Scott Brinton

My plane lifted off from Long Island MacArthur Airport in June 1991. The night before, Jupiter, Mars and Venus had aligned in the night sky above my family’s home in Yaphank, in Suffolk County — an auspicious moment that foretold a journey I’m still on today.

That propeller plane — so loud it rattled inside my brain — was headed to Washington, D.C., where I attended a three-day Peace Corps orientation before traveling to Bulgaria for two years of volunteer service as an English teacher. I had joined the corps at 24, in part out of a longing to see the world beyond my hometown. I never imagined how Peace Corps service would reshape my worldview — an experience that resonates today in my teaching as a Hofstra University journalism professor.

I was among the first two dozen Peace Corps volunteers sent to Bulgaria, only 18 months after the fall of communism there. At first I felt excited to be living 4,800 miles from home in a society that moved more slowly, more deliberately, with a deep appreciation for food and wine, art and music. Living in Veliko Tarnovo, a thousand-year-old city perched atop steep hills overlooking the Yantra River, I was happy.

I couldn’t escape the feeling, though, that I was a foreigner, an outsider, despite the many kindnesses that Bulgarians showered on me. Language, in particular, set me apart. Learning Bulgarian — really learning it — might rid me of my sense of otherness, I thought.

Then, amid my Peace Corps service, I married Katerina, a Bulgarian who taught — and still teaches — English. I wanted — needed — to feel more connected to her family, who became my family.

Katerina and I have spoken Bulgarian together, on and off, for nearly 35 years. Last summer I measured my listening, speaking, reading and writing skills with multiple A.I.-designed tests. After days of evaluation, A.I. delivered its verdict: My Bulgarian fell within the “lower intermediate” range.

I had long known that it was riddled with grammar errors, and I often struggled to pronounce many of the sounds unique to the language — but lower intermediate? Nothing like A.I. to offer a harsh dose of reality.

I resolved to improve, and I’ve practiced and studied the language daily since. I talk with Katerina on walks through our Merrick neighborhood; read the Bulgarian-American community newspaper Sega; watch Bulgarian newscasts, TV series and movies; listen constantly to the Bulgarian alternative rock band Ostava; translate children’s books and Facebook posts; and drill with flashcards and grammar guides.

Slowly, steadily, I’ve moved up to upper intermediate. Progress has been hard-fought, though, full of minor wins rather than big breakthroughs — recalling an infrequently used word and dropping it into a sentence, pronouncing a tongue-twisting noun, deciphering word order to interpret a text.

I’m often frustrated and always humbled. I can understand 75 percent or so of spoken Bulgarian, but being able to speak it and write it quickly and eloquently is another matter entirely. As a writer and journalism professor, it’s maddening when I fumble over Bulgarian words, as I often do. Words are my currency, my livelihood. They need to flow. Based on my current progress, I’ll likely need another three to six years of daily study to reach the advanced level of fluency.

Pushing myself to learn Bulgarian at a higher level has given me pause to think of the Latino and Haitian communities that I’ve covered and researched in Hempstead and Uniondale in recent years. I think of the immigrants who must navigate schools, workplaces, doctors’ offices and government agencies in a language they are often still learning, while negotiating an increasingly complicated and precarious immigration system.

Imagine moving through the world understanding only 75 percent of the critical information you need for daily survival — or 50 percent, or less — and dealing with the anxiety that must come with that lack of knowledge. The fear. Possibly depression.

I set out last year to improve my Bulgarian because I want to understand my wife’s culture on a deeper level, and language is central to culture. I do not, however, need Bulgarian to survive. English, on the other hand, is vital to immigrants’ daily existence in the U.S.

It’s a lifeline in an increasingly hostile sea.

Scott Brinton, a former Herald executive, directs Hofstra University’s Graduate Journalism Program and coordinates its new Peace Corps Prep Program.