Phone a Friend
It’s doing more for your brain than you think.
One of the hardest parts about living on this island isn’t the isolation—it’s the language. I speak Spanish, but it’s not my native tongue. English is. And while my entire relationship with my husband exists in Spanish and Rapa Nui, and inside that space I feel completely comfortable not speaking perfectly, the moment I step outside of it, something shifts.
Speaking in a second language—especially socially—doesn’t just change what you say. It changes who you are when you say it. My sense of humor doesn’t land the same. My timing is different. The version of me that exists in English—the one that feels quick, sharp, fully expressed—gets slightly out of reach. And it’s subtle, but over time, you feel it.
Because making friends in a language that isn’t yours isn’t just about vocabulary—it’s about identity. It’s about trying to recreate a version of yourself that doesn’t quite transfer the same way. And even though I have a handful of good friends here, people I care about, people I spend time with, there’s still a difference I can feel. Because there’s nothing quite like having a best friend in your own language.
Which is maybe why, without really planning for it, I’ve built my life around one very specific habit.
There’s this idea in learning theory—backed by decades of research—that we don’t actually absorb information well when it comes at us in just one form. The more modalities you engage, the deeper the learning: hearing something, writing it down, speaking it out loud, physically doing it, seeing it reflected back to you.
