This week has been just as exciting—if not more so—than the last. Over the three-day weekend, my fellow students and I embarked on a quest to Vienna. There, we visited the coffeehouse frequented by Sigmund Freud, the Kunsthistorisches Museum, the modern art museum, and several stunning churches that showcased Vienna’s manufactured beauty. Many of the churches came from a plague-ridden period in Austria, where the bubonic plague ravaged the population. Accordingly, the Austrian population has deeply religious roots, which was especially interesting to learn about.

While the sights were breathtaking, the food was equally impressive—especially compared to Amsterdam’s notoriously mediocre cuisine. It was wonderful to have such ready access to schnitzel and kaiserschmarrn everywhere, and I miss it already.

Also, considering I recently watched Inglourious Basterds, I can finally recognize the Austrian dialect. I was somewhat familiar with it due to my visit to Salzburg, but this visit to Vienna cemented the understanding. I do not know how to describe it, but it is very interesting to learn about dialect differences as I become more familiar with German as a whole.

I am actively learning to communicate in situations where I do not feel confident in my control of language, which is pushing me to adapt more than ever.

Back in Berlin, I grow more comfortable with the city each week. At the gym, I’ve started building a social circle outside my immediate student group, and I’m eager to expand my connections through other commitments. At the gym, my friend group and I have had dinners and conversations about German, which has deepened my appreciation for the social sphere in Berlin. I feel incredibly fortunate to have such easy access to Europe’s wonders, and my friends and I are already planning our next adventure: Prague.

In my internship—and in politics generally—I’m constantly uncertain, which I believe is a good thing. Despite its negative connotations, uncertainty has many benefits. Discomfort and uncertainty create opportunities for change, and change exposes us to new experiences. In my case, I’m directly responsible for an initiative working with citizens in Kreuzberg, applying skills from past jobs in ways I never imagined. I’m lucky to work for an organization that aligns so well with my strengths. I have never been more excited to go to work, considering ninety percent of my work is writing and presenting.

Uncertainty is a catalyst for growth. At my internship, I’ve had countless chances to adapt old frameworks to new challenges—a process I deeply appreciate. That said, unclear directions are an unavoidable side effect of working in a political system deeply proud of its language. German politics operates exclusively in German (a noble practice), but as a foreigner, I sometimes struggle to follow both policy and office dynamics.

Take my coworker, Frank, for example. Frank is a student of philosophy, and has decided to improve his English over the summer with me. Admittedly, he is much more developed with English than I am with German. He occasionally tries to discuss philosophy with me but admits his thoughts are constrained by language. His philosophical focus—transcendental approaches to modern government—is already complex, and translation only complicates it further. Wittgenstein would agree: he argued that language fundamentally limits thought, and his work grappled with the inexpressible.

I do my best to fill in the gaps, but as Kant suggested, we can only feel like we understand. Sometimes, Frank and I might be discussing entirely different concepts without realizing it. Our mutual blind spots could make us believe we agree more than we actually do.

To argue for this, by the way, he illustrated an example of a “second-Earth” where the people spoke “second-(x)language.” This language imitated all the words, with none of the same meanings.

The ambiguity extends to meetings, where my coworkers occasionally switch to German for efficiency. In those moments, I listen for cognates and context clues, piecing together about 75% of the conversation—a success rate I find amusing. I test my comprehension by summarizing in English what I think they said, and I’m usually close.

But I welcome the uncertainty. I navigate it the same way I do everything else: with relentless enthusiasm and optimism. If I knew exactly how everything would unfold, life would be lonely atop that mountain of foresight. What would be the point of education—or even politics—without the unknown? (Author’s note: Nietzsche just raised a fist from the grave to argue for the Übermensch. LOL.)

So I embrace uncertainty, because discomfort demands nothing less than ardent optimism.