ear training

Growing up in Wyoming I was exposed to two different languages: English with consonants in proper places (ie Let’s go. and waTer) or English without proper consonants. (ie Lez go. and waddER) Since moving beyond the borders of this mostly solitary state, I’ve encountered other languages and accents. Sometimes a bit of a southern accent came over my mom especially after speaking to her brothers in Texas or counting eight, nine, TIN. Spokane and the Pacific Northwest have a pretty neutral sound. A dropped “OO” sound in TO creating a word that is more like TAH is common and a hard habit to break, but no big deal. So my real “learnin’” came from my time with Africans. Not only did I hear several different languages and dialects of a certain African regions, but also their English rang with a completely new tenor. A little British influence kept me on my toes, trying to train my ears to new sounds for seemingly familiar words.

Training the ear was a must. Sometimes I had to interpret their English to host families who didn’t have their ears in tune yet. It comes with time, but the process was grueling. In the beginning I wasn’t sure if I was being laughed at because I said, “Repeat again.” for the fifth time or because the teasing comments said about me weren’t meant to be heard.

Ear training requires patience and physical growth. I’m sure if I Googled the subject I would discover how many new synapses are created in the process and how many other areas of the brain are utilized to comprehend a new sounding word. Those numbers don’t matter much. Realizing the effort required physically, mentally, and emotionally has to be experienced.

I’m learning to train my ear to a new accent. Louie Language. Subtle differences are noticeable but hard to interpret sometimes. My responses are sometimes wacky too as I try to speak “normally” without falling into this accent. But just like when I make larger Oh sounds when I hang out with my British friends, I sometimes fall into Louie language. “Why not a nap?” “I’m hurting.” “Can we hang out and rest today?”

But more than this stretched analogy is the issue with communication. Are the words and ideas of conversation with my sister or others with lupus always peppered with symptoms or results of lupus? Do I create meanings for words through that filter just because it’s part of the context of life? And are my words always heard that way? How do I train myself to speak plainly about issues, my needs or misunderstandings? As important, how do I hear and internalize concerns, needs or simple news without putting a Louie accent on it?

I’ve read in several books about the importance of communication in relationships that live with lupus. The realities of the illness require a person to say “not today” or “that’s beyond my energy.” At the same time, the hearer has to know what those things mean without taking a personal affront or judgmental or pitying stance. Likewise, the person living with the person living with lupus has to express her emotions and thoughts without guilt. And the hearer needs to realize its not a personal attack or judgmental statement. That kind of training is difficult. I think it’s more than synapses connecting; I think it requires a growth of the heart. Sometimes that’s where messages are interpreted properly anyway, regardless of accent.

A person who’s learned multiple languages and lived in various places might not hear/speak Louie language any better than me. But it’s worth the effort to learn.
Maybe after I get a good grasp, I’ll visit Louisville.