Nov 3, 2015 |
I hate June.
There is a reason for that.
Where I live people come and go . . . a lot. That’s the part that they don’t put in the brochure when you move abroad . . .
“Adventure of a lifetime — Explore exotic lands! Learn new languages! Say goodbye to 20% of your friends every summer and random others throughout the year!”
Sign here.
It is a big painful part of the expat experience though. Transition that is. Not the expected ones like “culture shock”, bumbling language mistakes and system conversions. We saw those coming from a mile away (1.60934 kilometers). We read books and blogs about those. Some of us even went to seminars and conferences about how to “transition well”. There is no small bit of attention paid to the beginning phases of life as a foreigner. There is also a growing bit of attention surrounding the ending phases — leaving well, saying goodbye, repatriating, reverse culture shock and so on.
Not knocking that since . . . you know . . . I wouldn’t have a job without it.
BUT . . .
Here’s the kicker: As long as you live abroad — TRANSITION NEVER STOPS.
Ever.
The big ones on either end are significant to be sure but it’s the little ones in the middle that will get you. The incessant ones. The ongoing ones. The cyclical shifts and annual flip flops that never stop and that you never saw coming. There are many, but by far, the most daunting (at least where I live) is the revolving, evolving community of people.
We are Stayers, Goers and Newbies figuring out life things together. The Stayers don’t stay forever. The Goers don’t go immediately. The Newbies need some time to adjust.
If coming and going only impacted June I think it would be manageable. If it was just a matter of saying the inevitable goodbyes, we could wrap our heads around it and brace for the annual Expat Exodus.
If it looked like this it would still be hard but doable . . .
But it doesn’t.
It actually looks more like this . . .
So it makes sense really.
That I’m thinking about June in November.
Now is the time when people (my friends) are making decisions. Stay or Go? Another contract or move on?
The announcements have already started to trickle in and there will be more and more in the next few months. I have now been a Stayer, a Goer and a Newby all more than once. I have done them all fairly well and all pretty pathetically. Here are a few things I’m learning in the process.
Everyone is at risk.
Stayers are at risk
When Stayers stop engaging Newbies (because saying goodbye to Goers is too painful) the clock starts ticking. It is a matter of time before the community will grow up behind them and they will be the ones trying to break in . . . or going. Continued connection is key.
Goers are at risk
Mental and emotional shifts begin long before the physical ones. Once announcements are made the community changes even though no one has flown away yet. Stayers and Newbies start figuring out what life looks like without the Goer and adjust accordingly. Goers check out. The chemistry of those two things can make for some explosive reactions. Intentionality is key.
Newbies are at risk
Newbies lend fresh eyes and fabulous new ideas to stagnant and stressed environments — often before they have developed the relational capital to be heard.
“HEY GUYS . . . You’re a sorry mess!! Where I come from this is how we did it and that would fix every last one of you and all of your problems!! How bout’ we try it?!?!”
“I’m Bob by the way.”
In short, Newbies may see what’s wrong before anyone is ready to listen. Stayers get annoyed. Goers continue checking out and chuckle because it’s not their problem. Patience is key.
Everyone has something unique to give.
Stayers give stability
Stayers have less of an unhealthy attachment to their suitcases than either Goers (who are packing) or Newbies (who are un). Stayers, although always in transition, have the solidity of NOT changing everything. No global trekking. No new job. No figuring out where to buy cucumbers. They may not feel stable but in this scenario they are privileged with a lesser instability. If you’re a Stayer consider watching the Goer’s children while they pack or showing the Newbies where the cucumbers are.
Goers give understanding
For Goers, going is the most consuming thing in their lives. Fair enough. It’s a big deal. For Stayers, the going of the Goers may be a big deal, but is not generally all consuming. Goers who have expectations (active or passive) that Stayers will drop everything to be consumed by their six month departure are failing to see the broader picture. There are ALWAYS Goers. Understanding that will actually help Goers AND Stayers plan focused, intentional quality farewell time.
Newbies give humility
It can be really frustrating to step into a community of Stayers who just lost their best Goers. That frustration only grows when you can clearly see problems and the Stayers are still figuring you out. Starting as a learner is genuinely the deciding factor between those who do this well and those who do not. Listen first. Learn. Ask a billion questions. Not because you don’t know anything but because you don’t know everything. Give the Stayers the respect they’ve earned from staying and the space to adjust to another round of new. Soon you’ll be on the other side.
Selfishness doesn’t work.
Selfish Stayers protect themselves from the Goers and commit to not getting hurt by Newbies (consequently hurting the Newbies).
Selfish Goers check out on the Stayers and leave a mess for the Newbies.
Selfish Newbies learn nothing from the Stayers and don’t recognize they’ve stepped into a Goer shaped hole.
It’s hard because it’s good.
It’s hard to be a Stayer when everyone around you is coming and going. The only way to make it easier is to stop connecting with people. Stop going deep. Stop making friends. Then the coming and going is not so hard . . . and the Staying is not so good.
It’s hard to be a Goer. Period. But having a global network of deep, deep friendships . . . that’s pretty cool. The process of going can be stressful but it is also your chance to firm up relationships that won’t be broken by distance or time.
It’s hard to be a Newby but trust me . . . this is truly the opportunity of a lifetime. Stayers may be standoffish at first — that’s because it’s good. They may have just let go of their Goers.
Are you a Stayer, a Goer or a Newby?
What does your never ending transition look like?
What have you learned along the way?
Oct 3, 2015 |
Dear Expat,
Let’s be honest. You are weird. No offense.
It’s not a bad thing. You’re just — what’s that word? — odd. No matter where in the world you go, you don’t quite fit. You’re a foreigner where you live and a visitor where you’re from.
You’re weird. Just own it.
HOWEVER.
There is a parallel truth that you should know about. It’s not at all separate from your weirdness. In contrast it actually works in perfect tandem. No matter how odd you feel — how isolated from the regulars — how awkward or confident — how inferior or superior — how irritated or excited — how incompetent or smooth — how close to the edge of the cliff or on top of the mountain you are . . .
YOU ARE NORMAL.
It’s true. Write it down. Soak in it. No matter what’s going on inside of you — you are far from alone.
The numbers don’t lie . . .
According to the U.N. (who make a it a point to know things like this) there are roughly 232 million earthlings who live outside of their home country. That means if expats were to declare themselves a sovereign state they would instantly knock off Brazil for the fifth most populated nation in the world.
Brazil would be ticked.
First major conflict. Way to go Expats.
Point is this. There are many more like you. Many.
They’re everywhere. IN every country and FROM every country — and were we to actually form a country of our own it would be the most politically, ethnically, racially, religiously, economically, educationally and linguistically diverse that the world has ever seen — but we would be united by one feature — we are all outsiders. Different — but far from alone.
If only numbers did the trick, right?
If knowing that there are millions more like you out there . . . somewhere in the distance . . . convinced you that you’re normal, then we could also solve loneliness with overpopulation — and this would be the best blog post EVER.
If you’re like me however (and the numbers suggest that you are) feeling normal is not about them . . . it’s about you.
So let’s talk about you . . .
Why don’t we start with your body just to keep it awkward?
If you got fatter when you became an expat . . . you’re normal. It’s a shocker to a lot of us who anticipated our waistline might go the other direction when we stepped away from the comforts of home and the junk food that came with it but transition seeks familiar. If the only “normal” food you can find is fat and greasy (golden arches come to mind in my case) then guess what else turns fat and greasy. You do. Partner that with the fact that it may be harder to exercise and . . . yeah . . . you’re normal.
Interesting to note . . . if you got skinnier when you became an expat . . . you are also normal. If you eat better and exercise more you are not alone. If you got sick — normal. If you started getting headaches or nosebleeds — If you find yourself needing more sleep — If your skin is dry and scaly or your face breaks out like you were 14 again — You are normal.
AND — (can we be blunt here?) if your bowels have been doing some funky things . . . trust me . . . you are NOT alone.
When everything around you changes — your body can’t pretend that it hasn’t. Whatever it is, you are quite likely to be normal.
How about your attitude?
Is it not the one you came in with? Not what you hoped it would be at this point?
Normal.
Did your wide-eyed, thrill seeking fascination with your host culture morph somewhere along the line into irritation, or disgust, or boredom, or arrogance, or indifference or downright anger? Do the little things that you used to take pictures of and put on Facebook annoy the pot out of you now?
Did you have high aspirations of being a better expat than you’re turning out to be? Thought you would speak more language by now? Have more local friends? Grasp more culture? Explore more?
Have you ever yelled at someone who doesn’t speak your language . . . in your language?
Congratulations. You are normal. Textbook even.
Piggy backing off of that . . .
When did you get so judgy? Whenever it was, you are not the only one.
It’s pretty common (if not inevitable) to go through a stage of enlightenment as an expat. It’s not so much a spiritual awakening as it is a personal discovery that everyone else is wrong . . . and you could fix them if they would only listen.
- The culture around you may be thousands of years old but you could teach them so much about so many things.
- The team that you are working with could run much smoother if they would listen to your ideas.
- The other expats are SO judgmental (pause to let that sink in).
- Your friends back home just don’t get it.
Nothing makes you feel more isolated than being right. Especially when EVERYONE else is wrong.
If that strikes a chord — guess what? (see the title of this post)
Let’s talk about home . . .
Do you miss home even when you go home? Have you wrestled with what “home” even means? Do you put the word “home” in quotation marks (either in writing or with your fingers)? Did you go “home” and discover that it changed (and so did you)? Do you wonder if you could ever go home again? Do you know that you couldn’t?
Have you not left home for two weeks because you have been binge watching 90’s sitcoms?
Say it with me . . . You are normal.
Does none of this apply to you?
Maybe you’re THAT one. The one who loves it all, all the time. The one who feels untouched by culture shock and sees every day as a new adventure — every challenge as a opportunity for growth. You love learning language and making friends and sometimes it doesn’t make sense why other expats struggle so much.
Ready for an ironic twist?
You may be THAT one . . . but you are not the ONLY one. I’ve seen you before and you’re actually very normal.
So there.
There is SO much more that is normal about you . . .
I could bust the internet writing about the things that make you normal but I hope you’re starting to get the point.
- If you’re an expat parent and you think you’re breaking your children — you are normal.
- If you’re married and it feels like you’re never on the same page as your spouse — you are normal.
- If you feel like your host culture thinks you’re a superstar — you are normal.
- If you recently discovered that, actually, they don’t — you are normal.
- If you pretend to know more language than you do — you are normal.
- If you laugh at your hosts but get mad when people back home do — you are normal.
- If you’re a bumbling, homesick, culturally baffled, communicationally challenged, adventurer who is slowly learning how to love something deeply that drives you insane — you are 1000% normal.
Lest we confuse normal . . .
You are NORMAL. Unfortunately that doesn’t automatically make you right . . . or good . . . or less toxic to your host country . . . or your team . . . or your family. Just because a lot of expats gain weight and stop exercising when they move abroad doesn’t make it healthy.
Sometimes (but not always) “normal” isn’t such a great thing.
Fight the urge to justify bad habits or bad behavior with your normalcy. On the contrary, find grace in being normal that gives you the space to move towards something better. You’re not the only expat with issues. We’ve all got issues. Cut yourself some slack and while your cutting don’t forget to cut off some healthy chunks for the people around you.
They need it.
So do you.
What would it look like for you to go beyond normal? Better than normal? Abnormal in a beautiful way?
I’ll tell you what it would look like.
It would look weird . . . and wonderful.
Own that.
What else have you discovered makes you a normal expat? Comment below so the rest of us don’t feel so off.
Wondering if you’re actually normal? Take the leap and ask below. I’m betting you’re pleasantly surprised.
Know an expat who is feeling weird in a bad way? (translation — “know an expat?”) Please share this with them.
Sep 20, 2015 |
I am an expat . . . AND . . . I own a drill.
Hold your applause until the end please.
It’s funny how the value of stuff changes when you live cross culturally.
This month we crammed the full sum of our belongings into eleven 52.0 pound (23.6 kg) suitcases and plastic tubs (not counting carry ons or the cat) and threw the whole heavy bit on an airplane so we could (once again) call ourselves expatriates. Two years ago we took a strikingly similar trip in an airplane going the other direction so we could call ourselves repatriates.
We spent the last two years “restocking” our lives with American piles of stuff (mostly made in China) only to sell it or give it back to Americans on our way out. Now that we are back in China we are restocking again and I am noticing that there is a vast difference between America restocking and China restocking.
When I moved back to America I wanted tools. Lots of tools. Tools for fixing things and for breaking things. Tools for banging and smashing and tightening and straightening and loosening and scraping and sanding and cutting and fastening and climbing and nailing and setting things on fire and putting out the fires that I start. Tools for putting holes in stuff. Tools for lifting up heavy things. Tools that you could shoot electricity through and chop things in half. I wanted tools that would hold my other tools and more tools that would help me pick those other tools up off the ground without bending over. I wanted tool boxes and tool bags and tool buckets and tool cabinets and tool hooks and tool hangers and tool shelves and (just imagine it) a whole, entire tool wall . . . that would glow just from being awesome.
I wanted to be THAT guy. The one whose friends would know that no matter what job they needed to do — I would have a tool for it and they were welcome to use it.
I gave it my best shot.
I spent every Saturday morning driving to the yard sales of other men who were upgrading to better tools and selling their old ones. I would come home like a cave man dragging a wooly mammoth for the entire village to feast on. Spreading my bounty across the living room floor I would beat my chest and grunt . . .
“THESE!!!”
“ARE MY TOOLS!!”
My wife tried to reason at first:
“Jerry, when are you ever going to use this?”
“Could.”
“How much did this cost?”
“Cheap.”
“You don’t even know what this tool does.”
“Do too.”
“What does it do?
“Doesn’t matter.”
She eventually recognized the futility of rational thought and just started patting me on the head.
Why fight it? There was clearly a hardware store shaped hole in me that needed to be filled and I was determined. Each time I got to add to my collection was a victory and victories are for celebration . . . not common sense.
Then we moved back to China . . . and I bought a drill.
That’s it. One drill. The cheapest one they had.
And I gotta’ tell ya’ — I’m walking high this week. Victorious all over again.
It’s the strangest thing. Just weeks ago I gave away three drills exactly like my new one as well as two other drills that were much nicer. I sold saws and hammers and bags full of screwdrivers and wrenches and I wept quietly as other men walked away with my two years worth of plunder.
Then I replaced it all with a drill.
Life is different in the expatosphere. I rarely have an occasion which demands tools beyond those you can find in the Fisher Price starter set and I’m not sure where I would put them if I had them. Most of the people around here have a screwdriver or two. Maybe a tape measure and possibly the half sized hammer that comes in the same plastic box. There are zero glowing tool walls around us and quite honestly I would feel ridiculous even pursuing one.
I do have my drill though which is pretty much all it takes to be THAT guy.
Tools are just one example of things that would be considered gratuitous luxuries in my new world and base essentials in my old.
I have three friends here who own a car. Three. That’s it.
Where I come from it’s nothing for ONE person to own three cars but unthinkable to have none.
Here — there is a sense of, “waah — you got a car?”
There — the sense would be, “Waah — you don’t have a car?!”
Don’t get me wrong. We don’t get all judgy here. It’s not like “well WOOTEEE DOO DOO. Look at Mister Flashy Cash driving his fancy new car all around the town. Must be nice! Dirty joker.” It’s more like, “Wow. You passed the driver’s license test AND you don’t mind driving in Chinese traffic? Cool.”
It’s a bonus — BUT there is nothing pitiable about NOT having a car.
Or a dishwasher.
Or a garbage disposal.
Or a television.
Or a dryer.
Or a vacuum.
Or a full sized refrigerator.
Or an oven.
Or a bathtub
Or a lawn mower.
Or an Xbox.
Or gluten free pizza dough.
Or a drill.
Here’s the kicker.
Many (if not most) of our friends have a paid house helper. Usually a middle aged woman who comes to their home during the day to clean the apartment and do the dishes. Some of them cook meals and watch the children. They might even do the shopping AND when the expats aren’t careful . . . they become a part of their family.
It’s how people live here. It’s common and there is no stigma around it.
However, it’s almost embarrassing to share with our three car, glowing tool wall having friends back home.
“Well WOOOTEEE DOO DOO — Must be nice to have a maid! You got a butler too? Tough life over there huh?!!”
It’s funny how we set our parameters around what’s essential and what’s extravagant based on the people around us. It’s even funnier to see it from two sides.
Now you’ll excuse me . . . I have holes to drill.
Jul 16, 2015 |
I was teenager once. It was awkward.
I was pretty run of the mill. Unfortunately the mill that year was cranking out knobby kneed, gangly armed, pimply faced manboys who, despite devoting every waking moment to the art of faking cool, squawked like a chicken every time we laughed. I was (like all of my counterparts of the same patent) a strange and confusing chemical mix of misguided uber confidence and confusingly low self esteem. In my head I was some combination of Michael Jordan* (athletically speaking) and Arthur Fonzarelli* (with the ladies). In Actual World I regularly tripped over the free throw line and let’s just say that went much better than it ever did with the ladies.
*links to MJ and the Fonz included for younger readers.
They called me Jerry Jones chicken bones and my strongest comeback was . . . “I know you are but what am I?!” I remember holding my breath with high hopes of squeezing out a chest hair. I got three new pimples that night.
It was a strange and surreal time. Confusing. Painful. Weird.
You couldn’t pay me a bajillion dollars to go back and do it all again . . . and yet . . . here I am — weeks away from yet another international move and I’m flashing back.
Transition is like puberty . . . in so many ways. If you’re in the middle of it maybe you can relate.
Here are my symptoms:
1. Mood Swings
I’m sprinting the gamut between high highs and low lows. I’m finding that as we move closer to yet another massive life transition I can (multiple times in one day) make the jump between feeling like Tigger with a cup half full and Eeeyore who doesn’t even see the point of cups . . . or water . . . or being awake.
Between the visa applications, the doctor visits, the downsizing, the packing, the intentional eye contact goodbyes and the fact that time itself is moving much too fast and much too slow simultaneously . . . yeah . . . transition makes me irritable.
Is there a problem with that or could we please just move on to number 2 like a normal blog?!
Sheesh.
2. Funky Brain
I am scattered to say the least. My brain is all over the place and no matter what I’m thinking about I have a secondary nagging thought that there is probably something else that I’m forgetting to think about.
This nonsense ironically made perfect sense when I was 12 and could blame it all on hormones and girls.
I have no good excuses now. My brain is just full . . . and consequently funky.
3. Snarfing
In the context of our chaos, when meal time comes, I am pathetically unmotivated to make wise decisions about food . . . so I make stupid ones. I also have little ambition towards cleaning up afterwards considering the fact that clutter is the bain of our transition right now.
The simpler the better.
Somehow eating uber-hydrogenated cheesy puff munches out of a plastic bag or feeding my family with a sack of double cheeseburgers feels less daunting and just easier. I’m even inclined to try convincing my wife that $5 pizzas are a better choice than a home cooked meal . . . every day.
I’m flashing back to age 14 when my stomach was a bottomless pit and my metabolism burned calories before they even went in my mouth.
This is no longer the case.
Stop judging me.
4. Fighting with people I don’t disagree with
One thing I remember, very distinctly, from my adolescent years is that everyone who lived in my house was wrong . . . about everything . . . always.
It didn’t much matter what the topic was or where they landed on it. If they said it, I disagreed . . . wholeheartedly . . . and even if they changed their position to agree with me one hundred percent . . . I still disagreed.
Recently I’m finding myself (once again) prone to taking the alternative stance even when there is no good reason to do so. When everything around is a chaotic whirlwind it’s easy to forget that the people in my boat are not actually trying to sink me.
I talk to a lot of people in transition so at least I know that high tension and pointless arguments are par for the course. Unfortunately knowing it hasn’t given us immunity.
It helps to call it out though . . . we’re on the same team.
5. Digital paralysis
I was a part of the generation who discovered that there is no limit to the hours a teenager will spend playing video games or watching TV. We were hard core. Kids these days have no idea.
We numbed our brains into the wee hours of the morning long before PS4 and Netflix. We were trailblazers. Ground breakers. When we ran out of lives we started all over from the beginning of the game. When we rented a movie we had to leave the house. Our playlists were called mix tapes and they took days to get just right. When we sent a text message there was paper involved. And stamps. The licky kind.
It was a tougher time.
Times of transition (much like the formative years) present an often overwhelming temptation to disconnect from a stressful reality. Now more than ever, the digital options that enable unhooking from real life are without boundaries.
Let’s just say it takes longer to write a blog post while you’re binge watching 90’s sitcoms.
I get it now — why my parents feared for my generation.
6. My ears are broke
My wife tells me this is true and I really have no strong argument to prove otherwise. I can look straight at you. Make eye contact. Nod like I am absorbing every word. Even respond with noises that make total sense in conjunction with what you have just said . . . and immediately have ZERO recollection that the conversation ever happened.
I can ask you a question and you can give me a clear, concise, perfectly constructed answer. I will make a purposeful, cognizant effort to register that data and store it in my brain . . . and three minutes later I will ask you the exact same question again.
I am either regressing to my teens or fast forwarding to my 90’s.
Either way . . . what were we talking about?
7. Exhaustion
I am so, so tired . . . and yet never so much that I can sleep well. It’s a vicious cycle.
8. Weird things are happening to me
I’ve been having regular headaches and tiny little anxiety attacks. That’s not like me. I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep. I’ve learned that I can increase my heart rate at will just by thinking about the next few weeks and I have regular dejavu.
I’ve also learned that I can increase my heart rate at will just by thinking about the next few weeks and I have regular dejavu.
It’s weird.
Seriously. Is there not a pamphlet for this? With charts and graphs and awkward diagrams. At least when I was sixteen my mother gave me a book called, “So You’re Turning Twelve.”
(pausing to let that sink in)
There is hope
Whiny as I may be, the silver linings are not absent here — in fact they are multiple. The change of life (I mean the big one years ago) was not entirely horrible. It was certainly filled with paradox and there were challenges that I would never want to relive however, between the knobby kneed bumbling and the hormone driven awkardness . . . it was a rich, wonderful time.
I was surrounded by great people who poured into my shaky life. I probably laughed harder and more often than I have since. I was impressionable (although I tried my hardest not to be). I was formed during that time and my life (the grown up one) has been better because of it.
And the best part . . . it didn’t last forever.
The awkward development years served as a beautiful gateway between two wonderful stages of my life.
I expect that this transition will be the same.
How about you? Anyone else out there in transition and feeling 13 again? Or is it just me?
Jun 8, 2015 |
Ahh transition. I teach this stuff. I do seminars. I write a blog for crying out loud. So I hate it when it actually applies to me.
Some of the best advice I ever got about transition (from a friend who also teaches this stuff) is that we are all like a cup with water in it (following me so far?). If there’s a little water in your cup you can put a tennis ball in there and the water level rises but there is still plenty of room for more water (translation – you got this). HOWEVER — If your cup is full . . . I mean to the brim full . . . and you put a tiny little peanut in there — the whole thing overflows.
What you’re left with is a mess.
That’s a pretty accurate illustration of my day.
I am full. To the brim — and today the peanut left a mess.
A bit of context. We’re moving to China (again) in a matter of weeks. We don’t have visas yet — or a place to live. I’ve got a boatload of stuff to do and I’m running out of time to do it. I’m trying really hard to say healthy goodbyes and help my family do the same. We’ve got stuff — too much stuff — stuff that we need to both get rid of and continue to use until the day we leave. Money is tight. Schedules are crazy. And time is moving much too fast.
My cup is full.
Enter peanut.
Turns out when my cup overflows I revert to my four year old self. I huff and I puff and I stomp away mad. I say things like “Oh yeah!! Well you’re a doody head . . . you big . . . doody head!!” I do things so childishly embarrassing that I would never dare write them in a blog post for the whole internet to read.
So for now I’ll stick to some painful lessons learned:
Lesson #1. Transition takes up space
If you (like me) are in the middle of a major life transition – that transition is hogging a big chunk of your cup. Parts of you are consumed by the simple fact that everything is about to change. You can try your hardest to move forward like today is just another day but you can’t escape the simple truth that is just around the corner (and hanging over your head).
Transition changes everything. That’s why they call it transition.
Lesson #2: Knowing is ONLY half the battle
GI Joe was right — “Knowing IS half the battle” which is a very sweet thought (thanks for that Joe) — but you’ve still got the other half of the battle to fight. Take me for example. Seconds before I stomped off like a four year old I said, and I quote, “my cup is overflowing . . .”
I knew what was happening. I called it out. I watched my cup overflow . . . and yet . . . still acted like a child.
It’s helpful to know the simple truths like “transition takes up space” but that doesn’t make you spill proof. No one escapes the evil clutches of massive life change.
Lesson #3: Momentary overflow does NOT define me
I had a bad day. I acted like a child. Truly unbecoming.
Ok. I own it. I take responsibility. But that’s not who I am every day. I didn’t act like that yesterday and I won’t act like that tomorrow.
Who you are in your worst moments is not who you are. It’s painful to discover what’s inside of you and likely to come out in the overflow. It’s also sobering to consider what you can be reduced to in your most vulnerable moments but those moments don’t mark you forever.
Move forward.
Lesson #4: If you are fortunate enough to receive grace don’t take it for granted
No one is at their best when their cup is full. That’s a given. There is a simple and unfortunate reality though that hurting people . . . hurt people. If this applies to you and you are blessed enough to have people in your life who recognize that you are not acting like yourself (when you are not acting like yourself). . . you are rich beyond measure.
DON’T let that be lost on you.
Lesson #5: Embrace the Yuck
Let’s get real. Parts of this transition are not at all good. In fact, they are bad.
For me it is the coming week. It’s going to suck the life out of me. There is no way around it. I’m going to work my tail off, stress like crazy, stay up late, get up early and go nuts in the process.
But it will end.
It’s going to be a hard week . . . but the week after that is going to be pretty cool.
I’m gonna’ make it . . . but ignoring the hard stuff isn’t why.
Lesson #6: If you’re cup is full – find a way to lower it
This is where it helps to know yourself. What refuels you? What gives you rest and energy and resets you for the next round of transition challenge?
My best bit of brilliant advice — do that.
Take it from me — not as a blogging, trainer who’s supposed to know something about transition but as an embarrassed doody head who is rounding out a bad day — you’ve GOT to be willing to give grace . . . and receive it. Tomorrow could be better.
Transition rarely comes without a mess but messes are rarely so horrible that they cannot be cleaned up.
I am so excited about tomorrow.
Alright — Confession time — Got some childish, overflow moments? You are not alone. Share them below and you might feel better — and even if you actually are the worst one ever — think of all of the people who will feel better because they’re not as bad as you.
Jun 1, 2015 |
Two years ago exactly we were in the process of repatriating (moving “home” to the U.S. after 7 years in China). Our lives became consumed with the quest to reduce all of our belongings into 8 suit cases. We failed but just barely.
Part of my transition back to the States was discovering something that I really hated about myself. I have never been a stuff guy. I have plenty of issues but materialism has just never been one of them. All of the sudden, though, I was feeling overwhelmingly greedy and sorry for myself. Walking through the homes of our old friends I could feel my internal organs ranting.
“They have furniture!” my gut would say “IN TWO DIFFERENT ROOMS!!”
To which my heart would respond, “and look! Cutco knives! The whole set! We don’t even have spoons!”
My lungs would gasp and mock, “oooooh . . . an air purifier . . . must be nice.”
It was the most pathetic midlife crisis I have ever heard of. I couldn’t even fathom daydreaming of a red convertible. I just wanted a bicycle . . . and maybe a TV.
Our friends, whom we were once on a level with stuffwise, had continued to move forward on the timeline of accumulation, uninterrupted. We, on the other hand, had downsized the entirety of our possessions to what would fit on the plane . . . twice.
There was considerable jealousy and subsequent guilt.
That was two years and several dozen yard sales ago. Now my organs are freaking out once again because . . . frankly . . . we have too much stuff.
And we’re leaving again.
Oi.
This is what I (along with my organs) am learning about transition and stuff:
1. Yard sale equity is not a sustainable, long term, financial model
We spent two summers restocking our lives with other people’s stuff. Then we tried to sell it all to different people in one day. While I did make a hefty 200% profit ($2.25) on one of our lamps I spent way more than that on donuts for our employees (pictured here). On everything else we either broke even or sold at a loss and at the end of the day we still had 85% of the stuff we had at the beginning of the day.
As the most ironic financial consultant in the world I feel you should know that if you’re looking for a reliable investment strategy to provide peace of mind and security in your retirement . . . buying new stuff and selling it all every two years is not it.
That will be $200. We accept housewares and kitchen utensils.
2. Stuff generally demands more emotion than it is worth
Playing lifeboat with all of your possessions (especially when there is more than one of you) can be painful. Deciding which things make the suitcase and which things don’t is an organ wrenching exercise. Dollar values. Sentimental values. Can I get this there? Will I use this? Will I wear this? Will this fit? If I keep this what do I need to leave behind?
Everything is connected to story or a memory and there is only so much space to go around. There is much growling and showing of teeth.
Now plug that into a yard sale and watch the tension consume you. “NO – I will not take 50 cents for my drill bits! I love those drill bits!! Now GET OFF of my property!”
It’s a sensitive time.
3. It’s ok to let go of stuff
The sweetest moment of our yard sale came as we were cleaning up. My wife and I both shared a sense of sarcastic irritation — “Great. Now what?”
Another yard sale? Please no.
Sell it online? 12 emails to set up a time for someone to come give us two dollars for our spatulas? . . . uh . . . no thank you.
Give it all away? Argh. We can’t keep doing this.
Frustration mounted and we were both at a loss. Finally I made a suggestion. Let’s wrap our heads around giving $100 worth of stuff to the Thrift Store. That won’t kill us and we could thin out this pile of mess.
Moments later we realized that there were very few things that didn’t fit into our $100 category. We took it all to the garage and put it in two piles . . .
- Thrift Store stuff (most everything)
- Stuff worth selling online
We felt much better.
4. It’s ok to NOT let go of stuff
We still have a looming layer of things that didn’t go in the yard sale. Bigger items that we are still using, have invested more in and would definitely feel the pain of zero cost recovery. I am a terrible (albeit self-aware) businessman. I love to make a profit but I would prefer for you to just have it.
“Yeah we’d love to get $10,000 but . . . aw heck, just take it.”
I’ve had to wrestle with my own lack of materialism. The whole notion sounds ridiculous to the cut throat entrepreneur but I don’t think I’m alone in feeling (misplaced) guilt for putting price tags on stuff that I could give away.
Recovering what we have paid does not (necessarily) equal greed.
5. Stuff is not people
When I think about how I want to spend these last few weeks, running a flea market doesn’t even make the top ten.
People. That’s how I want to spend my time.
I want to make new memories with people that I’m going to miss. I want to take pictures with people I love at places I love. I want to sit around a fire and stay up late. I want to get up early for coffee and donuts. I want to have cookouts and eat stupid amounts of meat. I want awkward eye contact and healthy goodbyes. I want to go kayaking with my best bud. I want to eat family dinner on paper plates while sitting on a blanket in the middle of an empty living room floor and watching a movie on the iPad because . . . once again . . . we don’t own a TV.
I love my stuff . . . but I love my people more.
So these are my guidelines:
- I will get stuff out of my way so I can spend time with people.
- I won’t stress about losing money on my stuff.
- I won’t stress about making money on my stuff.
- When I can I will bless people with my stuff.
- When stuff creates an awkward situation I will call it awkward and move on.
- If my family owns stuff that gives them security or builds their confidence then I absolutely want them to keep it.
- I will not lose time with people for the sake of stuff.
That’s my plan . . . I’ll let you know how it goes.
For those of you whom transition is just a part of life — What’s your story? What’s your secret when it comes time to buy, sell, give, keep, pack, repack and unpack stuff?
