I’ve been on both sides of the classroom divide. For years, I taught creative writing and literature courses at both college and university. It’s difficult work, something one of my former professors once proclaimed “a vocation.” He wasn’t kidding.  

As of last week, I’ve been back in the classroom as a student. This time is different. I’m learning French. The course is the equivalent of a boot camp for non-French speakers, administered by the government of Quebec. 

If you’re scratching your head wondering where the heck Quebec is, let me give you some back story. Quebec is a predominantly French-speaking province in eastern Canada, stretching across the top of New York, Vermont and Maine. You may have heard of its two biggest cities, Montreal and Quebec City. If you’re currently in the U.S. (or Elsewhere, Canada) and thinking to yourself, “Wow, you mean I can visit a place like Europe, and it’s, like, only a couple of hours away?” you’re on the right track. I’d highly recommend it, in fact.

Due to its linguistic and cultural differences, Quebec is known as a “distinct society” within Canada. So, when I say “predominantly” French speaking, I mean it’s the “langue de vie.” In Quebec, street signs are in French. People speak French at the restaurants, and they speak French in the hospitals. To get along here as a resident (as opposed to being a tourist), especially outside of the very bilingual Montreal, you need to be able comprehend and converse in French. And here’s why that’s important for me. 

Right now, for hours ever day, I sit in a classroom and learn the incredibly Byzantine thing that is (Quebec) French grammar.

If you’ve ever read one of my back jacket author bios, you’ll know that my childhood was rather eclectic. I was the kid who moved every six months to a year, changing schools more often than I changed my shoe size. During the summers, I and my siblings would be thrown into the back of a van and driven all over (English-speaking) Canada. All to say — unlike the vast majority of kids in Canada — I didn’t have many opportunities to learn French. 

So right now, for hours ever day, I sit in a classroom and learn the incredibly Byzantine thing that is (Quebec) French grammar, and I work on learning to express myself. 

It’s a humbling experience on so many levels. Most of my fellow classmates are recent immigrants, both to Quebec and to Canada. The halls fill with the mingled sounds of Spanish and Mandarin, Syrian and Greek. I am profoundly moved by these fellow learners — mothers and fathers, grandfathers and young adults — who are working so hard to establish their new lives here.

I also have to get out of my own way. Not to boast, but I’m very proficient in English. I have many university degrees. That doesn’t make learning French easy. In fact, French is one of the more difficult languages. Learning French is a little like learning to use The Force. “There is no try, there is only do, or do not.” (But go ask Yoda to translate that phrase. I’ll bet he’d rather strike you down with a light saber.)

All to say, the autumn rush and patter of heading back to school is one I’m enjoying once more. The class I’m taking is time consuming (hint: if I don’t post often, you’ll now know why). It’s difficult. And it’s freaking awesome. 

Learning is such a privilege. Even if learning French is an absolute necessity, it’s such a profoundly joyful experience. It’s filled with the promise of doors opening (and quite literally, in the sense that maybe one day soon I’ll be able to converse with my neighbours). One could say it’s the epitome of “joie de vivre,” the exultation of spirit. 

And I do so hope you’ll visit. Quebec is like nowhere else on earth.