collecting words here…

It feels like a joke, but a few days ago, on Halloween, I finished Duolingo’s German course. The realization didn’t hit me until a couple of days later on my bus commute when I wondered why I was no longer getting new lessons. A quick check confirmed it: the course was complete, and now I’d only be getting reviews.

This was both disappointing and a relief. The relief comes from not feeling compelled to renew the subscription—my child and I received a year of Super Duolingo as a gift, and my child isn’t keen on language learning. While we’ll still maintain the streak (for reasons I can’t quite articulate, but we will), the pressure is off.

I’m actually not a big fan of the Duolingo learning style—the fill-in-the-blanks and translation drills. While declensions are important, I prefer using materials targeted for native speakers, like watching the Tagesschau or reading Momo, even if I miss a lot of information. I don’t need to understand everything, just as I didn’t understand everything adults said when I was a child.

To maintain the streak, I started Italian because the German reviews felt boring. In doing so, I made a bigger realization: language learning itself is a form of meditation for me.

That feeling of focusing on a new word and absorbing it is like breathing. During the short two-minute lesson, I felt selfless. I was just absorbing those five or six words Duolingo presents. After learning simple terms (Per favore, Grazie, Tè, Caffè, Zucchero), I felt surprisingly content, even though I have no serious intention of learning Italian.

The Active Emptiness
The biggest realization is that I am using language acquisition as a meditative practice. Unlike conventional meditation, which asks the mind to empty itself and passively observe, language learning requires me to actively empty my mind of distraction to be present.

Work fatigue, life responsibilities, and chores instantly vanish. My attention is wholly given to the sound of “tè, per favore” or to understanding why kontrollieren means to control in one German context but to scrutinize in another. It’s an unconventional form of mindfulness, but one that holds deep meaning for me. In that moment, I’m removed from myself and transported to a realm where I am solely focused on understanding something that has nothing to do with my daily obligations.

No, I’m not going to learn Italian seriously—at least not until my German reaches a B2 level. But those quick two-minute lessons show me how precious it is to let the mind be empty and receptive to whatever comes.