Estoy Aprendiendo

The art of remaining open, curious, and unfinished

Last week, I met up with a friend from the coffee world who was visiting Guatemala from the U.S. We met at my favorite cafe in Antigua, where we talked about our work and our shared Midwest roots over two pour overs. Afterward, we walked to a cervezaria with one of the best rooftop views in the city.

Antigua has a way of making ordinary moments feel a little more magical–the cobblestone streets, the colorful colonial buildings glowing in the early evening light, the volcanoes rising in the distance. It’s a place that reminds you that there is more world than the one you came from.

Since my time in Sri Lanka last summer, I’ve found myself drinking less. Not because I made a conscious decision to stop, but because I realized I didn’t really miss it. The occasions became fewer and farther between. Then, after my October colitis diagnosis, I became even more aware of my body and the ways it communicates with me. I’ve been learning to pay attention to what my body needs and what it rejects.

But on this night, sitting on a rooftop overlooking Antigua, catching up with a friend, I decided to order an IPA.

A few hours later, my body reminded me that the decision wasn’t a good one.

“I am learning,” I wrote in my journal the next day, as my stomach continued to rumble.

Seeing those words on paper made me laugh because estoy aprendiendo is a phrase I say in Spanish almost daily. I offer it when my sentences come out tangled or when I can’t find the word I need. It’s my way of explaining that I’m still figuring things out.

Estoy aprendiendo. I am learning.

In Spanish, I offer the phrase almost as an apology. It’s an explanation for what I don’t yet know, but also a request for others to be patient with me. Please understand that I’m trying, that I’m searching for the right words, that I’m still finding my way in this language.

But in English, the words hold a different meaning. Instead of an excuse, they feel more like an invitation, a willingness to remain open, curious, and unfinished.

“What if I am learning is my approach to life?” I continued writing in my journal. “I’m learning Spanish, to center myself, to be more present, to speak up, to advocate for myself, to not force things, to allow things to evolve as they’re meant to.”

“If we’re not learning, what are we doing?” I continued.

The question reminded me of something my dad said years ago. After retiring early, he declared in the living room one evening that he was done learning. He explained that he was retired and had learned all he needed to.

I was bewildered by the statement. How could someone decide they were done learning?

I could never imagine a life that wasn’t led by curiosity, a life where I stopped allowing myself to be surprised, challenged, or changed.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve wondered if my dad and I were simply defining learning differently. Maybe when he said he was done learning, he meant he was done striving, done with the pressure of constantly improving and proving himself.

But what I heard in that moment was the closing of a door, and I have always been someone who wants to keep doors open.

Learning has never felt like a task to me; it’s a way of being alive.

Curiosity shows up everywhere in my life, perhaps most clearly in the books I choose to read. My reading list is completely eclectic, moving between memoirs, spirituality, anthropology, philosophy, history, and the occasional novel. To some, it might appear scattered, but I see it as a map of my curiosity, a reflection of the questions I keep returning to.

The more I learn, the more comfortable I become with uncertainty. Knowledge does not make the world smaller. Instead, it expands it. The more I understand, the more I realize how much remains unknown.

Living abroad has been perhaps the greatest teacher of this willingness to remain a beginner. Moving to Guatemala has meant becoming a novice at so many things—language, cultural expectations, relationships, and understanding a place that is not my own.

There is great humility in not being able to express yourself exactly as you wish. In English, I can explain complicated ideas, tell stories, make jokes, and communicate nuance. I can say exactly what I mean.

In Spanish, I take long pauses, searching for words that exist somewhere in my mind but remain just beyond my reach. I simplify my thoughts. I listen more carefully. I become more aware of what is being communicated beyond words.

There is a strange vulnerability in not being able to fully express yourself. You become aware of the distance between who you are internally and what you can communicate externally.

There is frustration in that, but I also find something beautiful about it.

I am learning how to be a beginner–to do things before I am good at them, to make mistakes, to ask questions, and to sit without knowing.

I think learning new things requires a certain amount of trust and courage. Trust that the discomfort of not knowing will eventually lead somewhere meaningful. Courage to step into spaces where you might feel awkward, inexperienced, or out of place.

I was reminded of this at a graduation ceremony I attended in 2014, where I joined the graduating class in dancing the Horon, a traditional dance from the Black Sea region of Turkey. I was nervous when the students invited me to join them, but I was also excited to participate. I was willing to step, quite literally, into something completely unfamiliar.

There is a certain freedom that comes when you give yourself permission to learn without expecting yourself to already have the answer.

This is one of the gifts of unfamiliar places: they return us to the humility of being a beginner.

When you step outside your routines, your people, and your surroundings, you are required to pay closer attention. You have to listen differently. You begin noticing assumptions you didn’t even realize you carried.

The world becomes bigger than your own experience.

Maybe that is why learning matters so much to me. Not because I believe there is some point where I will finally know enough, but because learning keeps me open to being changed. It keeps me curious and connected to the endless mystery of being human.

Estoy aprendiendo.