Speaking another language on the phone can be a challenge

I woke up yesterday morning to a WhatsApp message from Juri, my downstairs neighbor: “ciao paul ti posso telefonare?” It was a nice courtesy to ask before he called, since we have a nine-hour time difference. Of course, I said yes, I’d be available, but my answer came with a bit of dread. Is there something wrong with our house? Did a pipe break? Is the roof leaking? But beyond these possibilities, a major part of my reluctance was knowing that I’d have to speak Italian over the phone. Why couldn’t Juri just write to me?

Aurora

It's not that I’m afraid to make mistakes when speaking Italian. I already know I make a million mistakes a minute, and I can accept that. But the combination of the lack of visual cues, the sometimes fuzzy connection, and the inevitable pauses when I have to mentally translate and then come up with the correct Italian words that really bother me. In a face-to-face conversation, I have a better chance of understanding what is said, and the people I’m speaking to can read the confusion on my face when they start talking too quickly. They can also observe that I’m processing the information and working on coming up with a response. On the phone, I feel rushed. Taking five seconds to answer what may be a simple question makes me feel stupid. Or maybe I should say it reveals that I am stupid, which is perhaps what the person I’m speaking to is thinking. Maybe Juri thinks my Italian is better than it is, because I usually communication with him via email or WhatsApp, where I can take my time or even use a translation program.

In any event, Juri did call, and nothing was really wrong with the house. He wanted to paint his veneziani (blinds), and he wondered if I wanted to do ours as well, so we could share the cost of the painting contractor. I said no, because I had painted our veneziani myself last fall. I had noticed that the paint on the metal parts—the hinges and latches—had become worn, and the metal was starting to rust. The rust had made some stains on the walls, something we’ll have to deal with in the future. I had asked Juri this spring if he had any paint of the proper color to cover the rust stains, and he said he would ask the painter. I didn’t ask about this, preferring to wait until we return to Italy to discuss this again in person.

I recently watched a very funny skit by a bilingual Italian woman who offers online language lessons. Aurora often posts humorous conversations with herself that highlight the frustration of learning a new language, and her skit about speaking on the phone cracked me up. It perfectly captures the frustration of being an imperfect language learner and then having to use the phone. You probably need a Facebook account to watch this, but if you can, it’s worth a couple of minutes of your day: https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1BwyMbvBz5/

Wisdom on self-acceptance from a daughter who is beautiful in every way

This message has nothing to do with our Italian adventures, but it is too important to not pass on. At times like this, I wish I had a broader audience, because I would like every young person—and some older ones, too—to hear what one of my wise daughters has to say—about society, about life, about personhood.

This daughter sent me this message in response to a request for a Father’s Day gift. I wrote to all my kids and grandkids: “Please tell me something that you are proud to have done. Maybe it’s something quiet that went unnoticed. Maybe it’s something that you weren’t sure you’d be able to do—but then you did it. Maybe it was something that took patience, perseverance, hard work. Or maybe moral courage. Or kindness. Truly there is no greater gift I can receive than to know that my children and grandchildren have made a positive impact on the world or have overcome obstacles to achieve success.”

All the responses I received were meaningful and special, but this one deserves to be broadcast to the world. It made me happy and sad at the same time. Happy, because of how wise my daughter has become, but sad to hear about the struggles she faced. Maybe I could have done a better job of preparing her for the challenges of life. Well, that ship has sailed, so the next best thing is to share what she wrote, rejoice in her attained wisdom, and hope that her well-expressed message will help someone else.

Dear Dad,

This Father’s Day, you asked me to share something I am proud of. I thought about various accomplishments—degrees, jobs, milestones—but I kept coming back to something more personal and quiet, a sort of shift within myself.

I am proud of learning to accept all of who I am. It didn’t happen overnight—it was a journey of unlearning and relearning. I had to peel back years of shame, release the grip of perfectionism and stop measuring my worth by how others saw me. Choosing self-acceptance meant dismantling unconscious beliefs and learning to trust my own voice. 

From the time we are kids, we get fed images of what girls and women are “supposed” to look like—thin, smooth, symmetrical, forever youthful. These ideals are manufactured by a billion dollar industry that profits from our insecurities, and are upheld by a culture that tethers a woman's value to her appearance. I didn’t choose to internalize those ideas, but I did. And so did my friends, many of whom privately suffered from eating disorders at some point in their lives. Body shame is insidious because it feels so normal in our culture. It's like a low hum in the background of your life, whispering into your head that parts of you are unfit, unworthy and must be hidden or starved if you ever want to be loved. 

The need to police myself for others' approval diverted precious time away from my own growth, joy and self-expression. The energy I wasted being preoccupied with how I look and feeling insecure about it could have gone into things that were real and exciting for me: gardening, dancing, building, dreaming. Unlearning the default shame was the first step on my path to healing and was inspired by my observations of other strong women living their lives boldly and unapologetically (I worked with a few women at a native plant nursery who were very impactful). I started going to therapy and read books by Brené Brown, a researcher who studies shame and vulnerability. I began to see self-acceptance as a radical act, one that reclaims autonomy over how I see myself, how I live in my body, and what I value. I had unknowingly allowed that mental space to be rented out by someone else’s agenda. Piece by piece, I started taking it back. 

Rejecting body shame was—and still is—a process that requires intention, healing, and defiance. It’s daily work and I hope by doing it, I make more space for others to live fully in their bodies too. If I can inspire one young girl to realize how perfectly okay it is to be fully herself, my life will have meant enough to me.

When I stopped believing that my body existed for the approval of others, letting go of the remaining perfectionism that held me back in life seemed to unfold naturally. I used to feel self-conscious about doing anything that I wasn’t skilled at in front of other people. I didn’t want my mistakes or lack of experience to be observed by anyone because it felt shameful and embarrassing. If I looked stupid then I must be stupid. This unconscious belief kept my dreams and goals on hold, paralysing me with a sense of failure before I could even get started. Creativity thrives on trial, error and imperfection. As Jake the Dog says, “Sucking at something is the first step towards being sorta good at something.” This wisdom has been permanently etched in my head ever since I heard it.

Being human is inherently imperfect but imperfection is where the learning happens, where the most honest parts of us are revealed. I’ve come to revel in the messiness of it all. And for that, I am deeply proud. 

Thank you for asking this question. Thank you for loving me exactly as I am.

Happy Father’s Day! I love you, Dad.