The word is out now, so generally that, at social gatherings such as one is likely to encounter over the holidays, I must relate any plans, any progress I have made in the great but ordinary adventure of becoming Polish. Fair enough. Where originally I had encountered some, not much, but some, unstated resistance to the idea—unwise, impractical, silly and impulsive (as if I’ve ever been any of those things; okay, maybe silly, once; well, it was sort of a phase)—now I receive only approval, enthusiastic support, and, of course, advice. And where auditors earlier registered a certain skeptical suspicion at the idea that I intended to leave momentarily, now a sense of impatience insinuates into the conversation. It may have been a year since they learned, and I’m still here. Perhaps Josh is all talk. (If so, he is certainly not conversationally Polish.) It may be years yet, who knows? I think I’ll leave when they least expect, when everyone has lost interest.
This week I registered for fourth semester Polish, the last of my intended academic exposures to the language and culture. After this, life and work, as it comes.
