I learned Portuguese to date in Brazil. It taught me to take dating — and myself —less seriously.

As digital nomads like me bounce from city to city, sampling new foods and lying on new beaches, we live in a liminal zone, far from our hometowns. Often, we're in the company of other travelers in foreign countries and surrounded by other English speakers. This means that while we get to explore world wonders and engage with new cultures, we can also communicate easily during our travels — no Duolingo required. That is, until we try to date the locals.

When I began my traveling era in 2021, I noticed something early on. While many of my straight nomad friends were meeting others and falling in love while traveling, I remained single. There were very few queer nomads; even fewer were single.

My only recourse was to drift away from my nomad circle and meet locals. However, this was easier said than done. In Florianópolis, Brazil, where I was staying during my early months traveling, I found few queer locals who spoke English. If I wanted to date, I'd have to learn Portuguese.

I decided to learn Portuguese to connect with others

At first, I was delighted by the idea. During the pandemic, I'd discovered a love for languages. It had started with a Duolingo Spanish lesson and evolved into weekly iTalki sessions with Spanish and French tutors. Learning through social language learning apps swiftly became my window to other cultures — it gave me opportunities to discover new music and traditions. Learning new languages felt like reshaping my brain to think in a different way.

So, in Brazil, I happily signed up for classes with Celisa Canto, a local Portuguese tutor who adeptly and enthusiastically shepherded me beyond the basic phrases "How are you" and "Thank you" that I'd learned from Duo. (That's "Tudo bem" and "Obrigado," respectively.) But then I went on my first date in Portuguese, and all hell broke loose.

My first date didn't go very well, and I was crushed

I had only been learning Portuguese for two months around the time I went on my first non-English date; at that point, I still hovered around the B1 or B2 level on the universal CEFR scale. This meant that I could make basic sentences, but couldn't understand everything yet.

As a result, I slowly realized that my date was expressing thoughts and feelings that were going over my head. I became frustrated, hampered by my inability to fully express myself. By the end of it, when he miraculously still took me home and tried to bed me, I couldn't go through with it. Disappointed in myself, I left. We ghosted each other after that.

It was only later, after taking more lessons and learning to communicate with Brazilians at a higher-than-toddler level, that I realized my initial mistake. Sure, the language barrier had probably been part of the reason I never made it to a second date with that guy. But I also eventually learned from talking to Brazilian friends — and from watching Brazilian TV — that the culture around dating in Brazil is just different. I had been taking it far too seriously.

I realized I had been taking it too seriously

In Brazil, for many people, it seemed to me like dating was less of a quest to find The One and more of a casual activity that would, at the very least, lead to a very fun night of sex. It was a chance to let loose, to embrace adventure, to relish a new experience. I'll never forget my Brazilian friend telling me, "Stop looking for a boyfriend. None of those other guys are. If they get a boyfriend from all that dating, it's an accident."

Coming from New York, where it often felt like people judged each other based on the milestones they'd reached — in their careers or love lives — this was very refreshing. Here, if things didn't work out, there were no hard feelings. And if you could only say "Tudo bem" and "Obrigado," you could still get laid.

Still, by leveling up my Portuguese, I had far more success in the world of dating. In addition to sprinkling my dates with stimulating conversation, I could communicate my desires more confidently and efficiently. While I still felt humbled every time I stumbled — such as when I forgot the word for fork and called it a "stab spoon" — I embraced it as part of the process.

I realized I was improving my mastery of the language at the same time that I was improving myself, step by step, word by word, and date by date — and I was having fun doing it. Instead of getting down on myself, I started to see it as an opportunity to rewire my brain, dismantle my ego, and open myself to new ways of life. Most of all, it was a reminder to forgive my failures and find joy in existence.