The Story

Growing up in France, I was the kind of child who carried a bilingual dictionary to school. Language fascinated me: the idea that each word in mine might (or might not, as it turned out) have an exact match in English, Spanish, or even Latin; and that finding it meant I could communicate with people from different cultures, read untranslated books, or watch undubbed movies felt exhilarating. But I was aware that our own linguistic habits sometimes lead to assumptions and that false friends abound. So when a teacher marked "lest" wrong on my paper, I felt uncertain. I'd chosen the word on purpose, betting its unusualness might earn a mark, and hearing an English teacher call it invented made me wonder, for a second, if I'd made a mistake without noticing.

I checked. The word existed. And I'd used it correctly.

She'd been certain enough to skip the same checking I did instinctively out of doubt. I didn't know I was right until I looked. She felt sure enough that she didn't think she needed to. The true lesson I learned that day was that certainty is the thief of accuracy.

Fast-forward a couple of decades, and my work still runs on that same logic. A technically faithful translation can still read exactly like a translation. If it reaches the customer's ear untested, a brand's idea of its own voice can ring hollow. As for an article's credibility, it vanishes the instant it draws claims from unchecked sources.