Ten years ago today I hit “publish” for the first time. I had no clue.
I had no clear agenda. No long term goal. No 10 step plan for optimizing SEO, driving traffic, managing bounce rate, or maximizing widgets.
I barely knew what a blog was.
I just knew that cultures, smashing together, mixing, tangling, merging, jumbling, sometimes exploding, but always blending, was something that sparked my synapses, and I wanted a place to write about it.
So, with the expert tech support of my way cooler and much more savvy colleagues, we launched a blog with this post.
The Culture Blend has been a decade long whiteboard for scribbling out the thoughts that keep me up at night and a platform for sharing what I am learning along the way. It has followed me through repatriation, re-expatriation, experimental expatriation, and re-repatriation and it has given birth to three books.
More than anything … it has been a point of connection. A watering hole where global beasts and traveling herds with vast differences and similar stories have come together, interacted, gotten some refreshment, and moved on to the next thing. I am so thankful for the kindred souls that I may never have met had I never hit “publish” in 2011.
So if you’ve got a minute, celebrate with me. Reminisce a little. Dig into something you missed along the way. Connect. Reconnect. Reach out to your global people and remember how good it is when cultures blend.
Here are the Top Ten Culture Blend Posts from the past ten years
No animals were harmed in the posting of this blog.
I’m pretty proud of that.
My mother crocheted this basketball for me more than 35 years ago. For context, she was the most gracious, tender, sweet, kind-hearted, loving knockoff artist and brand thief that has ever lived.
This ball was her response to my ridiculous, preteen desire for a Nerf hoop. You know — the kind kids used to hang on the back of their bedroom doors before smartphones were invented. The kind that probably cost about $3 in 1982. The kind all the normal kids had.
She also crocheted a hoop to go with it because she had mad yarn skills and a hypersensitive frugality gland.
I did life with this ball. Perfected my jumper. Dunked like Jordan in slow motion. Played a million games of HORSE. I even used it as the key gauge of discernment for a solid portion of my teenage years.
“If this goes in she totally likes me . . . ok, two out of three.”
Other kids had magic 8 balls. Mom offered to crochet one of those too. I passed.
In many ways, it sparked my life long love for basketball which led me to TWO high school state championships (of small Christian, private schools in Illinois) AND nearly launched a career modeling short shorts.
I’ll pause for a moment and let you take that in.
I realized something important last summer when I stumbled across my ball packed away in one of our sentimental boxes of “stuff we don’t want to throw away but also don’t want to ship all over the world a dozen times” (ask any expat if that’s confusing).
This ball is a ROCK for me. Not literally.
A ROCK is something I talk a lot about and it is CRITICAL for your kids, especially if they’re growing up under the constant cloud of neverending global transition (like mine are).
It’s a super simple concept really:
ROCKS don’t move when everything else does.
Say it backwards.
When everything else moves . . . Rocks don’t.
This is a massive game-changer for families who encounter incessant change. If that describes you then you’ve probably uttered these words in a time of chaos and self-pity:
“UGH!! EVERYTHING IS CHANGING . . . AGAIN!”
ZERO judgment here but that’s a horrible lie that we choose to believe. NOT EVERYTHING is changing but when it feels like that, it is time to get CRYSTAL CLEAR on what is STAYING THE SAME . . . what CAN stay the same.
ROCKS are the nouns and the verbs that can be true and present whether you live in a cornfield in Illinois, an apartment in China or a space station on Mars.
So I was thrilled to pass on a stable piece of my childhood to my son.
Then we got a dog — and you know what happens next.
But here’s the big, heart-wrenching REST OF THE STORY.
Ready for this?
My son (who just turned 10) broke the news to me with tact and empathy well beyond his years.
“Uhh. Dad. Do you know how to sew?”
“Yeah, a little. Why do you ask?”
With appropriate fear and sensitivity to what might happen next, he held up the shredded ball.
(next part censored)
After a few minutes (but well before the steam had stopped rolling out of my ears) he spoke with a shaky voice that I’ve only heard from others offering condolences at a funeral.
“Dad.”
Me, still fuming, flaring my nose, gritting my teeth and determined not to take it out on him.
“Yes.”
“I’m feeling two emotions right now.”
“Ok.”
“One. Sadness. Because this is the only thing I have from Grandma Paula and I never even got to meet her.”
“Ok.”
“And two. Forgiveness.”
And here are the morals of the story:
ROCKS matter. Whoever you are — however you are doing life — something needs to NOT change.
Even ROCKS don’t last forever. Stuffed ducks get lost. 8 balls break. Dogs happen.
The things that ROCKS represent, and teach and instill in the character of your kids are worth a billion times more.
It feels really good when you realize you are raising kids who are better than you.
And here is the happy ending.
I think we can save the ball. Won’t be perfect. But even the scar . . . will be a reminder of forgiveness.
And hey — if you don’t know what your rocks are . . . figure them out.
This post is especially for those of you on the cusp of the BIG MOVE. What an exciting time, right? Packing the bags. Selling the stuff. Applying for visas. Family farewells.
There is a wealth of expectation-setting information out there and a ton of draw-you-hither messages promising the adventure of a lifetime.
“Make a difference!”
“Impact people!”
“Change the world!”
Pay attention. Soak it up. Take it in.
But just in case no one else thinks to mention them.
Here are 25 things that often get passed over on the front end.
1. Some days the most adventurous thing you’ll do is wash dishes.
It’s true. Life happens and when it does, someone still needs to clean up. Sorry.
2. You’re not the smartest person in the whole country.
Take a breath. Sit down if you need to. You will definitely FEEL like you know more than anyone around you simply because they are obviously doing EVERYTHING all wrong. Give it some time and it will become clear. Everyone is not dumb.
3. You can’t do little stuff
Like simple stuff. Easy stuff. Stuff you’ve been doing since forever. Stuff like buying cucumbers and saying words. Things you’ve taken for granted may very well seem out of reach. (Secret sauce? — give it some time)
4. You can’t do big stuff either
All the visions of grandeur that you come in packed and loaded with take time too. Here’s a tip — Learn to buy cucumbers first, then change the world.
5. You should embrace ignorance
Only (and I mean this sincerely) because you are . . . ignorant that is. Horribly. Painfully. You just don’t know — and that’s ok. In fact, it’s beautiful. You’re not supposed to know yet. You will know later . . . but NOT if you THINK you know now. Why would you even try to learn what you think you already know? Does that make sense?
Read it again.
And then embrace ignorance.
6. You were right about everything
You’ll probably notice this one right off the bat. Every stereotype. Every presupposition. Every assumption you have ever made about this place and these people is absolutely true.
Pat yourself on the back.
7. You were wrong about everything
There had to be a catch didn’t there? Keep looking. Keep watching. There is always more to it and even though your stereotypes were spot on they were also SO incomplete.
Don’t stop learning.
8. This is going to pound the snot out of everything you hold dear
Living abroad messes things up. Maybe you should have stayed home.
9. Your worst You is coming
Like really. The You that you’ve been hiding from everyone is likely to show up at some point in this endeavor. Exhaustion. Isolation. Grief. Frustration. Language barriers. Confusion. Total incompetence. They all have a way of pulling out our worst traits. If this is your main concern — skip to number 25.
10. Issues travel
Think you’re escaping your worst habits? Moving abroad to fix your marriage? Turning over a new leaf in a new country? Maybe think again.
Needy people smashed together is also a recipe for ZERO personal space. Everybody in your business. Hard to keep a secret. “He said that she said that you said.” Brace yourself.
16. Community is really hard to reproduce
Just in case you get any fancy ideas about trying to make a carbon copy of the beautiful community that you experience when you move on to the next place . . . you should know . . . every community experience is unique.
Let it be.
17. The Exodus is coming
Expats leave. A lot. Sometimes in herds. Goodbyes are a hard reality of life abroad.
18. There is nothing in the world better than a cardboard box
Goodies from home light up the whole week. Plant those seeds now in the people who are most likely to send them.
19. You can love two places
You don’t have to stop loving your passport country to love your host. Vice versa . . . multiplied by as many countries as you live in.
20. Time does not always equal wisdom
Expat veterans know stuff. But 20 years of pompous ethnocentrism is not the well you want to be drawing from. Choose your mentors wisely.
21. You’re not going to be that excited about learning a language three months from now
Learning a new language is most exciting before you begin. Push through the dip. Stick with it even when it’s the most frustrating part of your existence.
22. You’re probably going to act like an idiot
Just wrap your head around that. Tuck it away until it happens. Then come back and read the next line . . .
“TOLD YA’ SO!”
23. This is going to change you
You ready for that? It is. You will never be the same.
24. Time doesn’t stand still
Guess what. All those people at home . . . the ones you’re saying goodbye to. They don’t stay the same either.
25. Grace changes everything
Some days it will be all you have. If you can’t give people grace when they frustrate, irritate, annoy or otherwise bug you, you might just go crazy. If you can’t give yourself grace . . . you definitely will.
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.
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.
Data stirs things up. It makes us think. Opens our eyes. Boils our blood.
But it changes nothing.
I love Statistics. Especially the cultural ones. I geek out on the numbers that peel back the layers and show me something new about myself . . . my family . . . this life abroad.
Did you know that an expat moves every 44 seconds?
I’ve met that guy . He was exhausted.
Did you know that if you raise your kids abroad you increase their likelihood of staying married, getting a college degree, speaking a foreign language and desiring to raise their own kids abroad.
You also increase their likelihood of feeling rootless, restless, homeless, and like a foreigner in their own passport country.
Google it. The data is there. Tons of it. More now than ever before.
But knowing information doesn’t change anything. It takes creativity to do that.
I get to learn a lot about TCK’s and there are two very distinct forces that drive my understanding.
One — I teach this stuff.
Two — I have some living in my home.
On the one hand it is my job to know the data, stay up on the research and communicate the concepts to parents who are living or moving abroad. What I’m discovering though, is that I can know all about TCK’s and not know my own.
Someone needs to translate the numbers into real life stuff. Practical stuff. Actionable.
Creative.
Unfortunately most (not all) of the training and the seminars and the websites lean disproportionately towards reporting data and understanding theory versus practical application and creative solutions (I know mine has).
So let’s change that. Let’s soak up all the facts and figures that we can wrap our brains around and then say, “SO NOW WHAT?”
How can I balance what I KNOW with what I DO?
If I KNOW my kids will probably feel rootless what can I DO to ground them?
If I KNOW they’ll feel disconnected from the place I call home what can I DO to reconnect them?
If I KNOW their lives are going to be marked by transition and change what can I DO to give them something rock solid?
If I KNOW that they look at a world map and see real people (not just stereotypes) what can I DO to celebrate that with them? (because that’s pretty cool)
If I KNOW that “goodbye” is always going to be a hard reality for them what can I DO to help them stay connected to their global network of great friends and great family? (because that’s pretty cool too)
If I KNOW that they take pride in where they’ve been what can I DO when we cross the border to a brand new place that will mark that moment in their minds for the rest of their lives and remind them that borders are not boundaries?
I’ve got the answer . . . ready for it?
Here it is — start somewhere.
That’s it. Do something. One thing. Anything that goes beyond a cerebral processing of facts into a place of real connection with your kids and the things that make their lives unique. Do something that breathes life into the data.
Have a conversation.
Ask a question.
Do a project.
Write a song.
Learn together.
Go exploring.
Draw a picture.
Build a robot.
Dance like you think you know how.
THEN — Tell someone else about it. Creativity is inspiring and frankly, those of us who get stuck in the data, could use a little inspiration.
I’ll go first (I’m actually pretty excited about this).
If you don’t know where to start but really want to connect with your kids. If you are convinced that there is something good about having a global family and want to make the most of it, sign up below and I’ll send you CREATIVE ABROAD: 10 Simple Ideas That Will Strengthen Your Global Family.
It is exactly what it sounds like. I’ve started with the data, the facts, the stats and the concepts and asked the question, “So now what?”
It’s a short little ebook and it’s FREE.
Promise me this . . . try one of them. Pick one. Doesn’t matter which — just start somewhere.
Tweak it. Customize it. Make it your own and then tell someone what you did. Inspire them.
Comment below (I would love to hear your story).
Share it with your friends, your team or your community.
Post what you did on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, whatever.
Pass this post on to someone else.
Got another idea? Great. Share that too. There is a global network of people like us who have seen the data and have good ideas.
We should talk more — because creativity changes things.
Life abroad can be incredible . . . and challenging . . . and wonderful . . . and horrible.
Transition from one space, one place, one system and one normal to another is an ongoing process.
Even after the initial settling in, “culture shock” and newby bumblings, life abroad remains more fluid, more changing and more filled up with shaky uncertainties than monocultural life back on the farm.
Another angle that we often miss (in our sweet little expat bubble) is the fact that we have also imported copious amounts of transition into our host culture. They were normal before we got here — or at least they knew what normal looked like. Now their lives are filled with a constant stream of incoming and outgoing foreigners who talk funny, act weird, eat wrong and complain a lot.
You can’t write stuff this good.
Wide-eyed, hyper-optimistic, fresh off the boat Newpats (new expats) getting initiated and inundated by multi-varying degrees of seasoned or disgruntled or savvy or battle-weary Vetpats (veteran expats) who introduce them to the ways of the Locals with wise, wise words of expat genius like . . . ” you can’t get that here.”
It’s a wild mix of people who don’t understand the least bit about each other but feel the pressure to act as if they do. It’s like a gigantic petri dish for toxic assumptions to go crazy.
It’s not always fatal but it is never healthy.
Here is a short (and very abridged) guide to cross-cultural assumptions:
NEWPAT ASSUMPTIONS
The assumption of direct correlation:The false assumption that every new experience is fully grasped and understood based on previous exposure to a completely unrelated and equally misunderstood foreign culture. Generally accompanied by the words, “That’s just like” or “When I was” or both.
Example:“Oh they eat with chopsticks?! That’s just like when I was in India . . . and they ate with their hands.”
Nope. It’s actually not.
The assumption of overestimated relational capital: The misguided perception that ones influence in his or her new community is stronger than than it actually is. Often accompanied by expectations for broad paradigm shifts based on personal recommendations, followed by confusion when said paradigm shifts don’t occur immediately.
Example: “Wow, you guys are way too introverted. It wasn’t like that where I come from. Let’s start a street corner karaoke night every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Here’s a sign up sheet.”
“Anyone?”
“No?”
“Jerks.”
Slow down. People need to trust you before they can trust you (read that twice).
The assumption of different is wrong: The premature deduction that cultural characteristics, customs, traditions or actions are automatically faulty solely by nature of their deviation from the Newpats preferred alternative. Often accompanied by phrases such as, “did you see that?!” followed by some sort of question, mockery or expletive.
Example: “Did you see that toilet?!! It’s a hole in the floor. How do they even do that?”
Different does not equal wrong. If it does, you are in trouble. Look around — you are the different one.
The assumption of time standing still: The notion that virtually nothing has changed between the entry points of the Vetpat and the Newpat. Often accompanied by phrases like, “Yeah, you can’t get that here” or “you can’t do that here.”
Example:
Vetpat: “Soap? No we bring that from home.”
Newpat: “Really? I thought I saw some at the market.”
Vetpat: “No that’s probably Tofu.”
Newpat: “Ah. Ok. Do you think I could find it online?”
Vetpat: “On what?”
You don’t have to stay up on everything but don’t put the Newpats in your box.
The assumption of identical issues: The idea that the Newpat will experience the exact same gut reactions and frustrations that the Vetpat experienced. Accompanied by phrases like, “You’re going to . . . ” or “You’ll probably . . . ”
Example: “You’re going to love the food. You’re going to hate the smell. You’re going to get really frustrated when they stare at you so much so that you’ll probably snap at some point, put on a Spiderman costume and start screaming, “TAKE A PICTURE IT WILL LAST LONGER.”
“It’s ok if you do.”
Newpats will develop their own biases. Don’t insist they share yours.
The assumption of golden words:The ill-conceived impression that Newpats are hanging on every wise and wonderful nugget of advice and guidance offered by the Vetpat. Often accompanied by one sided conversations, long explanations, presumptuous opinions (stated as fact) and a deep sense of satisfaction for the Vetpat.
Example:
Newpat: “Hey where’s the bathroom.”
Vetpat: “Well, son let me tell you, there are actually three different types of (finger quotes) ‘bath rooms’ in this country. The first is an actual (finger quotes) ‘room for bathing’. Historically, you see, this is a much more collective culture than . . . (30 minutes later) . . . so the third one, or as the locals would call it the (finger quotes again) ‘room of the toilet’ is down the hall to the left. I’ll take you there.”
Newpat: “Nah. Thanks. I’m good.”
Your wisdom is so wise . . . really, it is . . . so stop talking and listen for a while so someone will hear it.
LOCAL ASSUMPTIONS
The assumption that ignorance equals stupidity:The misconception that ones intellect, intelligence or complexity is directly reflected in his or her capacity to express them in the context of a foreign language or culture. Generally accompanied by speaking louder, slower and offering disproportionate praise for the simplest accomplishments.
Example:
Local: “HELLO! WHAT . . . IS . . . YOUR . . . . . . . . . . . NAME?!!”
Foreigner: “Um . . . Bob”
Local: “WAAAHHH BOB. YOUR LANGUAGE IS SOOOOO GOOOD!!”
Foreigner: “Really? I just said my name”
Local: “WHAT . . . IS . . . YOUR . . . JOB?”
Foreigner: “Um . . . Astrophysicist”
Local: “WAAAH. YOU ARE SOOOO SMART. YES YOU ARE.”
Examples can vary drastically from location to location but the same assumption shows up universally. Just because the foreigner can’t say it, doesn’t mean they don’t know it.
The assumption of cookie cutter foreigners:The mistaken conclusion that all foreign people share a single set of opinions, ideas, understandings and temperaments. Accompanied by words like, “They”, “always” and “because.”
Example: “You’re feeding your foreign friend what?!! No don’t do that. THEY hate spicy food. They always start sweating and crying because they only eat cheese and vegetables.”
Special note: The assumption of cookie cutter LOCALS could be added to both the Newpat and the Vetpat lists.
The assumption of weird foreigners: The unfortunate deduction that all foreigners are strange, odd or different.
Actually this one is probably spot on. We can own it.
The only tragedy of oddness is when it becomes an insurmountable obstacle to relationship. Weird is worth working through.
THE ANTIDOTE
If assumptions are poison then QUESTIONS are the antidote. Good questions. Lots of questions.
Starting with “I don’t know, but I want to” instead of “yeah, that’s just like” changes absolutely everything.
So how do you ask good questions?
That’s another post entirely.
How about you? Which assumptions have poisoned you or your community the most? What other assumptions have you seen (or used)?
