In my years working in language education, I've been asked one question approximately a million times:
"James, how long will it take me to speak English fluently?"
It's a perfectly reasonable question. But when I ask people what they actually mean by fluent, things get interesting.
Usually, they want perfect grammar, an enormous vocabulary, absolutely no hesitation and, ideally, to sound as if they've just stepped out of a Netflix series set in New York.
So, essentially, they want to become a completely different person. In English.
Well, I've got some news for you. That's not fluency. That's an identity crisis.
Fluency is about being yourself (just in another language)
For me, fluency isn't about speaking perfectly. It's about communicating naturally.
It's thinking on your feet and handling the unexpected question. It's telling a story, giving an opinion, making someone laugh or having a good old-fashioned disagreement. In short, it's letting your personality through.
Because what a shame it would be to spend years learning English only to become the most grammatically accurate, utterly personality-free version of yourself.
I've met people with near-flawless grammar who freeze in a spontaneous conversation. I've also met people who make mistakes left, right and centre, yet walk into a room, build relationships and charm absolutely everyone.
And do you know what? They're communicating brilliantly.
Of course grammar and vocabulary matter. I'm not suggesting you throw your textbooks out of the window. We do, after all, run a language school.
But language is about connecting with people, not sitting a never-ending grammar exam.
Now, about that accent of yours…
The other question I hear constantly is:
"How can I lose my accent?"
My immediate reaction is usually: Where exactly did you lose it? Have you checked under the sofa?
Jokes aside, I find the question fascinating, because every single one of us has an accent.
I'm Scottish. Born and raised in Glasgow, no less. I've since lived in London, spent years in Mexico City and met people from all over the world, and my accent has definitely changed along the way.
Some of my vowels have softened. My intonation has shifted. Occasionally I hear myself say something in a way that would have horrified my younger Glaswegian self.
But I'm still unmistakably Scottish, and incredibly proud of it. My accent tells a story: where I come from, the people who've shaped me and the places I've called home.
Why on earth would I want to erase that?
And why should you feel you need to erase yours?
"But actors learn accents!"
Let's be clear: you absolutely can learn a different accent. Actors do it all the time.
British actors become convincing Americans. Americans suddenly sound as if they've spent their entire lives in London. And then there's Mel Gibson in Braveheart and Mike Myers in Shrek, whose interpretations of a Scottish accent are… well, let's call them creative.
As a Glaswegian, I feel personally entitled to comment.
Although, to be fair, Shrek probably sounds more Scottish than half the people Hollywood has let near the accent.
Actors spend hours with dialect coaches, drilling individual sounds and mastering rhythm and intonation. You can learn those skills too.
But here's my question: should that really be your priority?
If you're so busy perfecting your American R that you're afraid to speak up in a business meeting, perhaps we've got our priorities a little backwards.
I'd much rather you confidently share your ideas in your own accent than sit in silence, mentally rehearsing how to say quarterly revenue like someone from Manhattan.
And if Hollywood actors can make millions with questionable Scottish accents, perhaps your perfectly lovely Mexican accent isn't quite the professional obstacle you think it is.
Learning an accent and learning to communicate fluently are two very different things.
