I’ve always wanted to learn a second language. Since my wife and I spend so much time in France — and with our oldest son now living here with his family — it felt natural, even necessary, to learn French (le Français, to the locals). But wanting to learn a language and actually doing it are two very different things.
Over the years, I had taken French lessons here and there, downloaded apps, even joined classes. But the results were… uh, underwhelming. At best, I picked up a few pleasantries. I could order wine. Nothing else stuck. My retention — especially short-term — just isn’t what it used to be.
This wasn’t just a personal observation. Arthur Brooks describes it well in his writing on aging and intelligence: as we get older, we gradually transition from what he calls the “Fluid Intelligence Curve” — the kind that helps us learn new information quickly — to the “Crystallized Intelligence Curve,” where we rely more on wisdom, pattern recognition, and years of lived experience rather than raw memory. For many of us, that shift begins quietly, then becomes painfully obvious. In my case, every class I took made it clear: I wasn’t going to learn French the way I might have at age 30 or 40.
And yet, I was determined.
So, my wife Gracie and I took the leap. Last January, she signed us both up for a two-week total immersion experience at the Institut de Français in Villefranche-sur-Mer. The school is highly-regarded and came recommended by a longtime friend of Gracie’s who raved about the experience and insisted we give it a try. So we did.
The “Institut” is a residential school that runs full-time, intensive programs — eight to nine hours a day including breakfast, grammar classes, lunch, language labs, and practicals called séances. That last word — usually associated with the supernatural — felt apt. Those sessions did feel otherworldly at first, until I began to understand the structure and rhythm of what we were doing.
We arrived the weekend before the program started and settled into a small but very comfortable apartment just steps from the school. Villefranche itself is a jewel — a picture-postcard town with sun, sea, good food, and friendly residents who are patient with tourists. I like to think of myself as a little more worldly than the average loud-talking, Nike-shorts-wearing American that shows up in places like this, but hey, I’m still a tourist to the locals.
Anyway, back to the story…
Day one was…bewildering. Everything — and I mean everything — was in French. Even Gracie, who’s more comfortable with the language than I am, looked a bit off balance. And to make things more challenging, our start date placed us in a “débutant” (beginner) program that had already begun, meaning we were going to be behind the others. This is not normally an issue for those coming in with a little French language knowledge, but I, being at zero ability, felt lost. I started to wonder if this had been a huge mistake.
Then came Frédéric, the director of education, who saved the day. It turned out that a few of us — not just me — were behind the curve. So Frédéric grouped us into a smaller class led by a warm, very funny, and incredibly patient teacher named Florian. He immediately plunged us into the language with kindness, a sense of humor, and just the right amount of pressure.
The next two weeks were a whirlwind of unfamiliar pronunciation, vocabulary, and cultural references. I had moments of real pride — like when I finally managed to conjugate a verb correctly for the first time — followed by the day where I couldn’t learn how to count to fifty. At one point, flustered, I blurted out, “Hey, I’m a finance guy! I’m not this stupid!” Everyone laughed — because we were all feeling some version of the same emotion.
But in this discomfort, something important happened: I leaned in. I allowed myself to be a beginner. I let go of needing to be the one with all the answers. And that mindset shift — humbling, yes, but also freeing — changed my perspective. It was exhausting. It was exhilarating. And I loved it.
What I experienced at the Institut wasn’t just about language; it was about shifting my identity. As a transition coach, this hits home. My clients come to me in moments of major life change, the messy middle: leaving a long career, stepping into retirement, launching something new, or wrestling with questions they never thought they’d have to ask — *Who am I now? What’s next for me?* These aren’t problems to be solved; they’re invitations to grow.
Transition isn’t just about rearranging tasks. It’s about letting go of who you were so that a new you can emerge. But that process often requires discomfort, vulnerability, and the willingness to be seen — not as the expert or executive — but as a beginner. Again.
That’s what this immersion experience taught me. I had to surrender decades of professional identity, embrace the awkwardness of not knowing, and trust that learning and growth don’t have an expiration date. And that’s the same work I now ask of the people I coach.
This is what MEA calls “long-life learning.” Not just lifelong in the academic sense, but the ongoing, whole-life practice of staying curious, awake, and open to change. It’s about letting every season of life — even the later chapters — be rich with discovery.
At my age, I’m not building a resume anymore; those days are long gone. I’m building a meaningful life — one of purpose grounded in presence, growth, humility, and service. That’s what keeps me mentally sharp, spiritually engaged, and emotionally alive.
Whether it’s in a French language classroom, a coaching session, a pottery studio, or a garden, the next version of ourselves often begins with a simple choice: to stay curious, to embrace discomfort, and to begin again.
After my immersion at the Institut, I can’t claim to be conversational. But the experience took me from zero to something. I now have a foundation to build upon — and I’m committed to continuing building on that foundation back home.
But one thing is for sure. I’m not finished, and I will be back.
-Bob
Bob Cavnar is a leadership and transition coach helping people navigate change with clarity and purpose. A former CEO and published author, he writes on reinvention, elderhood, and long-life learning through the lens of his Zen practice.