Apr 3, 2018 |
My name is Jerry and I live in China where I sometimes have “Bad China Days.”
That’s a common phrase among the foreigners (like me) who live around here. It’s a catch-all defense that covers a multitude of frustrating moments, petty annoyances, cross-cultural irritations and, quite honestly, bad behaviors.
“Geesh, what’s wrong with Bob? He just bit my head off.”
“Yeah, he’s having a bad China day.”
“Ohhh. Ok then. That makes sense.”
Here’s the thing.
I don’t ever recall having a “Bad America Day.”
For context – I was born, raised and have spent the highest percentage of my life in the United States. BY FAR I have had more terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days on that side of the ocean than I have on this one.
I once (in the United States) peed my pants as a TEN year old three hours before it was time to go home from school.
THAT was a bad day.
I once (in the United States) burned down 2 acres of my father’s property because I was playing with fire on the same day that I found out I had failed Algebra and would be ineligible to play basketball (which I loved) unless I went to summer school.
That was a REALLY bad day.
I once (in the United States) rode a horse into a tree limb which knocked me out cold and when I woke up I was sharing a hospital room with a sixth-grade psychopath who threw orange peels at the television and suggested we sneak out of our room after hours, steal some syringes and stick them in the people next door.
I wish I was exaggerating.
That was a surreally bad day.
I went through puberty in the United States, for crying out loud.
That was like at least a thousand really, really bad days but I never . . . not once . . . ever referred to any of them, no matter how miserable, as a “Bad America Day.”
Nope . . . back there, we just called it a bad day.
Host Blaming is what happens when people who are living cross-culturally go looking for a single culprit to hold responsible for any and all of their frustrations and find that the lowest hanging fruit, the easiest target, and the one-stop solution is their host country.
Blame it on (insert your country here) and it all makes sense.
It comes in different flavors.
“Kicking the dog” for example is what happens when you are actually frustrated with your boss or your spouse but you know better than to pick that fight. Choosing not to be jobless or sleep on the couch you look for the lower risk outlet.
Blame it on the country . . . they won’t even understand you anyway.
“Paranoid Drama-Queening” happens when you take the legitimate, standard, practically universal challenges of cross-cultural life and treat them as if they are ONLY happening to you and then presume that the whole country and each of its citizens is conspiring against you.
“Why can’t you understand me?!! I know I’m saying it right!!!”
“STOP STARING AT ME!!!”
“Hyper Pluralizing” happens when you blame an entire country for the offense of a few. It’s generally marked by words like . . .
“THEY ALWAYS ” or “THEY NEVER ” or “SHEESH! WHY DON’T THEY JUST LEARN HOW TO”
“THEY” is the operative word.
Been there?
Me too.
And sometimes . . . it’s just a bad day . . . but you still blame the country.
THREE QUICK THOUGHTS
ONE: Host Blaming Drives a Wedge
Here’s the thing. Host Blaming is usually passive. Snarky. Under our breath or between sympathetic foreign friends who are also having bad local days. Most of us don’t walk right up to our host countries and say, “YOU! You are the source of ALL MY PAIN!!”
So how does it drive a wedge if they don’t even know we’re blaming them?
Answer . . . one interaction at a time. We take the easier option. We engage a little less. We assume a little quicker. We avoid a little more. We withdraw without even thinking.
That changes nothing instantly . . . but over time we walk a different path . . . and a different path leads to a different place.
TWO: Host Blaming is Natural
PAUSE — Before you cut and paste that into Twitter.
Laziness . . . is also natural. So are arrogance, selfishness and stupidity.
Lots of things comes naturally but sometimes that can mean “worth the effort to do differently.”
THREE: Host Connection is Intentional
Believe it or not, this is not an Expat Shaming post.
“Look at the pompous, bubble-bound outsiders who barge in insisting that everyone be more like them!! Jerks!”
There are plenty of those posts out there.
On the contrary, if we’re asking for a show of hands . . . I’ll raise both of mine first. I slip into host blaming over and over. It’s subtle and sneaky. It’s nuanced and not always clear when I’m doing it.
What I’m discovering is that if blaming is natural then CONNECTION MUST BE INTENTIONAL.
It’s not natural to allow for personality instead of stereotyping — but look around — THEY is too big of a word.
It’s not natural to say, “there’s probably more to this” — but your mind will be blown if you do.
It’s not natural to say, “I might be the one who is wrong here” — so start there and see what happens.
It’s not natural NOT to blame. So do whatever it takes to choose connection instead.
A better choice leads to a better next step. Better steps lead down a better path. A better path leads to a better place.
How about you? Are you a host blamer? Show of hands.
Mar 20, 2018 |
If you’ve been an expat for several years and you feel all alone . . . you’re not alone.
Surrounded by people and completely isolated.
That’s a common sentiment among expat newbies. The introduction INTO an existing team of expats can be an awkward mix of high energy ice-breakers, and jet-lag tainted orientations wrapped in the sobering reality that you know ZERO of these people.
“Hey everybody!! Let’s all scream ‘HI’ to the new guy who just got in at 3 am!! New guy, why don’t you stand on that chair, put on the “happy hat” and tell us your name, favorite ice cream flavor and most embarrassing experience with a toilet.”
Surrounded by people . . . and SO alone.
Here’s what they don’t tell you at orientation . . . it might happen again.
I once stood in front of a group of about a hundred expats at a conference and gave them a whole schpiel about welcoming the newbies. I did everything short of begging them to open their hearts and their homes.
“It’s hard to be new.”
“It’s hard to break in.”
“Give them a chance.”
Stuff like that.
When we were finished a 20 plus year expat veteran dropped a bomb that rocked my paradigm and opened my eyes to a broader reality.
“You know what else happens? The new people have come in behind us and now we are the ones who feel alone.”
Wow.
That one interaction caused me to start asking a question to all of the longtime Stayers that I talked to.
“When was it good?”
What years, in your expat experience, were the best? When was it golden? Wonderful?
With very few exceptions they would give me a similar answer.
Years 3, 4 and 5.
Then their eyes would gloss over and they would start reminiscing. They’d smile and cry and laugh and tell stories of the glory days that almost always include something really painful that they wish they could go back to.
“There were bugs in our oatmeal and the electricity only worked when we didn’t need it . . . man, I miss that.”
It’s pretty clear that this one woman at the conference wasn’t the only one feeling it . . . surrounded . . . alone . . . again.
Here’s my best summary of what I think happens.
- You work hard to find your tribe.
- You find them and it’s wonderful.
- They gradually move on and you gradually feel alone again.
Something like this
Veteran expats often feel less connected to a team than they once did. It doesn’t ALWAYS happen that way and everyone’s experience is unique but there is a definite, common thread.
Here are four thoughts about investing in longer, healthier connections
INVEST WIDER
Tribes are golden. Find your people. Do your thing. Build your story — but the moment you lock the door to your tribe the clock starts ticking. Global communities are transient and friends come and go. At least once a year consider how your circle of closest connections might best expand. You don’t have to be best friends with every, single person but you miss great relationships when you travel in a herd.
INVEST DEEPER (NOT JUST DEEP)
Going deep is hard but “hard” and “good” walk hand in hand. The challenge is that we typically see “DEEP” as an either-or option. We either bare our souls OR guard them. Sign on for raw vulnerability OR stick to surface chit-chat. It’s rich when instant, deep connections happen but it usually catches us off guard.
What would it look like, though, if you intentionally dug just ONE layer deeper into a wider range of relationships instead of waiting for that one magical moment with a kindred spirit?
You’ve got more options than deep or not deep. Go one deeper and see what happens
INVEST LOCALLY
Connect with people who aren’t going anywhere. Depending on your situation those relationships may be the reason you came in the first place or an afterthought cut off by the expat bubble. Regardless there is a sensical sweetness to engaging people who aren’t transient.
As a side note — when your time to move on does come around give those relationships proper respect. Locals who engage with expats get left a lot. You know how that feels. Don’t miss the opportunity to firm up the bond on the way out.
INVEST GLOBALLY
One of the great joys of expat life is the network of global relationships that grow up out of it.
Click here to read: Hello Again: The Unanticipated Bright Side of Perpetual Goodbyes
Don’t miss that. Work to stay connected even after the Goers are gone. Go out of your way to reconnect when you get within a reasonable striking distance.
The inevitable cycles of a cross-cultural life naturally bring seasons of deep connection and unexpected isolation — if you’re feeling stuck in that — try something unnatural. Intentionality moves the needle.
Got a story or an extra bit of wisdom? Comment below.
Know someone who needs this? Pass it on.
Jan 2, 2018 |
spoiler alert: There is a free ebook at the end of this post.
I’m excited about something but not because it’s profound. I’m excited because it’s simple.
So simple.
Like insanely simple but I’m watching it work already.
Here’s the dilemma. I’m a parent AND an expat. If you’re not in that same boat you can imagine some of the challenges. If you are in that boat you can feel them.
You know about the internal, nagging whispers of, “am I TOTALLY screwing up my kids by doing this?” You understand the quest for solidity in a life of unending transition. You can grasp the hope for deep connections in an experience that is defined by its disconnections.
Amen?
Anyone?
The challenges are multiple, legit and generally strike a chord with the whole boat.
But the good stuff is REALLY good.
It’s a lot to process and believe me, I do. Sometimes intentionally but I don’t have to flip an “on” switch, it’s just my reality. It’s in my face, all the time, so my opinions, my understanding, and my paradigms are always being formed and reformed whether or not I even know it is happening.
Here’s the simple thing that I’m excited about. If I am constantly processing the paradox of this life abroad — then so is the rest of my family.
There is SO MUCH GOLDEN INSIGHT about this crazy, cross-cultural life packed away just behind their eyeballs.
What energizes them?
What frustrates them?
What confuses them?
What are they most looking forward to AND most afraid of?
What excites me is that all of that is available to me just for the asking . . . if I ask.
Typically though . . . I don’t.
I say, “Hey.”
“How ya’ doin’?”
“How was your day?”
It’s kind of like digging for potatoes in a gold mine.
I like potatoes but come on . . . GOLD.
So I’m trying to figure out how to dig for that gold in my own home and I’m starting by asking questions about my global family . . . to my global family. Not profound questions — simple ones — but deeper than “how was your day?” Questions that focus on the paradox of loving at least two places. Questions that root around in the messiness of living as a family of bumbling foreigners, perpetually on the edge of significant change.
This is what I’m finding — The questions may be simple but the answers are pure and priceless.
Sometimes it’s a nugget that I never imagined was sitting right there.
Sometimes we find things we weren’t even looking for.
Sometimes there is no answer at all but the conversation itself is the rich bit.
Sometimes it’s awkward and weird and it feels like we’re trying too hard so we move on but even then, we learn something.
Regardless — It’s always better than potatoes.
I wrote down 99 questions that I want to ask my family and I’d love to share them with you so you can ask yours too.
If you’re not already on my mailing list just enter your address below to get this in ebook form (you are literally two clicks away). If you are on my email list then check your inbox.
This is the follow up to 99 Questions for Global Friends, another simple little ebook that applies the same principle to your cross-cultural relationships.
You can have that one too for zero extra clicks.
Now. Start digging.
GET 99 QUESTIONS
FOR GLOBAL FAMILIES
Quality conversation starters for families crossing cultures
If this is helpful, let me know. I love hearing global people stories.
If you know someone who might be able to use this, send this post or share it on your socials.
Nov 25, 2017 |
I love me some community. Who doesn’t? Am I right?
It’s one of those super-slick buzz words that makes every experience sound better.
“Yeah, we live in a mud hut, have no internet, eat tree moss and get malaria twice a year . . . but the sense of community is amazing. “
“Heck yeah. Sign me up.”
It is by far what expats love most about their life abroad and what they (oh so naively) think they can reproduce when they go home — so they try . . . diligently . . . but they fail . . . miserably.
What’s up with that?
Why is it so hard to recreate that magical sense of comradery and connection that seems effortless over there?
I have a theory. Here it is.
Expat community rises and falls on two key ingredients.
PROXIMITY and NEED.
Let me put it a different way.
Community happens when incompetent people get mashed together.
It’s how we know we’ve arrived — we need each other in ways that we could never imagine on our home turf.
Simple stuff.
Stupid stuff.
Incredibly uncomplicated, previously no-brainer stuff that we mastered at the age of five is suddenly and painfully beyond our grasp.
Stuff like buying toothpaste.
And using toilets.
And saying words.
We instantly feel like bumbling idiots so we lean on anyone who can empathize. They point us in the right direction and the seeds of community are planted.
They explain the difference between green tea and mint toothpaste — we have a laugh and share a story. They explain the hazards and strategies of local toilets and we find ourselves talking about things that we haven’t even shared with our best friends.
Relationships go deeper quicker because our conversations are fueled by vulnerability.
No one says it out loud — “Hey I’m a bumbling idiot and you seem like a slightly less bumbling idiot, think you could help me out here?” — but that’s the field where community grows.
We huddle up — and we help each other — because we would fall apart if we didn’t.
We move forward together and learn to function at varying degrees of competence but all of us (even the long time vets) are operating at a fraction of the functionality of the average local person.
And THAT my friends, is where the magic happens. Somewhere along that path we actually start loving it to the point that we CHOOSE neediness over self-sufficiency — and it makes perfect sense to everyone around. Why in the world would you go to the store for eggs when your neighbor has nine in their fridge?
It’s a solid system.
And we love it.
So much so that we long for it wherever we go, especially back “home” — but “home” is a different reality.
You’re not a bumbler there.
Scratch that. You’re not supposed to be a bumbler there. You speak the language, you know the culture, you’re HOME for crying out loud . . . which makes the incompetence upon returning all that much more painful.
It’s a shared ache for so many global “returnees” . . . “I miss my community.”
So then, we (oh so naively) come blazing back into our old world armed with our new discoveries, fully prepared to fix the less enlightened . . . if they would just listen . . . and do everything we tell them . . . and buy houses on the same block . . . and share eggs.
We tend to skip straight to the glorious comradery because we have long since forgotten the mashup of incompetence. It’s not hard to sell but it is nearly impossible to deliver. It’s a slow, painful realization that the whole world doesn’t want to reorganize their lives around our epiphanies about community. People don’t choose incompetence if there are other options and now you have jumped back into the land of the Non-Needies.
It’s awkward for competent, fully functioning, proudly autonomous people to ask for help. Why would you do that?
Go get your own eggs.
The natural consequence of competence is independence which is the flip side of community.
Write this down.
In any transition, it is unfair to compare the end of the last thing to the beginning of the new thing.
It just is.
But we do anyway.
Three simple thoughts and I’ll shut up:
This is your story — but it’s not ONLY your story. Consider the other angles and the perspectives of the people around you.
Go easy on the unenlightened — transition tends to inflate our sense of “rightness” and make it easy to judge the one’s who “don’t get it.”
Be patiently persistent — Great community CAN happen again. It will look different (it has to). It may take longer — but it’s worth the intentionality to never give up.
What is your community experience?
This ring a bell? Struggling to make sense of it? Got it all figured out and want to share it with the rest of us?
Comment below — we could use some help.
Nov 5, 2017 |
A little back story . . . I grew up in the largest cornfield in the world.
Illinois, (one of 50 United States), is geographically and politically broken into two distinct regions.
Chicago and corn.
You could literally travel for hours in any direction from my home and never leave the cornfield. You’ll pass through some tiny towns and an occasional “big city” (city in finger quotes) but from a bird’s eye you will always be engulfed in corn.
If you had asked younger me where I was from, I would have told you “Decatur” and likely followed that up with, “it’s the third largest city in Illinois”. I was pretty proud of that “fact” (fact in finger quotes) even though it was only true for a short bit of my formative years.
“There are 100,000 people here!”. That number blew my mind. It was also exaggerated by 5% and then 15% and then 27% as my childhood moved forward.
The stats (true or not) made me feel bigger. It was classic overcompensation especially since I didn’t technically live in Decatur.
I lived in the countryside nearby (population 212 counting cows and horses). We bought groceries in Decatur so it seemed right to say I was from there.
We played baseball in a cow pasture and used dry manure for bases. When the cows interrupted the game we would chase them away and they would leave new bases on their way out. It was a sustainable model.
Airplanes excited me. They made white lines in the sky that turned orange when the sun went down and I remember vividly standing on second base, looking up and thinking, “there are people up there . . . and they’re going somewhere.”
I wanted to go somewhere — but airplane travel would be overkill for people who never left the cornfield. I heard once that you could dig a hole to China but even with the shortcut it felt too far away.
If you had offered me a ticket to anywhere I would have chosen anywhere but Illinois.
Click here to read: The Day Grandma Got Us Kicked Out of Mexico
My daughter on the other hand . . .
only sees corn next to the steamed buns and shriveled hot dogs on a stick at the shop outside of our apartment.
If you ask her where she is from she will proudly tell you “America” but don’t let the quick answer fool you. It hasn’t come without some challenging forethought. She wasn’t born there. She doesn’t live there. She hasn’t spent most of her time there but right now . . . in this season . . . she feels like she is “from” there.
I say “fair enough”.
She lives in a big city. Like a real one with no finger quotes. I tell people there are 8 million people in Qingdao and she corrects me instantly.
“9 million Dad.”
She’s right . . . and we both feel a little bigger.
Airplanes excite her. They are the best place in the world for a movie marathon. Back to back new releases for 14 hours.
She prefers the aisle seat but if we fly to Chicago and she leans over at just the right moment she gets to see the largest cornfield in the world.
Turns out it’s a bunch of tiny squares and rectangles all smashed together. Who knew?
I don’t know what she thinks when she sees that but I look down and think, “there is probably some kid down there on second base . . . who needs to clean his shoes before he goes in the house.”
When I ask my daughter where she would like to go I try to throw out options that were unthinkable when I was her age.
Thailand?
Philippines?
Indonesia?
Japan?
I get giddy just thinking about it but she says, “meh.”
Paris on the other hand . . .
If you offered her a ticket to anywhere she would say anywhere but Asia . . . because Asia is her Illinois.
Here’s what I love about raising global kids
Our vast and dramatic differences are actually points of connection. Even though she is growing up both literally and figuratively a world away from where I did — even though we are so very different, I love those moments when it is crystal clear that we are precisely the same.
Sometimes, she thinks exactly like me — she just has a much larger playing field.
That makes me excited about her future.
Feeling different, distant or disconnected from your global kid? Take some intentional time and find your common ground. You’re probably not as different as it feels.
Oct 24, 2017 |
I fear your criticism.
I thought I would be better at this.
I procrastinate.
I sometimes feel like I’m faking it to get by.
If people knew ________ they would be SO disappointed.
I start things and never finish them.
I want you to think I look good.
I need you to think I’m smart.
I hope you think I’m funny.
I’m judging you.
I’d call it an epidemic . . . but it’s a subtle one.
Expats get pounded by perfectionism (more so than the normal-pats). That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.
I’m not a psychologist but I am a bit of an expert on this topic. It’s a part of my job to help expats get real about their issues and perfectionism comes up A LOT. Sometimes it’s an annoying stressor. Sometimes It’s debilitating. Sometimes it’s toxic. I’ve spoken with more than a thousand expats over the past seven years and . . .
Scratch that.
I AM a perfectionist and I’m just now discovering it. It’s not pretty.
It took me so long because I’ve been busy fixing the other perfectionists AND I don’t fit my own stereotype. I’m not “type A”, over-structured, anal retentive, detail crazed, unreasonably demanding or hyper critical.
Turns out perfectionism comes in a lot of different flavors.
Here are some (there are many more)
- The Self-promoter — “If I convince you I’m amazing you won’t know the truth.”
- The Self-deprecator — “I’ll put myself down so you’ll raise me back up.”
- The Workaholic — “I’ll prove my worth by never stopping.”
- The Procrastinator — “I won’t start until I can do it right.”
- The Never Finisher — “There is always one more thing that could be better.”
- The Paralytic — “The way it should be is out of reach, so . . . I can’t move.”
- The Pleaser — “If everyone loves me, they won’t see my flaws.”
- The Hater — “If everyone hates me, I don’t have to care what they think.”
- The Dominator — “If I’m in control, you won’t know that I’m not.”
- The Toxic Defender — “If I can villainize the people around me, I can be the hero.”
- The Loner — “If I stay over here, you won’t see my flaws.”
At a root level for all perfectionists is an unspoken fear. There is an irrational drive to be something (or at least be perceived as something) that is out of reach.
Perfection is never an option but it is always calling.
The internal tension is daunting and the fear of exposure is relentless. To feel constant pressure pushing towards an unattainable goal is a draining existence.
Here’s why expats are especially at risk
The Creamy Crop Syndrome
Most expats have to pass a test to get the gig. It’s (generally) a high-functioning, motivated, well funded crowd. That’s a lot to live up to.
The Invisible Baggage
International assignments come with a clean slate. No one knows all of the stupid things you did in your past. Don’t mess that up.
The Superhero Mentality
People move abroad because they want to fix something and Superheros don’t make mistakes.
The Lone Ranger Complex
International assignments often involve heavy burdens shouldered by a handful of people. Failure would be tragic for the masses, and likely all your fault.
The Facebook Facade
Social media becomes even more significant for disconnected friends and families. However, people tend to post their best moments which creates the facade that everyone else is happy and successful — so you should be too.
The Underestimated Transition
You were a superstar back home. That’s why they wanted you so bad — but it takes time to adjust in a new world. You are never your best in transition which can create a fear of exposure.
The High Hopes of Home
Whether you feel the weight of “we believe in you, (don’t let us down)” or fear the thought of “we told you this was a bad idea (just come back)” pressures from your homeland can intensify the need to succeed.
The Revolving Door
Vulnerability takes time and trust. The constant incoming and outgoing of an expat community can put a strain on both of those.
Risks are compounded by the other risks of living abroad. Isolation. Anonymity. Distance from your traditional support structures. Grief and loss. The stress and shock of ongoing, never ending adjustment.
Cross-cultural transition is a breeding ground for insecurity. Perfectionism is a natural response.
Here’s what we can do about it.
Go first
There is something rich about the three simple words, “I’ll go first.” Step out. Take a risk. Be vulnerable. Finish the sentence, “I’m afraid that if I . . . ” Open the door for other perfectionists to own it.
Write it down
Just start writing. Don’t think. Don’t craft it. Don’t use spell check. Don’t give it to anyone. Writing is a powerful tool to make sense of senseless things.
Drag it into the light
Once people have seen your challenges, your issues and your insecurities, fear of exposure loses it’s grip.
Ask stupid questions
It’s hard to ask questions when you should already know the answers (even if you don’t). Intentionally asking questions that feel stupid breaks down the brick wall between you and learning something new.
Celebrate mistakes
Own it when you mess up. Creating a culture of learning when we trip not only pads the fall, it makes it enjoyable to get back up.
Study Yourself
Know where your drive for perfection comes from. Who did you have to please as a child? What kind of perfectionist are you? What is it doing to you? What about the people around you?
Call it out
Practice the discipline of saying, “yep, there it is” when your perfectionist tendencies pop up. Then move on.
Find safe places
If you fear the consequences of vulnerability, who are the people that would never break your trust? Start there. Talk to someone.
Relationship, Relationship, Relationship
Perfectionism thrives in the shallows. You can hide, judge, please, dominate and appear perfect much more easily in a world full of surface relationships. All of that crumbles when people really know you and you really know them. Invite people into your space.
You’re not so perfect there.
Is this post about you? Do you live abroad and struggle with perfectionism?
If so, share your story. You are SO not alone.
I’ll go first.
I am paralyzed by the thought of criticism. When I write I delete 70% because it’s not perfect. I have started writing multiple books that are floating around on my hard drive,unfinished because they need to be just right. I start and stop ALL THE TIME. I love an accolade but lose sleep when I’ve offended someone. I tell jokes, which protect me, and keep me in the shallows where I’m safe.
I would prefer it if you thought I was perfect.
I’m not.
