Aug 2, 2019 |
“Jesus looked up in the tree and said, ‘Zacchaeus, you come down . . . and I’ll give you a Snicker bar.'”
-ME: circa 1976
Mary Musgrave loved that story.
Not the Zacchaeus one, the one about me rewriting the Bible so it made more sense. I can’t count how many times she retold it, laughing, and nearly in tears.
Mary (pictured above), was my Sunday School teacher, my great friend’s mom, my mom’s best friend, one of the most consistent encouragers in my life and one of the finest examples I have ever seen of how to love people regardless.
Mary died this year . . . on the wrong side of the planet.
In the city and with the people she loved . . . but nowhere near me. Wrong side.
I love living abroad . . . but this part is stupid.
Incessant “goodbyes” are, hands down, the worst part of a global life but it’s a whole new level when you find out that your last goodbye was your last goodbye.
If you’re an expat you know what I mean.
If you’re new to this, or just thinking about it, you should brace for that.
If you love someone who is on the wrong side of the planet — here are some things you should know.
ONE: IT WILL BE AN EXPAT WHO FINALLY INVENTS COST-EFFECTIVE TELEPORTATION
Star Trek made it look so easy — but expats are motivated. We’ll figure it out. Give us a minute.
TWO: EXPAT GUILT IS A REAL THING
There is nothing like the shame dump of being on the wrong side of the globe at critical moments. Missing your nieces and nephews growing up. Parents getting older. Birthdays. Weddings. Big games. Hard things.
And especially last goodbyes.
Feels like you should have been there?
You are SO SO not alone.
THREE: YOU SHOULD PRE-PROCESS REALLY HARD THINGS
Who would you fly home for?
If they died. If they were about to die. If they were sick or hurt or got arrested or just needed you.
Ouch. Right?
Try this one.
Who would you NOT fly home for?
Seriously?
Jerk.
It can feel like playing lifeboat but it’s an important reality for an expat to process. Thinking about the hard stuff before the hard stuff happens will give you the space you need to apply unruffled wisdom when the time comes.
And.
(lean in, I’m about to tell you something)
Flying home does NOT equal love.
It’s not the only way. It doesn’t mean you don’t if you don’t . . . and sometimes . . . you just can’t.
Sometimes you shouldn’t.
You’re not a bad person (at least not because of that).
Listen to my friend Sundae Schneider-Bean pick apart the nuance and challenges of deciding to fly or not fly
FOUR: YOU SHOULD BUDGET ACCORDINGLY
Want to pile an extra load of anxiety on top of the pain of sudden loss?
Add bad financial decisions to a terrible day.
Plan for the unplanned.
FIVE: YOU’RE NOT NORMAL SO YOU SHOULDN’T SETTLE FOR NORMAL MOMENTS
If you’re living on the wrong side of the planet you’ve given something up.
Moments. Lots of them.
The normal people get VOLUME MOMENTS. Regular, everyday moments. Moments in bulk. Simple moments but tons of them.
You don’t have that right now — so crank up the volume on the ones you get.
INTERNALLY and EXTERNALLY.
Internally – PAY ATTENTION to the value of you’re existing relationships. Stop for a minute. Soak them up. Take them in.
They’re really good.
Externally – MAKE IT REAL. Put it out there. Say it . . . until they know it. Don’t assume that they know it even if they should — people are dense.
Say it now.
Before your last goodbye.
WOW!!
For real. This is a depressing blog post huh?
Here’s why it’s fresh for me right now.
A year ago I took a selfie with Mary and hugged her goodbye.
It was our last.
A few weeks ago we stopped in to see Bill (her husband) . . . Snapped a selfie and hugged him goodbye.
That was our last.
I knew it would be.
What I didn’t know was that just an hour before I said my last goodbye to Bill . . .
I also said my last goodbye to my father.
So my point is this . . .
STOP TAKING SELFIES!!
Sorry . . . Just trying to break the tension.
My point is wherever you are on the planet — enjoy every moment you’ve got with your people (here and there) — get intentional about bridging the gaps — and when you hug them goodbye, hold it for just a little bit longer.
Living on the wrong side of the planet? Missing someone who is? Wrestling with loss and distance?
Pass this on.
Aug 23, 2018 |
There are days that expats have to live but normal people never do. I call them Stupid Expat Days.
Where I come from you run to the post office to renew a passport IF you even need one. Not so where I live now.
This time around it was my 8-year-old son who was up for renewal.
That means a big, inconvenient, miss work, skip school trip in the middle of the week to the embassy which is in a different part of the country and that’s just the travel day. By the time that day actually arrived, I had two painful weeks of prep already invested. Faulty websites that gave no confirmation of an actual appointment. Ridiculous phone calls to embassy staff who gave me the equivalent of “go with your gut — if it feels like you’ve got an appointment then show up.” Traipsing across the city at the last minute to track down documents we thought were in our living room. Getting stuff filled out and notarized and searching for the dirt cheapest plane ticket because this was not a planned expense.
Found them. They were SO CHEAP . . . for about 20 seconds.
That’s when I realized I had the little toggle switch set on US Dollars and I was reading it in Chinese Yuan. My happy price got multiplied by 7.
We booked a train.
That meant five hours there and a 1 hour subway for a 30 minute meeting only to sprint back to the subway so we could ride another hour to get to the five hour train home — with an 8 year old who gets cranky when he’s tired.
I woke him up at 4:30 am. It was nearly 1 am when we returned home.
Normal people don’t have to do this stuff. This is a stupid expat day if there ever was one.
Here’s the thing. I’ve only got this kid for a little while and time is moving way too fast.
Passports are the perfect pictoral, timeline reminder of that. Five years at a time we fill out the paperwork and catch ourselves saying how did that even happen? Where did that time go? Look how cute he was.
Looking at my son reframed the whole stupid day for me.
Normal people don’t GET to do this stuff. It was a holiday not a waste of time. Special expat father and expat son bonding, just me and him.
I became dead set on tattooing the phrase “PASSPORT DAY” on his brain so he will tell his kids about it years from now as if it were the pinnacle of his childhood.
“When I was your age we got to do PASSPORT DAYS and they were AMAZING!”
When am I ever going to have 20 straight hours to hang out with this kid and do NOTHING but eat total junk, ride on trains, take selfies and chase a little blue book?
I’ll tell you when . . . when he’s 13 and then NEVER AGAIN.
Great. Now I’m crying because passport days don’t come often enough.
Thanks Blog.
Loving Stupid Expat Days is not simply putting a happy stamp on the hard stuff and it runs far deeper than just “looking on the bright side”. It was a long, long, long day but we found the best bits and we chose to hang out there. I love passport days and my hope is that because I choose celebration, even in the context of the irritation my kids will too.
Judging by the pictures, we’re on the right path.
This was us at the beginning of the day.
And this was us at the end.
I clearly got beaten by my son at Passport Day.
But we both won.
Bring on the Stupid Expat Days.
Jan 2, 2018 |
spoiler alert: There is a free ebook at the end of this post.
I’m excited about something but not because it’s profound. I’m excited because it’s simple.
So simple.
Like insanely simple but I’m watching it work already.
Here’s the dilemma. I’m a parent AND an expat. If you’re not in that same boat you can imagine some of the challenges. If you are in that boat you can feel them.
You know about the internal, nagging whispers of, “am I TOTALLY screwing up my kids by doing this?” You understand the quest for solidity in a life of unending transition. You can grasp the hope for deep connections in an experience that is defined by its disconnections.
Amen?
Anyone?
The challenges are multiple, legit and generally strike a chord with the whole boat.
But the good stuff is REALLY good.
It’s a lot to process and believe me, I do. Sometimes intentionally but I don’t have to flip an “on” switch, it’s just my reality. It’s in my face, all the time, so my opinions, my understanding, and my paradigms are always being formed and reformed whether or not I even know it is happening.
Here’s the simple thing that I’m excited about. If I am constantly processing the paradox of this life abroad — then so is the rest of my family.
There is SO MUCH GOLDEN INSIGHT about this crazy, cross-cultural life packed away just behind their eyeballs.
What energizes them?
What frustrates them?
What confuses them?
What are they most looking forward to AND most afraid of?
What excites me is that all of that is available to me just for the asking . . . if I ask.
Typically though . . . I don’t.
I say, “Hey.”
“How ya’ doin’?”
“How was your day?”
It’s kind of like digging for potatoes in a gold mine.
I like potatoes but come on . . . GOLD.
So I’m trying to figure out how to dig for that gold in my own home and I’m starting by asking questions about my global family . . . to my global family. Not profound questions — simple ones — but deeper than “how was your day?” Questions that focus on the paradox of loving at least two places. Questions that root around in the messiness of living as a family of bumbling foreigners, perpetually on the edge of significant change.
This is what I’m finding — The questions may be simple but the answers are pure and priceless.
Sometimes it’s a nugget that I never imagined was sitting right there.
Sometimes we find things we weren’t even looking for.
Sometimes there is no answer at all but the conversation itself is the rich bit.
Sometimes it’s awkward and weird and it feels like we’re trying too hard so we move on but even then, we learn something.
Regardless — It’s always better than potatoes.
I wrote down 99 questions that I want to ask my family and I’d love to share them with you so you can ask yours too.
If you’re not already on my mailing list just enter your address below to get this in ebook form (you are literally two clicks away). If you are on my email list then check your inbox.
This is the follow up to 99 Questions for Global Friends, another simple little ebook that applies the same principle to your cross-cultural relationships.
You can have that one too for zero extra clicks.
Now. Start digging.
GET 99 QUESTIONS
FOR GLOBAL FAMILIES
Quality conversation starters for families crossing cultures
If this is helpful, let me know. I love hearing global people stories.
If you know someone who might be able to use this, send this post or share it on your socials.
Nov 5, 2017 |
A little back story . . . I grew up in the largest cornfield in the world.
Illinois, (one of 50 United States), is geographically and politically broken into two distinct regions.
Chicago and corn.
You could literally travel for hours in any direction from my home and never leave the cornfield. You’ll pass through some tiny towns and an occasional “big city” (city in finger quotes) but from a bird’s eye you will always be engulfed in corn.
If you had asked younger me where I was from, I would have told you “Decatur” and likely followed that up with, “it’s the third largest city in Illinois”. I was pretty proud of that “fact” (fact in finger quotes) even though it was only true for a short bit of my formative years.
“There are 100,000 people here!”. That number blew my mind. It was also exaggerated by 5% and then 15% and then 27% as my childhood moved forward.
The stats (true or not) made me feel bigger. It was classic overcompensation especially since I didn’t technically live in Decatur.
I lived in the countryside nearby (population 212 counting cows and horses). We bought groceries in Decatur so it seemed right to say I was from there.
We played baseball in a cow pasture and used dry manure for bases. When the cows interrupted the game we would chase them away and they would leave new bases on their way out. It was a sustainable model.
Airplanes excited me. They made white lines in the sky that turned orange when the sun went down and I remember vividly standing on second base, looking up and thinking, “there are people up there . . . and they’re going somewhere.”
I wanted to go somewhere — but airplane travel would be overkill for people who never left the cornfield. I heard once that you could dig a hole to China but even with the shortcut it felt too far away.
If you had offered me a ticket to anywhere I would have chosen anywhere but Illinois.
Click here to read: The Day Grandma Got Us Kicked Out of Mexico
My daughter on the other hand . . .
only sees corn next to the steamed buns and shriveled hot dogs on a stick at the shop outside of our apartment.
If you ask her where she is from she will proudly tell you “America” but don’t let the quick answer fool you. It hasn’t come without some challenging forethought. She wasn’t born there. She doesn’t live there. She hasn’t spent most of her time there but right now . . . in this season . . . she feels like she is “from” there.
I say “fair enough”.
She lives in a big city. Like a real one with no finger quotes. I tell people there are 8 million people in Qingdao and she corrects me instantly.
“9 million Dad.”
She’s right . . . and we both feel a little bigger.
Airplanes excite her. They are the best place in the world for a movie marathon. Back to back new releases for 14 hours.
She prefers the aisle seat but if we fly to Chicago and she leans over at just the right moment she gets to see the largest cornfield in the world.
Turns out it’s a bunch of tiny squares and rectangles all smashed together. Who knew?
I don’t know what she thinks when she sees that but I look down and think, “there is probably some kid down there on second base . . . who needs to clean his shoes before he goes in the house.”
When I ask my daughter where she would like to go I try to throw out options that were unthinkable when I was her age.
Thailand?
Philippines?
Indonesia?
Japan?
I get giddy just thinking about it but she says, “meh.”
Paris on the other hand . . .
If you offered her a ticket to anywhere she would say anywhere but Asia . . . because Asia is her Illinois.
Here’s what I love about raising global kids
Our vast and dramatic differences are actually points of connection. Even though she is growing up both literally and figuratively a world away from where I did — even though we are so very different, I love those moments when it is crystal clear that we are precisely the same.
Sometimes, she thinks exactly like me — she just has a much larger playing field.
That makes me excited about her future.
Feeling different, distant or disconnected from your global kid? Take some intentional time and find your common ground. You’re probably not as different as it feels.
Oct 24, 2017 |
I fear your criticism.
I thought I would be better at this.
I procrastinate.
I sometimes feel like I’m faking it to get by.
If people knew ________ they would be SO disappointed.
I start things and never finish them.
I want you to think I look good.
I need you to think I’m smart.
I hope you think I’m funny.
I’m judging you.
I’d call it an epidemic . . . but it’s a subtle one.
Expats get pounded by perfectionism (more so than the normal-pats). That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.
I’m not a psychologist but I am a bit of an expert on this topic. It’s a part of my job to help expats get real about their issues and perfectionism comes up A LOT. Sometimes it’s an annoying stressor. Sometimes It’s debilitating. Sometimes it’s toxic. I’ve spoken with more than a thousand expats over the past seven years and . . .
Scratch that.
I AM a perfectionist and I’m just now discovering it. It’s not pretty.
It took me so long because I’ve been busy fixing the other perfectionists AND I don’t fit my own stereotype. I’m not “type A”, over-structured, anal retentive, detail crazed, unreasonably demanding or hyper critical.
Turns out perfectionism comes in a lot of different flavors.
Here are some (there are many more)
- The Self-promoter — “If I convince you I’m amazing you won’t know the truth.”
- The Self-deprecator — “I’ll put myself down so you’ll raise me back up.”
- The Workaholic — “I’ll prove my worth by never stopping.”
- The Procrastinator — “I won’t start until I can do it right.”
- The Never Finisher — “There is always one more thing that could be better.”
- The Paralytic — “The way it should be is out of reach, so . . . I can’t move.”
- The Pleaser — “If everyone loves me, they won’t see my flaws.”
- The Hater — “If everyone hates me, I don’t have to care what they think.”
- The Dominator — “If I’m in control, you won’t know that I’m not.”
- The Toxic Defender — “If I can villainize the people around me, I can be the hero.”
- The Loner — “If I stay over here, you won’t see my flaws.”
At a root level for all perfectionists is an unspoken fear. There is an irrational drive to be something (or at least be perceived as something) that is out of reach.
Perfection is never an option but it is always calling.
The internal tension is daunting and the fear of exposure is relentless. To feel constant pressure pushing towards an unattainable goal is a draining existence.
Here’s why expats are especially at risk
The Creamy Crop Syndrome
Most expats have to pass a test to get the gig. It’s (generally) a high-functioning, motivated, well funded crowd. That’s a lot to live up to.
The Invisible Baggage
International assignments come with a clean slate. No one knows all of the stupid things you did in your past. Don’t mess that up.
The Superhero Mentality
People move abroad because they want to fix something and Superheros don’t make mistakes.
The Lone Ranger Complex
International assignments often involve heavy burdens shouldered by a handful of people. Failure would be tragic for the masses, and likely all your fault.
The Facebook Facade
Social media becomes even more significant for disconnected friends and families. However, people tend to post their best moments which creates the facade that everyone else is happy and successful — so you should be too.
The Underestimated Transition
You were a superstar back home. That’s why they wanted you so bad — but it takes time to adjust in a new world. You are never your best in transition which can create a fear of exposure.
The High Hopes of Home
Whether you feel the weight of “we believe in you, (don’t let us down)” or fear the thought of “we told you this was a bad idea (just come back)” pressures from your homeland can intensify the need to succeed.
The Revolving Door
Vulnerability takes time and trust. The constant incoming and outgoing of an expat community can put a strain on both of those.
Risks are compounded by the other risks of living abroad. Isolation. Anonymity. Distance from your traditional support structures. Grief and loss. The stress and shock of ongoing, never ending adjustment.
Cross-cultural transition is a breeding ground for insecurity. Perfectionism is a natural response.
Here’s what we can do about it.
Go first
There is something rich about the three simple words, “I’ll go first.” Step out. Take a risk. Be vulnerable. Finish the sentence, “I’m afraid that if I . . . ” Open the door for other perfectionists to own it.
Write it down
Just start writing. Don’t think. Don’t craft it. Don’t use spell check. Don’t give it to anyone. Writing is a powerful tool to make sense of senseless things.
Drag it into the light
Once people have seen your challenges, your issues and your insecurities, fear of exposure loses it’s grip.
Ask stupid questions
It’s hard to ask questions when you should already know the answers (even if you don’t). Intentionally asking questions that feel stupid breaks down the brick wall between you and learning something new.
Celebrate mistakes
Own it when you mess up. Creating a culture of learning when we trip not only pads the fall, it makes it enjoyable to get back up.
Study Yourself
Know where your drive for perfection comes from. Who did you have to please as a child? What kind of perfectionist are you? What is it doing to you? What about the people around you?
Call it out
Practice the discipline of saying, “yep, there it is” when your perfectionist tendencies pop up. Then move on.
Find safe places
If you fear the consequences of vulnerability, who are the people that would never break your trust? Start there. Talk to someone.
Relationship, Relationship, Relationship
Perfectionism thrives in the shallows. You can hide, judge, please, dominate and appear perfect much more easily in a world full of surface relationships. All of that crumbles when people really know you and you really know them. Invite people into your space.
You’re not so perfect there.
Is this post about you? Do you live abroad and struggle with perfectionism?
If so, share your story. You are SO not alone.
I’ll go first.
I am paralyzed by the thought of criticism. When I write I delete 70% because it’s not perfect. I have started writing multiple books that are floating around on my hard drive,unfinished because they need to be just right. I start and stop ALL THE TIME. I love an accolade but lose sleep when I’ve offended someone. I tell jokes, which protect me, and keep me in the shallows where I’m safe.
I would prefer it if you thought I was perfect.
I’m not.
Aug 29, 2017 |
Spoiler alert for the young and in love . . . marriage is hard.
One more for anyone considering a life abroad. That’s hard too.
You read it here first.
My wife and I have been living both of those realities for a good, long time and to be honest we thought we were pretty solid on both. Oh we knew they were hard (we crossed those bridges ages ago) but we’ve pushed through that part. We’ve survived BOTH honeymoon phases and the crashes that followed. We’ve learned (through repeated trial and even more repeated error) how to be on different pages and stay in the same book. We’ve set up systems for everything from fighting better fights to dealing with my crazy travel schedule.
We’re good at this. That’s what we thought.
Until we found out that we’re not.
Here’s the thing — we recently discovered that our brilliant systems have been skillfully (if not consciously) crafted for the sole purpose of protecting us from the hard stuff.
We call a “time out” when things get heated to protect ourselves from saying stupid things that we don’t really mean (man, I wish we had known how to do that in our first year). We “switch modes” when Daddy travels so she can focus on home and I can focus on work (because both of those are really important).
They’re not BAD plans . . . but they’re not enough either.
Our systems protect us. They have us playing good, solid defense but the best case scenario in any ALL defensive endeavors is that you break even . . . and breaking even only happens when your defense is perfect. Ours is not.
We want more than a break even marriage AND we want more than a so-so life abroad.
So here is my Expat Husband’s Manifesto
My wife will be my first choice.
I am blessed. Super blessed. Hyper blessed. Hashtag blessed with good friends. I genuinely feel guilty sometimes when I think about the number of BFF’s that I have all over the world and I absolutely love spending time with them. They are worth every long trip and every late night.
But my wife will ALWAYS be the one that I pursue the hardest, invest the most in and sacrifice more for.
I will connect when we are disconnected.
I won’t turn our relationship off when we are apart. I won’t “check in” periodically but I will work so she knows that I have never checked out. I’ll tell her when something funny happens. I’ll let her in when I’m stressed out. I’ll text her pictures of things that remind me of her and I’ll do my dead level best with those emoji things.
If she is out of sight I will be intentional about keeping her in my mind.
I will make it real.
There are so many things in my head that rarely make it through my mouth. I will work to change that. She is so incredible. So beautiful. So smart. So creative. So fun. So many things that go unsaid and consequently never become real. I will choke the assumption that she already knows what my brain is thinking.
I will turn my best thoughts and my heartfelt intentions into tangible, touchable realities.
I will close the gap.
I travel for work. She stays home. I’m the extrovert. She’s the inny. I go places and I meet people and they become a part of my world. She has never seen those places or met those people. There is a whole part of my life that is a blurry fog to her.
We’re going to close that gap together. Not all at once and not in huge overwhelming doses but over time and as we are able I am going to take her to the far off places and connect the faces to the names.
I will get the order right.
Our marriage does not exist inside of our life abroad — or my job — or even our family. On the contrary, our lives together are the setting for all of the rest of it. The traveling, the adventures, the bumbling foreigner stories, the good things and the hard things are all side plots in a bigger story. Our story.
We could lose our visas tomorrow. “THIS THING” that we are doing could change a hundred times but we will still be doing this thing together.
I will stay on course.
We have set our trajectory towards “old and gray.” We have unanimously decided that, as we grow old, we want to do MORE of our lives together instead of less. We want to be THAT old couple who always go together.
We’re not there yet. We’re still in the crazy pace, divide and conquer, you pick up the kids and I’ll stop at the veggie shop phase of life . . . but we’re pointed in that direction. As we are able and on a consistently growing scale we are going to move towards doing more and more life together.
I will fall forward.
This would be so much better if I was already good at it. I would love it if I could just write words in a blog post and make it all true, unshakable and resolute — but we’ve been doing this long enough to know that’s not how it works.
I WILL ABSOLUTELY and UNAPOLOGETICALLY DO ALL OF THESE THINGS.
Until I don’t.
And then I’ll do them better the next day.
I love my wife and I love our life abroad.
