The Courage to Sound Dumb: Fumbling Through Progress

Sounding dumb has probably been the biggest hurdle in my language learning journey.

For most of my life, I’ve found that if I studied and worked hard, I could figure things out eventually. A lot of that came from the fact that most things can be learned alone—read the book, watch the video, practice a few times, and you’re on your way. But learning a new language is different. You can’t do it in a vacuum. It requires other people—conversations, mistakes, real interactions.

I’ve been studying Japanese on and off for almost 7 years. Most of that time, I was studying solo: memorizing vocabulary, drilling grammar, going through textbooks. Eventually, I got to the point where I felt pretty confident with basic comprehension. But then I found myself in a real conversation—and I froze. I kept slipping into English or resorting to hand gestures to get my point across.

Fast forward to January 2023: Japan had just reopened after COVID, and I had a trip booked with my friend Stephen. Funny enough, Stephen and I met in our very first Japanese class back in 2018. Neither of us were fluent, but he had definitely picked up more spoken Japanese than I had. I wish I could say I felt confident speaking Japanese around him—but that would be a lie. Like a lot of people, I was afraid of sounding dumb, even in front of a friend who had been on the same journey.

But that fear? It’s all in our heads. Like that cringey thing you did ten years ago that still pops into your mind at random—it doesn’t matter to anyone but you.

I left that trip more motivated than ever to learn. Less than a week after getting home, I booked another trip to Japan for October.

That second trip was a totally different experience. I went with a new group of friends—none of whom spoke any Japanese beyond “arigatou” or “sumimasen.” And honestly? That worked in my favor. I knew I’d be the one doing the talking, and while my Japanese was still far from perfect, I had the space to try without overthinking. Their blind confidence in me gave me the freedom to just go for it.

And it was so much fun.

Every restaurant, bar, or random street conversation became a chance to practice. I pushed myself more with each interaction. Was I speaking fluent Japanese? Absolutely not. Did the people I talked to care? Not even a little.

Now when my friends talk about that trip, they tell people my “fluent” Japanese made everything better. Is it accurate? Not really. Does it feel good? Hell yes.

If you’re learning Japanese, you’ve probably heard the phrase “Nihongo jouzu”—“Your Japanese is very good.” You’ll hear it a lot, often after saying something as simple as “こんにちは” (hello). Some people take it as polite fluff, but here’s my take: take the compliment. You’re learning something incredibly hard, something you don’t have to learn, and Japanese people notice that. They’re usually just showing appreciation. You should, too.

Anyway, I’m starting to ramble, so here’s the bottom line:

The best way to get better at Japanese is to make mistakes.

If you’re not making any, it probably means you’re not putting yourself in situations where mistakes can happen. Some of my favorite moments in Japan have come from just diving into conversations and doing my best to respond. I know I mess up all the time—but that used to stop me. Now, I seek those moments out. And the difference in my progress has been night and day.