Feels like I already lost you
When people are concerned about having to do something they haven’t done for a while, oftentimes friends and family members boost their morale by saying, “It’s just like riding a bike! It’ll all come back to you.”
The idea here being, of course, that no matter how long it’s been since you hopped on your bike to peddle down to the community pool, bike riding is so ingrained in your psyche, you’ll never forget how to do it.
Now, I’ve never been a stellar bike rider to begin with. I actually avoid it because I find it too hard to peddle uphill and too complicated to brake at a red light, jump off the seat, hold the bike awkwardly between my knees, and jump on again when the light sparkles emerald once more.
In any event, I’m a bigger believe in the “use it or lose it” syndrome.
I’ve been listening to “Eat, Pray, Love” on the way to work each day, and Gilbert’s love affair with the Italian language is making me long for Spanish class. After taking four semesters of Spanish in high school and two in college, I can barely get past “Hola, como estas?” these days. Sad but true.
I did want to continue with Espanol while in college; there was just one tiny roadblock. All the classes on the registrar’s website past the intermediate level included hundreds of pages of history and fiction reading, lengthy papers and a lot of analyzing Don Quixote. Since I was already majoring in English, I just couldn’t justify spending that many hours with my Spanish-English dictionary trying to make sense of idiomatic expressions or what was going on in Frida Kahlo’s mind. All I really wanted to do was speak the language, after all.
So I tell myself that one day, when I’m fully “grown up,” I’ll go to language immersion classes. The kind where you split up into pairs and create skits and repeat after the crazy lady penetrating your brain via headset. The kind you find a neon flyer advertisement for at the grocery store, the kind that can only be accessed by a downward sloping stairway under a big awning on a city street.
I imagine I’ll go to such a class after I’ve married well and sent my kids off on the great yellow cheese wagon known as the school bus. I mean, I can’t freelance all day, every day, right? And how much time does house cleaning, cooking dinner and doing the laundry really take? Ah, who am I kidding! I’ll have a maid! And a cook! Or better yet, my husband will cook. Some men do that, don’t they?
Maybe I’ll just cross that bridge when I come to it. But the bottom line is I’m annoyed I lost my Spanish skills. Not to mention my piano, golf, tennis, math and literary analysis skills in no time flat. This might be a slight exaggeration, but I feel like all my newfound journalism knowledge is pushing out the other things I’ve mastered, which now grow dusty and are rusting over in a small brain cavity somewhere behind my left ear.
And I doubt taking the GRE will be “just like riding a bike.” I doubt it’ll be as intuitive as taking the SAT was while I was physically still in high school. Maybe that’s because there wasn’t much that was actually intuitive about the SAT, even with the humongous study guide and weekend prep class. But I went to an elite liberal arts institution and earned a high GPA, so I’ll be fine, right? Right?
Don’t all jump in at once with your gushing praise for my brilliant mind and competent algebra skills!
Crickets . . . perfect.
Guess it’s time to bite the bullet and start studying this weekend.