The Joy of Exhaustion, or [–low]

They were right. But at the same time, so was my uncharacteristically optimistic expectation that with the ability to freely choose what I do and do not want to concern myself with academically will come greater productivity. Indeed I find myself spending more time studying than I did before, but most of the time it barely feels like it. Last week, I spent tens of hours on my Dialectology project: with the help of a transcript, I produced and analysed phonetic transcriptions and spectrograms of words taken from a 1961 recording of a speaker from St Kilda. The week before, I spent two days and the majority of a night formulating phonological rules by which a list of Latin nominatives and genitives that we got given could be flawlessly generated (just to paint a picture of what exactly it is that Celtic and Linguistics students do) – all the while, I was utterly captivated.

But the reader will probably be more interested in the news of my volunteering at the Saturday Czech school and nursery run by the Scottish Czech & Slovak Fund. It all began when I contacted Ms Veronika Macleod, who has been teaching Czech to adults for a couple of years now as part of the University’s Languages for All programme, asking if she could use my help in any capacity. She, in turn, informed me that I would probably be of most use as part of this new project. I was not entirely sure to begin with whether I can imagine myself working with children; anyone who knows me will tell you that I am often nervous in their presence, having no idea what to say or do.

However, I’m proud of the fact that it did not take me long to recognise what a great opportunity this was. A friend of mine once told me that if the thought of something makes him uncomfortable, he makes a point out of doing it – I have been experimenting this ever since, and it has always paid off so far. It does sound incredibly simplistic, but one often fails to even recognise one’s tendency to stay firmly within one’s comfort zone, while growth and progress, it would appear, are endemic to the uncomfortable unknown.

And so I agreed and went head first into my first shift at the nursery. The teachers had decided that my undivided attention should be directed towards a boy who finds it difficult to join in with the group activities on account of that he does not actually understand Czech. I sat down with him in the corner of the room, teaching him colour terms and colouring in autumnal scenes, hoping that my utter lack of teaching experience does not fan enough frustration within him for his already rather tested patience to go down in its flames. While there were a few challenging moments, on the whole I was happy with my learning-as-I-go-along and did not let myself be too hard on myself.

As soon as the first hour is over, I am already being invited into the group to play squirrels, and so I suddenly find myself in the eye of the storm, holding out a red bowl as my team puts peanuts they have gathered, one at a time, from the middle of the room into it. We collect 54, and although the greens managed 55, our squirrels will definitely have plenty to eat over the winter too. Before I can as much as pause for a breath, we’re jumping across the room like hares, after which it’s snack time for the kids while me and one of the teachers quickly draw 17 bare trees so that there is something to glue and draw leaves onto in the following arts activity. I’m sweaty and exhausted, but I find myself really enjoying the whole thing – and thus passes the rest of the afternoon, before it’s finally time to learn a new verse of a St Nicholas song and go back to parents. Everyone’s telling me that I’m done well, and I allow myself to believe them. I leave completely knackered, but knackered by work that is not only charitable, but also fun. I hope I’m going to feel like this every single time.