switching occasionally to accommodate others in those groups who maybe don't know any Icelandic or aren't learning it as their exclusive priority of everyday life like I am, I've gotten so much practice and so much insider knowledge (aside from lovely conversations getting to know lovely people) in those spaces which I'm so grateful for.
Guilt and anxiety have always followed me a bit in my journey learning languages, and Icelandic is no exception. When traveling and learning languages, I always strive to be the one to immerse myself, to adapt to my surroundings, to work hard to be able to interact and connect with the people around me in their language since I'm in their country. And when I'm not able to do so, I often struggle with feelings of inadequacy, or complacency in English overpowering knowledge of local or native languages around the world (which is obviously a gigantic systemic issue far bigger than me or my own life, and for which I cannot reasonably hold myself personally responsible).
But among all the insecurities, even just in this month and 26 days since I got back to Iceland, I've been given so many beautiful compliments that have meant so much to me on my Icelandic knowledge, and specifically on my bravery in being willing to talk to people and just throw myself headfirst into conversation without worrying so much about speaking with completely correct grammar or vocabulary.
Sometimes I wake up in the morning (now already in the dark) for my 8:20 am grammar class, and feel so overwhelmed by the endless pages of irregular declensions for every word, arbitrary case changes that follow verbs and prepositions, and countless exceptions to every rule that I feel deterred and hopeless, like I'll never be able to learn Icelandic like I want to.
But then I take a moment to realize just how far I've come in less than two months, from barely being able to string a sentence together, to now being more or less back a graceful conversational equivalent to the one I had at the end of my second summer program, back to being able to talk to people, and to do most simple transactional things in Icelandic with no issue. And sometimes even if I do stumble in a way that clearly betrays my foreignness, I get a kind and sympathetic smile in return, as if to say "I see you, I appreciate that you're trying, don't worry because you're doing great."
And even just with those, I have all the motivation I need to keep moving forward, and not give up on trying to realize this eccentric, crazy, and cherished dream of mine.
Þetta reddast.
Among all of them, my experience learning Icelandic has been quite unique. Not only because of the unique challenges of learning Icelandic specifically as a language (my favorite Icelandic writer, Alda Sigmundsdóttir, very accurately describes her native language as "a bloody mess grammatically, a nightmarish mishmash of inflected nouns, verbs, adjectives, and pronouns, corresponding to four different cases, three different noun genders, moods, voices, and constructions, plus any number of exceptions that rules that seem completely arbitrary, and very often are,"). But also because of the odd ups-and-downs in my timing learning the language - absorbing lots of it in shorter periods of time, but then having it remain relatively dormant in my everyday life for long periods of time, consuming it passively through movie clips or music at best.
I first started learning Icelandic three years ago. I first found myself fascinated with Icelandic when I was falling in love with languages in general around the age of twelve, watching dubbed Disney songs on YouTube, and spellbound by its unfamiliar sounds and distinctive, old letters. But the language had been hovering at the top of my list of languages of greatest interest after I got greatly interested while I was an exchange student in Egypt in high school, and found myself watching videos by a girl who was on exchange in Iceland the same year and with the same program as me, AFS Intercultural Programs, and spent the year hosted in the tiny community of Seyðisfjörður in the Eastfjords. After hearing about her experience - how beautiful the country was and how comfortable she seemed to be there - I did a lot of research about the country and especially the language, and found myself fascinated by its unique history, its strong literary tradition, its expressive and beautiful way of constructing words for new concepts from existing root words in the language, and its importance to the sense of national identity. Being already interested in Nordic languages because of my American grandmother's Swedish heritage, it became one of my languages of greatest interest. When I entered college, I was awarded a grant from my college to construct a project of some academic or professional importance, and decided to take advantage of the chance to finally go to Iceland and try to pick up a little Icelandic.
I participated in the 2016 A1/A2 Icelandic immersion summer course at the University Center of the Westfjords, which was hosted in Núpur, a former well-known boarding school now turned hotel, on a breathakingly beautiful, isolated farm property on the shores of Dýrafjörður, about a half hour drive away from the 2,000-strong de facto capital of the Westfjords, Ísafjörður.
In the old classrooms in one of the far wings of the main building, with majestic views of rolling steppes home to fluffy, free-roaming sheep, and extinct volcanoes slumbering peacefully above the waters of the fjord in the distance, we all learned to express our first tentative and stumbling thoughts in Icelandic, and about the defining characteristics of the language - its cases and verb classes, its unique and sometimes maddening sounds, and its graceful and beautifully constructed compound words. From simple introductions, we passed to simple conversations. From simple conversations to numbers, then to directions, fruits and vegetables, to telling time, talking about ourselves, and so on. At the end, even though the program had only lasted three weeks, we left with not only incredible memories and pictures of the ethereal places we'd been which could barely begin to do them justice, but with a strong base in one of the world's most beautiful, complex, and oldest languages.
Then two years went by without actively studying Icelandic at all.
I did my best to try to keep my understanding of what I'd learned in the Westfjords alive by absorbing the language in passive ways - watching Icelandic clips and videos on YouTube, listening to Icelandic music, even reading passages and sentences from Icelandic Wikipedia articles, writing them down by hand in my notebooks, and underlining or translating unfamiliar words.
But that was about it.
Two full years and a few exchanges in decidedly non-Icelandic-speaking or Nordic countries later, I found myself back in Iceland, this time in Reykjavik, to study in the month-long summer institute at the Árni Magnússon Institute at the University of Iceland, which I had wanted to do since I was seventeen years old and had seen someone post about it in a language enthusiast Facebook group I was a part of, simply called "Polyglots," recommending it to those interested in learning Icelandic.
For a month, together with my dear Italian friend Sofia I'd met on my first program in the Westfjords, together with a whole bunch of fun and friendly new faces, I spent a month cranking my Icelandic back into overdrive. Having spoken scarcely a word of Icelandic in the two years since I'd been there the first time, I figured I'd be speechless for a few days. But in a few icebreaker activities we got started on the first day, I was struck by how naturally and effortlessly "Hæ, ég heiti Nico, ég er frá Bandaríkjunum," (Hi, I'm Nico, I'm from the USA) rolled off my tongue again.
We spent the month in class in a room tucked into a cozy room on the far corner of the bottom floor of Árnagarður, close to the heart of the University of Iceland campus, learning from a teacher named Gísli, who had been the teacher of the other class on my Westfjords program. Due to a month of intensive practice, thankfully with a particular emphasis on developing our speaking skills through rigorous debates, presentations, in-class discussions, and so on, my skills absolutely skyrocketed over the course of the month. Close to the end of the program, I finally met up with my friend Unnur, a Reykjavik local who my friend Salma met at a Youth Parliament in Vienna and put me in contact with, and we had a lovely, nearly two-hour conversation over coffee in which we barely ever resorted to English. Something which I barely imagined being capable of when I started studying Icelandic, and which seemed like a distant dream even when I'd started the month. But yet, there I was, just kind of...doing it, and managing.
That conversation took place two days after the two-year anniversary of when I landed in Iceland for the first time. And it felt like coming full-circle, in a surreal and amazing way - here I was, two years later, having just finished the program I had set out to participate in to begin with, and capable of having a two-hour conversation in Icelandic with relatively few grammatical errors, and scarcely having to fall back on English.
Then I left, and although I was already at work on my Fulbright application to come back as I have now, once again I didn't practice Icelandic almost at all for a year, as I focused on finishing my final year of my undergraduate degree, and dealing with readjustment issues on campus after returning from my year abroad, heartbreak, depression, anxiety, and just an all-around struggle of a time.
Now, of course, I'm back to do (at least - rain check on posting more on current thoughts re:future plans) the first year of the B.A. program in Icelandic as a second language at the University of Iceland through the Fulbright. I've been in Iceland four days shy of two months, and actively learning the language again for a few days less than that. Over the course of my time here so far, I've already improved my language skills tremendously compared to the day that I stumbled off my flight from Chicago back onto Icelandic soil, cheerily humming "Ég er kominn heim" ("I've come home," a famous Icelandic song about homecoming). But I've also reflected a lot on the evolution of my language skills, and come to realize that beyond the unique challenges Icelandic presents as a language, my own experience learning Icelandic has been quite distinct from learning any other language I've studied.
As mentioned, I've learned Icelandic in quite intense and concentrated bursts, with long periods in between where I barely studied it, perhaps occasionally absorbing it in passive ways. But within all the programs that I've done, most of the Icelandic studying I've done has been in immersive classroom environments where everything is done in Icelandic, including explanations of grammar and syntax, with only occasional deviations to English to compensate for moments of truly dramatic incomprehension, or to quickly clarify unknown grammar terms. Additionally, due to the fact that before I was taking part in shorter term programs where I was housed with and spent most of my time around other foreign Icelandic learners, I've only just started to make Icelandic friends this time, and so before I didn't have many chances to practice my language skills outside of the classroom with my Icelandic teachers, and lacked fluid, or especially more colloquial input from native speakers as a result.
As such, my Icelandic knowledge is full of somewhat bizarre contradictions, and areas of great knowledge and ease, complimented by others of total unfamiliarity, even if they're much more applicable to everyday conversations.
I remember quite complex terminology that I learned during the intensive speaking-based immersion of my second summer program, like "opinbert tungumál" (official language), "tvítyngdur" (bilingual), or "málvísindi" (linguistics) with great facility and ease. But when I first arrived this time, I found myself completely stumped by far simpler and everyday conversational words like "aðeins" (something like "[just] a little [more]), "klikkaður" ("crazy"), or "skó" (a ubiquitous filler word with no direct English translation which is usually used at the beginning or end of a sentence or thought).
I still remember numerous scathing and creative Icelandic swear words that I learned during an elective afternoon on my first program in the Westfjords three years ago (I'll do without listing or explaining them for now). But I still mix up "þolfall" and "þágufall" (the words for the accusative and dative cases) every single grammar class.
In the first couple of days, as the cogwheels started turning in my brain and my Icelandic knowledge started to come alive again, I found myself suddenly feeling comfortable doing things again very quickly that I never would have been able to access in my mind quickly and easily a few days earlier, when I hadn't been back or practiced in over a year. I suddenly felt quite capable of handling the simple bureaucratic matters I was running around trying to take care of during my first days in the country ("Góðan daginn, ég flutti nýlega til Íslands og þarf að skrá inn heimilisfangið mitt/sækja kortið mitt, o.s.frv." - "Hello, I've recently moved to Iceland and need to register my address/pick up my card, etc...). But I would go to the IT desk at the university for help with getting my router set up in my dorm room (as the building lacks WiFi), and stand in line like a dear in the headlights, with absolutely no idea how to begin talking about what I needed help with (uh...tölva...samband...herbergið mitt... - "uhh...computer...connection...my room....), so much so that I didn't even try, and in those cases allowed myself to just speak English guilt-free.
With constant and insistent practice sitting in the cozy loft space of my dorm, declining noun after noun and adjective after adjective for hours on end while slowly sipping cups of fruit tea, my grammatical accuracy is slowly improving, and the connections between various endings and cases are gradually growing stronger in my mind, and rolling off the tongue naturally and with greater ease. But I only just learned the phrase "að vera skotinn í [einhverjum]," literally "to be shot in [someone], meaning "to be fond of" or "to have a crush on" someone.
As I've started to get more involved in community spaces with locals, such as the University Choir and the AFS volunteer and returnee community, and make friends within them, my Icelandic skills have taken on entirely new dimensions, and I've been proud of what I've been able to contribute to those conversations, albeit often tentatively and with great trepidation. Depending on the context, speed, and speaking style of the locals around me, I find that I'm often able to understand great chunks of what is going on, and also to contribute, to extents that often surprise me. I played a game of "never have I ever" mostly speaking in Icelandic in a hot tub with people from the choir during our recent choir camp. During the AFS volunteer retreat I participated in earlier this month, I contributed a bit of niche knowledge of bizarre time zones in the Pacific Ocean (specifically how American Samoa and Samoa proper are twenty-three hours apart, in spite of being just over a hundred kilometers from one another) to a conversation about geography and the International Date Line. But conversely, there are times when I am barely able to make sense of anything happening, and have to struggle so much to express myself that my budding skills are scarcely given any benefit of a doubt. I spent a lot of time with the three Icelanders and my Icelandic-speaking Danish professor on a trip I recently went on to a conference outside Copenhagen, and did my best to speak Icelandic with them, but for some reason that I can't quite nail down, I just...struggled. To understand them, to get what they were talking about, to join in conversation. At times, when I feel nervous for what ever reason, my tongue rebels and my mind seems to stop working, and my normally decent accent and conversational flow just disintegrate.
Since people here are so used to speaking English with foreigners, they often switch to English without even thinking of it, or really realizing that they are. In the past, this was something that I struggled with a lot, wondering if that meant that my linguistic knowledge was insufficient or holding back efficient communication, and it would always make me feel frustrated. Due to the overwhelming tide of English influence around the world, but especially here in Iceland, I often feel guilty speaking English abroad, especially when I'm somewhere to learn the local language (which is usually the case when I'm living abroad). Since I worked so hard to get back here specifically to learn and study the language, I feel anxious or guilty for feeling like I'm not taking enough advantage of opportunities to practice with locals, or improving fast enough. But through many conversations with people about these very topics, I've gotten some great perspectives, and realized that it's usually something people do without thinking with foreigners around, just because they're so used to it, and it's not (in most cases, at least) anything that reflects badly on my own abilities or knowledge.
I've also learned over the course of my time learning Nordic languages so far in general to prioritize quality and consistency over quantity in interactions. While it might be frustrating sometimes when people switch to English in short, transactional interactions like paying for groceries or ordering coffee, I would so much rather prioritize having regular, dynamic interactions with friends of mine from the AFS community or the choir where I get much more practice in. Even code-switching occasionally to accommodate others in those groups who maybe don't know any Icelandic or aren't learning it as their exclusive priority of everyday life like I am, I've gotten so much practice and so much insider knowledge (aside from lovely conversations getting to know lovely people) in those spaces which I'm so grateful for.
Guilt and anxiety have always followed me a bit in my journey learning languages, and Icelandic is no exception. When traveling and learning languages, I always strive to be the one to immerse myself, to adapt to my surroundings, to work hard to be able to interact and connect with the people around me in their language since I'm in their country. And when I'm not able to do so, I often struggle with feelings of inadequacy, or complacency in English overpowering knowledge of local or native languages around the world (which is obviously a gigantic systemic issue far bigger than me or my own life, and for which I cannot reasonably hold myself personally responsible).
But among all the insecurities, even just in this month and 26 days since I got back to Iceland, I've been given so many beautiful compliments that have meant so much to me on my Icelandic knowledge, and specifically on my bravery in being willing to talk to people and just throw myself headfirst into conversation without worrying so much about speaking with completely correct grammar or vocabulary.
Sometimes I wake up in the morning (now already in the dark) for my 8:20 am grammar class, and feel so overwhelmed by the endless pages of irregular declensions for every word, arbitrary case changes that follow verbs and prepositions, and countless exceptions to every rule that I feel deterred and hopeless, like I'll never be able to learn Icelandic like I want to.
But then I take a moment to realize just how far I've come in less than two months, from barely being able to string a sentence together, to now being more or less back a graceful conversational equivalent to the one I had at the end of my second summer program, back to being able to talk to people, and to do most simple transactional things in Icelandic with no issue. And sometimes even if I do stumble in a way that clearly betrays my foreignness, I get a kind and sympathetic smile in return, as if to say "I see you, I appreciate that you're trying, don't worry because you're doing great."
And even just with those, I have all the motivation I need to keep moving forward, and not give up on trying to realize this eccentric, crazy, and cherished dream of mine.
Þetta reddast.
Ég las allt til enda! Gangi þér vel!
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