Learning a language, goes without saying, is supremely difficult, especially when you’re already beyond what’s considered prime learning age. Of course I’m of the opinion that one’s never too old or otherwise to learn, but let’s face it, and I speak from experience, learning a language - even a second language - was drastically easier when my age count were still in the single digits.
So what’s it like learning a third language in my late twenties? Constancy. Dreadful constancy. Because I preside in a predominantly English speaking part of the globe and the language I’m learning (Korean) is decidedly not the common tongue, I do not reap the golden benefit of immersion. Ergo in order to dedicate the sufficient of amount time necessary, multiple hours per day, every day, of study, listening, and speaking is required. It’s practically a part-time job. This isn’t the typical college one-hour class three times a week and done sort of endeavor. I’d forget it all soon as you walk out the door.
I’ve had to put in the time, Malcolm Gladwell style. There’s no shortcuts around it.
It’s been and continues to be massive amounts of fun, though. Like solving a puzzle, there first moment i was able to watch a Korean television program without the assistance of English subtitles was absolute magic. I don’t precisely remember that joy when I was learning English in my late singles and early teens, but back then the pendulum was swung towards necessity than genuine desire to learn. That’s simply what immigrating to America at a young age entails. Freedom of choice is a wondrous thing indeed.