Before I began a relationship with a man whose native language differs from mine, I never considered what that would be like. I did not wonder whether the situation would result in regular confused facial expressions followed by questions or laughs. Or if misunderstandings due to choosing the wrong word or phrase could end in arguments or worse, hurt, if the benefit of the doubt were not employed. I never thought about my natural level of grace and patience in this situation, not only for him but also for myself. I did not imagine that it could be like a fun riddle to solve at times, and at other times, exhausting for both. Or that it could become normal to finish each other’s sentences when it was obvious what word was stuck in the air, unable to make its way through.

Of course, I have the huge advantage in our relationship in that we communicate in English, my native tongue and one that he had studied, but did not aim to master until recently. For him, it is a constant quest to unlock how to best communicate what he is thinking, feeling, and wanting to express, without always having the right words to string together in the manner he intends. By now, I can communicate freely, without editing my thoughts to a simpler form, rarely needing to back up and reframe when I am met with a confused expression. We joke that I am his private tutor. The truth is that I have learned more English grammar in the last year from him than I remember from school. It turns out that there is a rule behind each instance of: it just sounds right (or wrong).

We do fine, great in fact. We laugh, we start over, we use Google Translate when a specific word is out of reach but essential to the conversation, we listen, and we are patient. Most days, it’s a non-issue.

But something changed towards the end of our van camping trip up north. A new ingredient was introduced. Mental exhaustion set in, and chaos ensued.

Van camping, as wonderful as it is, can become mentally exhausting. The combination of daily driving, plus the near constant look-out for places to dump grey water, or the toilet, or the trash, or to fill the water, or the propane, or the fridge, and of course the fuel tank, slowly takes a toll. Add to that the search to find the optimal place to camp each night, and the most scenic drive to take each day. Your routine is disrupted, and your living space is minimized. Regular unforeseen problems must be solved, on the road, in a new place, with strangers all around, or more likely, no one. Mental fatigue sets in, and with that, for us, the ultimate communication breakdown.

When I become tired, my tongue becomes thick and lazy, and therefore my words are imprecise. The added death blow is that my diaphragm also lacks gusto, and I speak without the requisite force. For him, trying to listen, understand, and speak in a second language when mentally exhausted is like trying to grab a rope that is just out of reach. What were effortless conversations a day before became impossible puzzles to solve overnight, but without the energy and determination to solve them. Confusion that used to be met with the wondering question of, What did you say?, was replaced by merely a statement, I don’t know what you are saying. The will to even clarify and understand had gone. But to our delight, we found that the most important ingredient still remained, our ability to laugh at each other and ourselves. And as long as we retain that, we are still communicating exactly what we need to.