My head is spinning with convoluted conjugations. My brain is struggling, fighting to remember the difference between preterite, and imperfect and future and . . . and . . .  my mind goes blank.  It’s my first day in Spanish 203; my first Spanish class since high school over four years ago. What was I thinking?

In the back of my mind, my teacher from all those years ago is whispering in my ear that I’m a failure. She somehow had the power to make me feel like I had the intelligence equal to a fly on the wall. Entering another language class was beginning to feel like an exercise in self-torture.

“You only have to get a C,” I kept reminding myself, without much optimism. To my surprise however, by the end of the day I found myself motivated to go home and review the words ahead of time. And guess what? I liked it!

Somehow a four-year absence and a chance to heal my wounded pride and was able to surpass years of being taught that I was incapable of learning. My realization that day was that I was not bad at learning another language. In fact, I’ve found that each day is a new surprise that I look forward to, so much so that might even continue past the required class for my degree and try to attain the goal I’ve kept suppressed for years: become fluent in another language.