Sep 4, 2016 |
I love living abroad. I really do.
Even the stressful stuff cracks me up.
Like the time I got 28 enormous hickeys on my back or the day I discovered I might be Amish.
You can’t make this stuff up.
Life as a bumbling foreigner makes me laugh — some days simply because the alternative involves some combination of thumb sucking, a fetal position, and dents in my wall that match my forehead.
If you can relate — even a little — then you should read this new book:
“THE DAY GRANDMA GOT US KICKED OUT OF MEXICO (and other fun stories about life as a bumbling American foreigner)“
It’s a short compilation of my favorite and funnest stories, interactions and reflections over the past several years and it’s free.
This book is simply about stepping back and enjoying the expat ride . . . bumps and all. There is no moral to the story. No great self-help wisdom. Just a few light-hearted thoughts from the perspective of an American living in China. Incidentally, it might even make a good read for a German living in Brazil . . . or a Kenyan living in Russia.
Probably not a Canadian living in Greece though. That’s pushing it.
Here’s how you get the book. Just sign in below and click on the big red button. Check your email to prove that you are a human (easier for some) and enjoy.
Thanks for reading . . . and for laughing at my Grandma. I hope to return the favor someday.
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If you enjoy the book or you’ve got a fun bumbling foreigner story of your own I’d love to hear about it. Please comment share this post with your friends.
Sep 2, 2016 |
Hey expat. You too repat. When was the last time you laughed?
Like really laughed. Belly laughed until your ears hurt and you actually had to force yourself to think of something sad for fear that you might pull a muscle in your gut. Laughed so hard that you had to fight to catch your breath even after you stopped laughing . . . and then you snorted and started laughing all over again.
I’m not talking “lol” here. I mean “BWAAHAHA!”
How long has it been? How often does it happen?
Too long? Not often enough?
Why is that?
Let me guess. Life happened. Transition got real. Culture shock or re-entry stress hit you like a ton of bricks and you can’t even remember what gut laughing feels like.
In the economy of major life transition, laughter sometimes feels like a luxury that you can’t afford.
I’m right with you . . . but we’re both wrong.
It’s hard to find a better value proposition than laughter. Your investmentment is virtually nothing and the returns are astronomical. Try to get that deal from stress . . . or worry . . . or anger . . . or complaining . . . or overthinking . . . or even venting.
Bottom line? You need to laugh.
Here’s why.
Laughing is healthier and tastes better than Kale
The only thing that disqualifies laughter from being classified as a superfood is that . . . well, technically it’s not a food (if you want to be all picky). However, the studies are in (lots of them) and all of the data points to the same conclusion. Laughing is actually crazy healthy. Physically, emotionally, mentally and socially.
Here are some of the benefits (not making this up).
LAUGHTER CAN:
- Lower blood pressure
- Increase short-term memory
- Lower stress hormones
- Protect against heart disease
- Defend against respiratory infections
- Improve alertness and creativity
- Increase oxygen levels in your blood
- Increase pain tolerance
- Improve metabolism
- Make you blow milk out of your nose which makes other people laugh which resets the whole healthy cycle
Seriously. Kale isn’t even funny. At all.
Laughter is the opposite of everything that stresses you out
Important to note here. Laughter doesn’t SOLVE all of your transition challenges. It’s not going to magically infuse your brain with a foreign language or explain to your family why you’re crying in the cereal aisle. Laughter is not the answer to all of your pain but it might be the break that you need to STOP being consumed by the hard stuff. Even for a little bit.
A good laugh can be a great reset.
There are no Laughter Rehabs
People with issues (like you and me) want to detach. It’s what we do. Unfortunately the unhealthy options that offer a break from hard realities are as unlimited as the devastation that comes as a result of engaging with them. Laughter is all natural with zero negative side effects. So is kale but we’ve covered that.
A good laugh can give you a break without disconnecting or doing damage.
Laughter crosses cultural boundaries
Some of my most enjoyable laughs have been shared with people who speak about five words in my language (which is three more than I speak in theirs). To be clear . . . HUMOR does NOT often cross cultural lines.
Like, hardly ever.
Your jokes are probably not funny to the rest of the world. Sorry, but it’s better you find out here . . . from the guy who has learned the hard way.
HOWEVER — humor is not the only thing worth laughing at. If and when you find that point of connection with someone who is on the other side of a cultural line, it is golden. A good laugh not only crosses cultural barriers — it crushes them and builds a rapport that is hard to find elsewhere.
A note for repats — You’re crossing cultures too.
A good laugh can be a surprisingly great connector.
via GIPHY
Laughing at yourself means you’re doing transition right
If you can’t laugh at yourself in the context of being a bumbling foreigner or returning “home” (and feeling like a bumbling foreigner) you are likely to do one of two things: Explode or Implode. Neither of those is good (just in case you were wondering).
There is only one reason you should laugh at yourself. Ready?
Because you’re funny.
Not so much in the brilliant, well thought out comedic genius kind of way. No no, you’re funny in the cat who falls off a ceiling fan kind of way. You’re making mistakes and falling down even though you look and feel like you shouldn’t be.
Frustrating . . . but funny.
Bumbling and falling can be a shot to your pride for sure — but laughing at yourself can be an indicator that your pride isn’t controlling you. I’m not talking about a self-loathing, self abusive, “I’m too stupid to do anything” laughter — but a healthy acknowledgement that you are not, in fact, the first person to do transition without falling down is a good sign.
A good laugh at yourself is a great gauge for transitional health.
Laughter is a good sign of things to come
Transition is a thief. It temporarily robs you of the comfort and confidence that you enjoyed back when you were settled. Remember those days? You had it all figured out. Now it’s just awkward. You don’t laugh when things are awkward.
Ok you might “lol” . . . but you don’t “BWAAHAHA!!”
So finding a way to genuinely laugh, even before you’re resettled, gives you a glimpse of something good that is coming.
A good laugh can be a great reminder that it’s going to get better.
One important disclaimer that could change everything:
It matters what you laugh at
All of this is out the window if it takes ripping someone else (or yourself for that matter) to shreds for you to laugh. You might still get the sugar rush but it’s not worth the damage you’ll leave behind (and carry with you).
So take some time and get intentional. Try this — Write down five times you can remember laughing til it hurt. Now start making connections. What do they have in common? Where were you? What were you doing? Who were you with? What can you recreate now? What can you not?
Even if transition has made it impossible to reproduce your most laughable moments, don’t give up on finding some new ones.
Why not start with a chuckle? — scroll up to the blue box at the top, right of this page and download my new ebook, “The Day Grandma Got us Kicked Out of Mexico.” It’s full of some of my most frustrating and enjoyable laughs as a bumbling foreigner.
You might relate.
Jul 26, 2016 |
You finally made it. You’re a foreigner . . . in a foreign land. So now what?
There is nothing quite like your first days abroad. It’s magical. All of the anticipation and excitement with none of the baggage (unless you count the actual baggage that you’re living out of). You haven’t yet tripped or bumbled or slipped into any of the inevitable pitfalls. You haven’t snapped or screamed or broken down or crawled into a hole or stayed up all night searching for the cheapest one way ticket home.
It’s a golden time. Bask in it. Breath it in. You haven’t messed it up yet and you — more than any other — have the untarnished potential to do this thing right. The advice for people like you is as plentiful as it is practical — sage wisdom from those who have marched before you:
“Engage the culture.”
“Learn the language.”
“Try the crazy foods.”
“Give more than you take.”
It’s all good counsel and you’ll do well to soak it up like a sponge.
However, there are ten things I wish someone would have told me early on.
I understand why they didn’t but still . . . I wish they had. Here they are.
One: Mess it all up
How’s that for starters? The key to not messing it all up is to mess it all up.
But seriously . . . it is.
Get ready to make some mistakes. Lots of them. Big ones. Little ones. In between ones. Go for broke.
Mistakes are the best chance you’ve got at learning and this is absolutely the best time to make them. Making mistakes while you’re still having fun gives you the chance to laugh at yourself and makes for great Facebook fodder. You’re also much more likely to get grace from the vets and the locals. Take full advantage of your “Oops, I just got here” card.
The flip side (trying to fake perfection) is a miserable place. You won’t fool anyone but yourself. Don’t go there.
Two: Get ripped off
There are few things more frustrating than getting the “foreigner price”. This may or may not be a reality where you are but it’s not uncommon for outsiders to pay more than locals. I have watched otherwise rational, quite lovely expats transform into rage filled monsters, foaming at the mouth and bent on revenge — usually over pocket change.
It’s not the money it’s the principal right? The injustice. The exploitation.
Nope . . . it’s your pride.
You’re new to the system and you got took. Fair enough. When you understand things more you’ll be more equipped to get the best deal. Until then do your best to learn something but know that resentment is a terrible teacher.
The system isn’t new . . . you are . . . and EVERY system (including your own) is designed to get the most money out of people who don’t know better.
Swallow your pride . . . and take someone with you if you’re buying a car.
Three: Don’t listen to the old timers
Discernment is key here. There is often grand wisdom to be gleaned from the seasoned expats around you. They’ve been there. Done that. Probably printed their own T-shirts to prove it.
Respect them and sit at their feet when you get the chance to hear their stories.
However, when someone who has been there for 40 years says, “yeah, you can’t buy ketchup here” or “you can only get there by donkey and it will take three weeks” . . . you might think about getting a second opinion. Sometimes the vets (myself included) offer advice based on their own outdated experience. Things change faster than people do.
Last years newbies may actually be a better resource when it comes to finding the things you need and especially the things you want. They just went through this so not only did they work hard to figure it out they know what you’re going through.
Try finding empathy from an old timer who once rode a donkey for three weeks to buy ketchup. Let me know how that works out.
Four: Be ignorant
Let me rephrase this one. Ignorance is not something that you need to achieve. It’s something that you already are. Embrace that.
Ignorance gets a bad rap. It’s not the same thing as stupid. Stupid is convincing yourself (and trying to convince others) that you know something when you actually don’t. Ignorance is just not knowing it.
People do damage when they act on the pressure to know something that they don’t. However if you are able to recognize just how much you don’t yet grasp you are poised and primed to start soaking up the new.
As a sidenote — Don’t fall for the lie that answers equal understanding. Answers give you one opinion, one perspective, one piece of the full picture. Ask the same question a thousand times to a thousand different people and THEN you’ll start to scratch the surface of understanding. Kind of. Maybe.
Be a constant, relentless learner but never lose sight of how much you still have to learn.
Five: Don’t be helpful
Duane Elmer tells one of my all time favorite stories in his book Cross Cultural Connections. In it a monkey spots a fish caught in the ocean’s current following a typhoon. At great risk to himself, he climbs onto a branch and reaches into the water to pull the fish from danger. Heroically, he lays it on dry land where it can be saved from the raging waters. At first the fish jumped with excitement and then fell into a peaceful rest.
Duane says this, “Joy and satisfaction swelled inside the monkey. He had successfully helped another creature.”
Helping is such a good thing . . . but take the time to understand what is ACTUALLY helpful . . . and what is probably not.
Six: Be offensive
Offensivness (like helpfulness) is a culturally loaded concept. My culture, for example, is currently (what I would call) hyper-selectively concerned with offensiveness. Say the wrong word one time and it could go viral which (this happens every day) might actually ruin your reputation and even cost you your career. However, say the same thing in the name of sarcastic, mocking comedy and it might go viral instantly making you famous and rich.
It’s hard to keep up in your own culture, let alone another.
Offensiveness is nuanced. We tend to filter our understanding of it, however, through our own experience. So, when we cross cultures our most valiant, heart felt attempts to avoid offending fall painfully short . . . because they are rooted in our own cultural perspective.
Give yourself a break. You are going to be offensive at some point. What matters more is that you pick up on the cues when you are and that you are willing to make adjustments even when it doesn’t make sense.
Be especially careful not to react offensively when your offensiveness is called out.
It’s a tangled web but humility breaks you free.
Seven: Have bad days
In China we often say we’re having a “bad China day”. I would bet we’re not the only ones who do that.
Anyone?
Here’s the thing. I have never (not once) said I’m having a “bad America day” and yet I have had hundreds of bad days in America. Unfortunately our host country becomes the dog that gets kicked when things aren’t going our way. It’s there so we transfer our frustration. That can be dangerous.
Sure, sometimes the culture is pushing on your very last nerve but it’s likely that your nerves were raw already.
Blaming sets you up to be bitter . . . which will make for more bad days . . . which will make you more bitter . . .
See where this is going?
It’s ok. Just have a bad day.
Eight: Quit exercising and eating healthy
Just kidding. That’s terrible advice.
Seriously though. Take care of yourself.
Physical, mental and spiritual health take a hit in transition. They are disciplines that work best with a routine. Considering the reality that your routines (the ones from the old country) have been obliterated in the move you might find yourself struggling to stay fit.
That’s why it’s called a discipline.
Work hard to find your new routines. Don’t lie to yourself by saying stuff like “I can’t do that here.”
“I can’t find kale smoothies so I have to eat McDonald’s every day.” “I can’t jog 5 times a week so I haven’t gotten off the couch for a month.”
Let comfort food (the literal and the metaphorical) be a nice treat . . . not a steady diet.
Nine: Crawl in a hole
You read it here first. When you are frustrated by the overwhelming challenges of transition, one of the best things that you can do is hide. Crawl into a hole. Scurry under a rock. Retreat to your cave. Curl up on your couch and binge watch 90’s sitcoms.
But (you knew this part was coming didn’t you?)
Do it with a plan.
It get’s hard sometimes . . . and sometimes you need a break. So take one . . . but before you crawl into a hole decide when you’ll be coming out. Specifically. Exact date and exact time.
Hiding is a great way to retreat, recover, refresh and recharge but you didn’t move all this way to watch Netflix. You can do that anywhere . . . unless Netflix is blocked . . .
Come on Netflix.
Go ahead and hide from reality . . . with a reasonable plan to re-engage it.
Ten: Focus on yourself
I see fabulous foreigners all the time who are the most sacrificial people in the world. Sometimes they even wear it like a badge of honor. “I haven’t had a day off in 6 months . . . I’ll rest when I die.”
Those people do one of two things. They crash and burn OR they help create a culture where crashing and burning is inevitable (and sometimes celebrated) .
Flight attendants say is best, “In the unlikely event that we should lose cabin pressure an oxygen mask will drop in front of you. Please secure your own mask before taking care of others.”
The point is NOT this — You are the most important person on board.
The point IS this — You can’t help anyone while you’re passed out on the airplane floor.
Want your kids to thrive abroad? Your students? Your co-workers? Want to build strong relationships? Engage the culture? Learn the language?
Want to do this right?
Get your mask on and breath normally.
How about you?
Just getting started? What have you learned so far?
Been doing this a while? What do you wish someone would have shared with you early on?
Know someone who is going or gone? Pass this on.
Jun 1, 2016 |
In honor of June . . . (excuse me, I just threw up a little in my mouth) . . . here is a repost of one of my favorites. Enjoy.
Life as an expatriate is tainted by a single word.
“Goodbye.”
By nature, the move TO a foreign country is launched with a massive, painful farewell that is partially numbed by anticipation, excitement, adrenaline and sheer exhaustion. It’s an all out frenzy, as the days are counted down, to spend an appropriate amount of quality time validating every significant relationship (and some that aren’t so significant) wrapped in the chaos of arranging visas, making travel arrangements, finding a home for the hamster, cramming suitcases to just over the allowed weight limit, selling your old Tupperware, your bowling ball, your car and your house.
Honestly . . . and I mean this in the best possible way . . . the initial goodbyes aren’t so bad. Not because we won’t miss those people horribly. We will. But four things make it easier.
1. In the chaos there is no time to breathe, let alone process reality.
2. We knew this was a part of the deal when we decided to move.
3. It’s always easier to leave than to be left.
4. We’ll probably see those people again.
Come on fellow expats – don’t leave me hanging . . . “Did you see what Jerry wrote?! He said leaving his family and friends was easy . . . and wonderful.” Not what I said. But if you’ve been through it you know I’m right. Horrible as it is, the worst of the pain gets overshadowed by the madness.
But that’s only one set of goodbyes.
What you don’t expect when you move to a foreign country is that every June will feel like you’re taking a metaphorical golf club to the metaphorical teeth. Metaphorically speaking of course.
What is really cool about our particular expat experience is the people we meet. The other expats around here are amazing and we’re all in the same expat boat. Actually maybe it’s a submarine because we tend to go a little deeper really quickly. We come from all over the world but we are all sharing the joy and pain of China together. All of our kids are getting stared at and photographed every time we go out. We’re all faking Chinese every time we get in a taxi. None of us knows where to buy good bacon or milk or DVD’s or get our hair cut, or permed or straightened, or dyed (at least without dire consequences). We all know nothing together, but when one of us discovers something there is excessive jubilation. Like warriors returning from a great victory we come together in the expat village square to celebrate and divide the plunder. The children laugh and play games while the men and women riverdance and parade around with hand sewn banners reading, “WE . . . HAVE FOUND BACON!!”
Ok . . . still speaking metaphorically but the points are genuine. We like these people. We connect on a level that is deeper than the surface. We help each other. We laugh with each other. When something horrible happens to one of us we all understand the pain of going through it away from home so we all try to fill in the gaps. Our celebration may take place through email or text messages but when we find something new, we pass it on . . . and we all feel a little bit better.
And in June . . . we say goodbye.
Expats aren’t lifers. There are very few deep roots here. Our kids don’t graduate with the same kids they went to Kindergarten with. Most people stick around two to five years and just a handful stay longer. There are constantly newcomers and constantly outgoers but June is the worst month of all.
Literally, in the course of two weeks we have said goodbye to more than 25 of our friends and that’s a typical June. Ranging from acquaintance to neighbors to close friends it’s a bit surreal to walk through our community and realize, “Oh, the Blabla’s are gone . . . and they’re not coming back”
We’re expert farewellers but with every goodbye there is an ignored reality that we don’t dare mention out loud. We cover it up with overly optimistic and misguided statements like, “We’ll come visit you” and “We’ll skype every week.” Those well wishes help us feel a little better but they don’t come true. The sad truth is that when we say goodbye (with a few beautiful exceptions) we will never see these people again.
So to all of you dirty jokers who have moved on in the past few weeks . . . Thanks for ruining June for the rest of us.
Seriously . . . the kids are out of school, the weather is gorgeous and the smell of barbecue is in the air. It’s supposed to be a happy time. But no. You had to leave and you took your kids with you.
You’ll be missed. Thanks for being expats with us.
May 26, 2016 |
My family’s not normal but let’s be honest . . . neither is yours.
I swear this happened one time — in America to boot.
I was at my hometown mall watching my daughter (a toddler at the time) trip around the foam rubber, indoor playground just outside of the Panda Express. I hadn’t been a father long but I knew from watching TV that playground chit chat was a thing. I was ready — or so I thought.
A woman, whom I believe was Chinese, kicked off a conversation.
“Is that your kid?”
“Good opening question” I thought. “I can do this.”
“Yeah.” I said with a chuckle that simultaneously meant, “isn’t she cute” and “chit chat is easy.”
Her turn.
“She doesn’t look like you.”
I felt like maybe she was unnecessarily stating the obvious but I was not deterred.
Chuckling again I said, “Yeah. She’s adopted.”
Now this is the moment where a normal person has expectations right? You expect any number of responses like — “Aww, that is so sweet” or “Wow, that’s really great” or “Oh cool, my cousin is adopted.”
But nope. I got . . .
“Hmm . . . cause you can’t make one?”
I’m just going to pause my blog for a moment to let the awkwardness fully sink in. Continue when you are able.
I have pondered this moment for more than ten years now and I still don’t know what the right response would have . . . no wait . . . could have been.
“Well, we’ve . . . uh . . . you know . . . we’ve um, tried . . . but uh . . . I’m sorry have we met because I don’t remember catching your name before you know . . . you started asking me about the working order of my reproductive system . . . . . . . . . My name is Jerry?”
Honestly I get it. On two different levels I get it.
Having lived in China since shortly after that moment I’ve learned a lot about (and even come to appreciate) the “unencumbered” nature of Chinese enquiry. If it’s weird, ask about it. Why wouldn’t you?
I also realize that she was just culturally unencumbered enough to enquire about the the same thought that goes through everyone’s head when they see us.
We’re not normal. I get it.
We’re not like the other delightful little mall families whose kids are shrunken versions of themselves (no offense if you are one of those — you’re very cute). We are two white parents with a Chinese daughter and a black son and fair enough, the first thought that you think when you see us may start with “awww” or “hmm” but it ends you “cause you can’t make one.”
It’s ok if you had that thought . . . and thank you for not saying it out loud.
The first thoughts never define a relationship unless the relationship ends there. What you’ll discover, no matter how you choose to get to know us, though, is that we blend.
Beautifully.
In fact we blend so much that now, when I see pictures like the one up there with our faces all squished together, I do a double take . . . and I remember that we really don’t look much like our kids . . . but man we go together.
Seriously.
Look at us.
That’s blended.
I forget though . . . virtually always . . . what is so blatantly obvious to everyone who sees us for the first time. Hang out with us for a day and you’ll forget too.
My family’s not normal but let’s be honest . . . neither is yours. I love it that way.
That’s all.
Do you blend? Your blendedness may look a lot like ours or nothing at all. Either way, take a minute a brag on your family below.
Know some great blended families — pass it on.
Feb 14, 2016 |
We are expats. We say goodbye. A lot.
I could end this post right there and know that I have struck a chord. But I won’t.
If you’re living far from home (or you instinctively use finger quotes when you even say the word “home”) you’ve noticed it. You started this whole thing with a massive (if not universal) round of “goodbyes.” Before you were culture shocked. Before you were homesick. Before you ever felt the sting of being a bumbling foreigner, “Goodbye” was the hurdle you had to jump.
It probably went something like this.
via GIPHY
Who knew that there was a skill set for saying goodbye?
But there is. And you got better. Or maybe you didn’t.
Regardless you realized, somewhere along the line, that the first round of goodbyes was exactly that . . . the first . . . and they haven’t stopped since.
Saying goodbye is hard — even when you’re good at it. So signing on (or being signed on) to a life that includes more farewells than you ever could have imagined is, so very often, the darkest, bitterest, most horrible part of the life cross-cultural.
We have spent the past two weeks rediscovering the brightest, sweetest most wonderful part.
“Hello again.”
I am writing this post under the influence of jet lag having spent some UBER-quality with old friends in Prague. They were the other half of the first double date that my wife and I ever went on. I was their son’s first baby sitter and we lived next door in married student housing. He taught me survival Czech for college credit but all I remembered was “put your hands up and give me some money.”
This trip was my first chance to use that in context.
It was rich to catch up with great friends but it was even richer to take inventory of just how blessed we are with so many great friendships.
I call them “LIFERS” (and in doing so recognize the need to distinguish them from the prison sort).
They are people that we have done life with and connected with on some deep, deep, almost inexplicable level and forged a relationship that will absolutely, unquestionably be life long. They are friends that will always be friends regardless of petty little things like time or geography. Some are family members and we’ve never not known them, some we have grown up with and others we’ve actually spent a remarkably small amount of time with. They are all different but the single uniting feature is that, at some point, it has been hard . . . really hard . . . to say goodbye.
I don’t think you can cram Lifers into a neatly packaged box of easily definable (or even describable characteristics) but here are a few things that I’ve noticed:
Lifers pick up where they left off
There is some kind of wormhole that Lifers step through when they say “hello again”. It’s like the elapsed time since they last said goodbye never happened . . . only it did because you’ve still got those memories and you’ve all grown older but it feels like all of that took place in moments and not years. Catching up on what you’ve missed and reminiscing about your past times together are like red and blue play-dough that get all smashed together in a bluey-red, swirly ball.
It’s weird. But wonderful.
The Lifer connection is not strained by poor communication
There is a security between Lifers that is nether contingent nor fragile. “Hello again’s” are not made awkward by guilt. There is no sense of “I thought we were good friends but you never . . .” There is only, “wow, it’s good to be back together.” You’d think we’d be more ashamed. More apologetic. But there is no need.
It’s unnatural. But refreshing.
Lifers are not threatened by other Lifers
Spending time with some of our favorite friends has got me thinking about just how many favorite friends we have. In fact we loved telling stories of our other favorites to the favorites we were spending time with and we also loved hearing stories of their other favorites. There is real joy and zero jealousy in knowing that our Lifers have other Lifers.
Granted, it might be weird to be in a room with all of our favorites at the same time but the likeliness of that ever happening is slim.
It’s hard to explain. But rock solid.
Lifers laugh at things that are not funny to anyone else in the world
I mean gut laughing. The kind that hurts your ears. Over simple, ridiculous things. Shared moments that you think are hysterical but the entire population of the universe (with the sole exception of your Lifers) would not.
At all.
They would just squint . . . or maybe chuckle because they were embarrassed for you.
You and your Lifers though — you pee in your pants a little bit every time you talk about it.
For example: When I babysat our friend’s son he cried the whole time.
See? You’re squinting. But you should see us laugh (and pee) every single time we talk about it.
It makes no sense. But man it’s funny.
Lifers repeat themselves
When Lifers say “hello again” we have a limited amount of time and the clock starts ticking from the first hug. We also have a limited number of stories to remember because our times together are always short and sweet. So we choose our favorites and we relive them . . . the exact same stories we relived the last time we saw each other and the same stories that will relive again . . . every single time.
I can guarantee that should we all live to be old and senile, that boy’s great grandchildren will know that he cried the whole entire time that I babysat him.
It’s redundant. But it never gets old.
Lifers are worth investment
If your Lifers are like ours they are everywhere — literally spread out across the globe. Unless your bank account is considerably more impressive than ours and you have considerably more free time on your hands than we do, opportunities for reconnection are rare.
So when they come . . . pounce on them.
This time around our Lifers were the ones who opened the door for this to even be possible. We are so thankful they did.
Every Hello Again costs time and it costs money but the return on that investment is impossible to put a tag on.
It’s expensive. But so very worth it.
As a final sidenote I should add that I thought it would be a nice tribute to put pictures of all of our Lifers in this post. Two things stopped me.
• I was afraid I would miss one and they would be like, “oh I see how it is Jerkface” (even though they wouldn’t)
• We’ve got a lot of Lifers. More than I have ever realized.
It’s not a bad problem to have.
Maybe you (like me) have never taken time to count your Lifers. Give it a shot. I would bet you’ll be surprised.
Send them this post and say something like, “Yep. This is you.”
Then start dreaming about your next Hello . . . Again.
I love living abroad. I really do.
