Aug 4, 2016 |
Expats struggle. We strain. We may even fail and do significant damage NOT because we don’t understand something but because we INSIST on proceeding as if we do.
This might sting a little. “You are ignorant.”
I mean that in the nicest possible way (as if that helps). There’s no real nice way to say it is there?
It’s not the same as other hard truths.
“Hey man, you know I love you with all of my heart, and you have so much to offer the world but I wouldn’t be able to call myself your true friend if I didn’t let you know . . . you’re mouth stinks.”
See?
That works. It still stings a bit because no one wants to hear they have bad breath but I can tell you the painful truth and still completely validate you as a person and a friend. We’re in this together. I will be right there by your side until your breath is minty fresh. I love you that much.
Not the same with “ignorant.”
“Hey man, you know I love you with all of my heart, and you have so much to offer the world but I wouldn’t be able to call myself your true friend if I didn’t let you know . . . you are ignorant.”
Ouch.
That’s hard to recover from in a positive, affirming, friendship salvaging way.
I am convinced, however, that the only gateway into cross-cultural success (and quite possibly any other type of success) has much less to do with what you know than it does knowing that you don’t know.
In other words, if you would like to thrive cross-culturally you should probably face it . . . you are ignorant.
Still sting?
In your defense . . .
When it comes to crossing cultures (specifically the culture or cultures that you have crossed into) you are not nearly as ignorant as you used to be AND you are likely far less ignorant than most of the people where you come from.
Even before you got on a plane you started fighting the ignorance dilemma by soaking up information like a sponge. Wikipedia. Lonely Planet. Youtube. Anything you could wrap your brain around that could give you some glimpse into your soon to be new home — you were on it. And now that you’ve landed you’ve seen things — touched things — tasted things that have expanded your horizons, broadened your perspectives and shifted your paradigms.
You so get it . . . on a whole new level. Especially in comparison to the people back home and to the former version of yourself.
You started like this.
But now you’re like this.
You’re practically an expert and if you’ve ever gotten the chance to play tour guide for a visitor from back home you may have even surprised yourself. On the flip side, if you’ve ever returned home for a visit you may have been shocked by the levels of ignorance that you never knew were there before.
It feels good . . . to get it. To know. To understand so much.
Until you consider how much you don’t.
Yeah. You are ignorant.
Scratch that . . . WE are IGNORANT.
No matter how good we get at working or doing business or bargaining or speaking the language or engaging people or making friends or navigating challenges or blending in or standing out or just living life as a foreigner — no matter how long we do this or how much we understand — there will remain so, so, so much more that we don’t.
And not knowing is NOT the problem . . . UNLESS we insist on proceeding as if we do know.
That’s when it gets nasty. That’s when we fall miserably short of the reasons we came in the first place, whatever those reasons are. That’s when businesses fail, teams disintegrate, relationships break, families get stretched thin, marriages get damaged, cultures get mocked and the casualties stack up. That’s when we fall apart and leave too early. It’s also when we fall apart and stay too long.
The good news is that facing the stinging reality that we are truly ignorant is the single greatest place to start moving forward from.
Really. It is.
So just face it. You’re ignorant.
Let’s explore that.
Click here to read Part 2 — Embracing Expat Ignorance
Coming Soon: Erasing Expat Ignorance
Jul 26, 2016 |
You finally made it. You’re a foreigner . . . in a foreign land. So now what?
There is nothing quite like your first days abroad. It’s magical. All of the anticipation and excitement with none of the baggage (unless you count the actual baggage that you’re living out of). You haven’t yet tripped or bumbled or slipped into any of the inevitable pitfalls. You haven’t snapped or screamed or broken down or crawled into a hole or stayed up all night searching for the cheapest one way ticket home.
It’s a golden time. Bask in it. Breath it in. You haven’t messed it up yet and you — more than any other — have the untarnished potential to do this thing right. The advice for people like you is as plentiful as it is practical — sage wisdom from those who have marched before you:
“Engage the culture.”
“Learn the language.”
“Try the crazy foods.”
“Give more than you take.”
It’s all good counsel and you’ll do well to soak it up like a sponge.
However, there are ten things I wish someone would have told me early on.
I understand why they didn’t but still . . . I wish they had. Here they are.
One: Mess it all up
How’s that for starters? The key to not messing it all up is to mess it all up.
But seriously . . . it is.
Get ready to make some mistakes. Lots of them. Big ones. Little ones. In between ones. Go for broke.
Mistakes are the best chance you’ve got at learning and this is absolutely the best time to make them. Making mistakes while you’re still having fun gives you the chance to laugh at yourself and makes for great Facebook fodder. You’re also much more likely to get grace from the vets and the locals. Take full advantage of your “Oops, I just got here” card.
The flip side (trying to fake perfection) is a miserable place. You won’t fool anyone but yourself. Don’t go there.
Two: Get ripped off
There are few things more frustrating than getting the “foreigner price”. This may or may not be a reality where you are but it’s not uncommon for outsiders to pay more than locals. I have watched otherwise rational, quite lovely expats transform into rage filled monsters, foaming at the mouth and bent on revenge — usually over pocket change.
It’s not the money it’s the principal right? The injustice. The exploitation.
Nope . . . it’s your pride.
You’re new to the system and you got took. Fair enough. When you understand things more you’ll be more equipped to get the best deal. Until then do your best to learn something but know that resentment is a terrible teacher.
The system isn’t new . . . you are . . . and EVERY system (including your own) is designed to get the most money out of people who don’t know better.
Swallow your pride . . . and take someone with you if you’re buying a car.
Three: Don’t listen to the old timers
Discernment is key here. There is often grand wisdom to be gleaned from the seasoned expats around you. They’ve been there. Done that. Probably printed their own T-shirts to prove it.
Respect them and sit at their feet when you get the chance to hear their stories.
However, when someone who has been there for 40 years says, “yeah, you can’t buy ketchup here” or “you can only get there by donkey and it will take three weeks” . . . you might think about getting a second opinion. Sometimes the vets (myself included) offer advice based on their own outdated experience. Things change faster than people do.
Last years newbies may actually be a better resource when it comes to finding the things you need and especially the things you want. They just went through this so not only did they work hard to figure it out they know what you’re going through.
Try finding empathy from an old timer who once rode a donkey for three weeks to buy ketchup. Let me know how that works out.
Four: Be ignorant
Let me rephrase this one. Ignorance is not something that you need to achieve. It’s something that you already are. Embrace that.
Ignorance gets a bad rap. It’s not the same thing as stupid. Stupid is convincing yourself (and trying to convince others) that you know something when you actually don’t. Ignorance is just not knowing it.
People do damage when they act on the pressure to know something that they don’t. However if you are able to recognize just how much you don’t yet grasp you are poised and primed to start soaking up the new.
As a sidenote — Don’t fall for the lie that answers equal understanding. Answers give you one opinion, one perspective, one piece of the full picture. Ask the same question a thousand times to a thousand different people and THEN you’ll start to scratch the surface of understanding. Kind of. Maybe.
Be a constant, relentless learner but never lose sight of how much you still have to learn.
Five: Don’t be helpful
Duane Elmer tells one of my all time favorite stories in his book Cross Cultural Connections. In it a monkey spots a fish caught in the ocean’s current following a typhoon. At great risk to himself, he climbs onto a branch and reaches into the water to pull the fish from danger. Heroically, he lays it on dry land where it can be saved from the raging waters. At first the fish jumped with excitement and then fell into a peaceful rest.
Duane says this, “Joy and satisfaction swelled inside the monkey. He had successfully helped another creature.”
Helping is such a good thing . . . but take the time to understand what is ACTUALLY helpful . . . and what is probably not.
Six: Be offensive
Offensivness (like helpfulness) is a culturally loaded concept. My culture, for example, is currently (what I would call) hyper-selectively concerned with offensiveness. Say the wrong word one time and it could go viral which (this happens every day) might actually ruin your reputation and even cost you your career. However, say the same thing in the name of sarcastic, mocking comedy and it might go viral instantly making you famous and rich.
It’s hard to keep up in your own culture, let alone another.
Offensiveness is nuanced. We tend to filter our understanding of it, however, through our own experience. So, when we cross cultures our most valiant, heart felt attempts to avoid offending fall painfully short . . . because they are rooted in our own cultural perspective.
Give yourself a break. You are going to be offensive at some point. What matters more is that you pick up on the cues when you are and that you are willing to make adjustments even when it doesn’t make sense.
Be especially careful not to react offensively when your offensiveness is called out.
It’s a tangled web but humility breaks you free.
Seven: Have bad days
In China we often say we’re having a “bad China day”. I would bet we’re not the only ones who do that.
Anyone?
Here’s the thing. I have never (not once) said I’m having a “bad America day” and yet I have had hundreds of bad days in America. Unfortunately our host country becomes the dog that gets kicked when things aren’t going our way. It’s there so we transfer our frustration. That can be dangerous.
Sure, sometimes the culture is pushing on your very last nerve but it’s likely that your nerves were raw already.
Blaming sets you up to be bitter . . . which will make for more bad days . . . which will make you more bitter . . .
See where this is going?
It’s ok. Just have a bad day.
Eight: Quit exercising and eating healthy
Just kidding. That’s terrible advice.
Seriously though. Take care of yourself.
Physical, mental and spiritual health take a hit in transition. They are disciplines that work best with a routine. Considering the reality that your routines (the ones from the old country) have been obliterated in the move you might find yourself struggling to stay fit.
That’s why it’s called a discipline.
Work hard to find your new routines. Don’t lie to yourself by saying stuff like “I can’t do that here.”
“I can’t find kale smoothies so I have to eat McDonald’s every day.” “I can’t jog 5 times a week so I haven’t gotten off the couch for a month.”
Let comfort food (the literal and the metaphorical) be a nice treat . . . not a steady diet.
Nine: Crawl in a hole
You read it here first. When you are frustrated by the overwhelming challenges of transition, one of the best things that you can do is hide. Crawl into a hole. Scurry under a rock. Retreat to your cave. Curl up on your couch and binge watch 90’s sitcoms.
But (you knew this part was coming didn’t you?)
Do it with a plan.
It get’s hard sometimes . . . and sometimes you need a break. So take one . . . but before you crawl into a hole decide when you’ll be coming out. Specifically. Exact date and exact time.
Hiding is a great way to retreat, recover, refresh and recharge but you didn’t move all this way to watch Netflix. You can do that anywhere . . . unless Netflix is blocked . . .
Come on Netflix.
Go ahead and hide from reality . . . with a reasonable plan to re-engage it.
Ten: Focus on yourself
I see fabulous foreigners all the time who are the most sacrificial people in the world. Sometimes they even wear it like a badge of honor. “I haven’t had a day off in 6 months . . . I’ll rest when I die.”
Those people do one of two things. They crash and burn OR they help create a culture where crashing and burning is inevitable (and sometimes celebrated) .
Flight attendants say is best, “In the unlikely event that we should lose cabin pressure an oxygen mask will drop in front of you. Please secure your own mask before taking care of others.”
The point is NOT this — You are the most important person on board.
The point IS this — You can’t help anyone while you’re passed out on the airplane floor.
Want your kids to thrive abroad? Your students? Your co-workers? Want to build strong relationships? Engage the culture? Learn the language?
Want to do this right?
Get your mask on and breath normally.
How about you?
Just getting started? What have you learned so far?
Been doing this a while? What do you wish someone would have shared with you early on?
Know someone who is going or gone? Pass this on.
Jun 1, 2016 |
In honor of June . . . (excuse me, I just threw up a little in my mouth) . . . here is a repost of one of my favorites. Enjoy.
Life as an expatriate is tainted by a single word.
“Goodbye.”
By nature, the move TO a foreign country is launched with a massive, painful farewell that is partially numbed by anticipation, excitement, adrenaline and sheer exhaustion. It’s an all out frenzy, as the days are counted down, to spend an appropriate amount of quality time validating every significant relationship (and some that aren’t so significant) wrapped in the chaos of arranging visas, making travel arrangements, finding a home for the hamster, cramming suitcases to just over the allowed weight limit, selling your old Tupperware, your bowling ball, your car and your house.
Honestly . . . and I mean this in the best possible way . . . the initial goodbyes aren’t so bad. Not because we won’t miss those people horribly. We will. But four things make it easier.
1. In the chaos there is no time to breathe, let alone process reality.
2. We knew this was a part of the deal when we decided to move.
3. It’s always easier to leave than to be left.
4. We’ll probably see those people again.
Come on fellow expats – don’t leave me hanging . . . “Did you see what Jerry wrote?! He said leaving his family and friends was easy . . . and wonderful.” Not what I said. But if you’ve been through it you know I’m right. Horrible as it is, the worst of the pain gets overshadowed by the madness.
But that’s only one set of goodbyes.
What you don’t expect when you move to a foreign country is that every June will feel like you’re taking a metaphorical golf club to the metaphorical teeth. Metaphorically speaking of course.
What is really cool about our particular expat experience is the people we meet. The other expats around here are amazing and we’re all in the same expat boat. Actually maybe it’s a submarine because we tend to go a little deeper really quickly. We come from all over the world but we are all sharing the joy and pain of China together. All of our kids are getting stared at and photographed every time we go out. We’re all faking Chinese every time we get in a taxi. None of us knows where to buy good bacon or milk or DVD’s or get our hair cut, or permed or straightened, or dyed (at least without dire consequences). We all know nothing together, but when one of us discovers something there is excessive jubilation. Like warriors returning from a great victory we come together in the expat village square to celebrate and divide the plunder. The children laugh and play games while the men and women riverdance and parade around with hand sewn banners reading, “WE . . . HAVE FOUND BACON!!”
Ok . . . still speaking metaphorically but the points are genuine. We like these people. We connect on a level that is deeper than the surface. We help each other. We laugh with each other. When something horrible happens to one of us we all understand the pain of going through it away from home so we all try to fill in the gaps. Our celebration may take place through email or text messages but when we find something new, we pass it on . . . and we all feel a little bit better.
And in June . . . we say goodbye.
Expats aren’t lifers. There are very few deep roots here. Our kids don’t graduate with the same kids they went to Kindergarten with. Most people stick around two to five years and just a handful stay longer. There are constantly newcomers and constantly outgoers but June is the worst month of all.
Literally, in the course of two weeks we have said goodbye to more than 25 of our friends and that’s a typical June. Ranging from acquaintance to neighbors to close friends it’s a bit surreal to walk through our community and realize, “Oh, the Blabla’s are gone . . . and they’re not coming back”
We’re expert farewellers but with every goodbye there is an ignored reality that we don’t dare mention out loud. We cover it up with overly optimistic and misguided statements like, “We’ll come visit you” and “We’ll skype every week.” Those well wishes help us feel a little better but they don’t come true. The sad truth is that when we say goodbye (with a few beautiful exceptions) we will never see these people again.
So to all of you dirty jokers who have moved on in the past few weeks . . . Thanks for ruining June for the rest of us.
Seriously . . . the kids are out of school, the weather is gorgeous and the smell of barbecue is in the air. It’s supposed to be a happy time. But no. You had to leave and you took your kids with you.
You’ll be missed. Thanks for being expats with us.
May 26, 2016 |
My family’s not normal but let’s be honest . . . neither is yours.
I swear this happened one time — in America to boot.
I was at my hometown mall watching my daughter (a toddler at the time) trip around the foam rubber, indoor playground just outside of the Panda Express. I hadn’t been a father long but I knew from watching TV that playground chit chat was a thing. I was ready — or so I thought.
A woman, whom I believe was Chinese, kicked off a conversation.
“Is that your kid?”
“Good opening question” I thought. “I can do this.”
“Yeah.” I said with a chuckle that simultaneously meant, “isn’t she cute” and “chit chat is easy.”
Her turn.
“She doesn’t look like you.”
I felt like maybe she was unnecessarily stating the obvious but I was not deterred.
Chuckling again I said, “Yeah. She’s adopted.”
Now this is the moment where a normal person has expectations right? You expect any number of responses like — “Aww, that is so sweet” or “Wow, that’s really great” or “Oh cool, my cousin is adopted.”
But nope. I got . . .
“Hmm . . . cause you can’t make one?”
I’m just going to pause my blog for a moment to let the awkwardness fully sink in. Continue when you are able.
I have pondered this moment for more than ten years now and I still don’t know what the right response would have . . . no wait . . . could have been.
“Well, we’ve . . . uh . . . you know . . . we’ve um, tried . . . but uh . . . I’m sorry have we met because I don’t remember catching your name before you know . . . you started asking me about the working order of my reproductive system . . . . . . . . . My name is Jerry?”
Honestly I get it. On two different levels I get it.
Having lived in China since shortly after that moment I’ve learned a lot about (and even come to appreciate) the “unencumbered” nature of Chinese enquiry. If it’s weird, ask about it. Why wouldn’t you?
I also realize that she was just culturally unencumbered enough to enquire about the the same thought that goes through everyone’s head when they see us.
We’re not normal. I get it.
We’re not like the other delightful little mall families whose kids are shrunken versions of themselves (no offense if you are one of those — you’re very cute). We are two white parents with a Chinese daughter and a black son and fair enough, the first thought that you think when you see us may start with “awww” or “hmm” but it ends you “cause you can’t make one.”
It’s ok if you had that thought . . . and thank you for not saying it out loud.
The first thoughts never define a relationship unless the relationship ends there. What you’ll discover, no matter how you choose to get to know us, though, is that we blend.
Beautifully.
In fact we blend so much that now, when I see pictures like the one up there with our faces all squished together, I do a double take . . . and I remember that we really don’t look much like our kids . . . but man we go together.
Seriously.
Look at us.
That’s blended.
I forget though . . . virtually always . . . what is so blatantly obvious to everyone who sees us for the first time. Hang out with us for a day and you’ll forget too.
My family’s not normal but let’s be honest . . . neither is yours. I love it that way.
That’s all.
Do you blend? Your blendedness may look a lot like ours or nothing at all. Either way, take a minute a brag on your family below.
Know some great blended families — pass it on.
Apr 18, 2016 |
Ahhh “Repatriation”
It’s one of those words that you don’t even look up in the dictionary until you start going through it yourself. For those less traveled it may not even make sense that we would coin a special word for returning to your country after a time away. It’s confusing for family and friends who just call it “coming home.”
“You must be glad to be coming home!”
“Bet you can’t wait to get home.”
“It’s about time you came home.”
These are the sentences that either paralyze the typical Repat or cause them to throw up a little in their mouth. There is no good response.
“Going home” is packed tight with confusion and uncertainty. There is SO much excitement and SO much anxiety sharing the exact same space in your brain that it can be hard to get a grip on what is real.
So we believe the lies. In fact sometimes, we create them.
To be fair — this is no conspiracy against the “home” Goers. Last years repats are not crouched in the shadows, rubbing their bony fingers together and plotting against the newest batch. However, excitement and anxiety create a fertile ground for misunderstanding.
Maybe you’re packing up and not sure what to believe. Maybe you’re a Stayer saying “goodbye” (again). Maybe you’re just glad someone is finally coming home (it’s about time right?).
Regardless . . . there are some things you should consider . . .
Here are 7 lies that Repats often believe:
LIE #1: The Green Grass Lie
“It’ll all be better when I get on that airplane . . . ”
I get it. This expat stuff can be stressful — for some more than others. Crossing cultures, learning languages, eating mystery foods — it’s all an adventure on the front end but rarely stays that way forever. Ironically the cultural stuff usually isn’t the back breaker.
It’s the relationships.
The broken ones. The strained ones. The annoying ones.
The pool of people to connect with is generally shallower when you are away than it is when you are home and the opportunities to escape (at least in a healthy way) are harder to come by.
Regardless of whether your deepest challenges fit in the “cultural”, “relational” or “other” category, it is easy to believe that getting out is going to fix it all.
That’s seldom how it plays out for two reasons:
1. New issues are waiting for you on the other side of the airplane
2. Old issues can fly.
You’ll set yourself up for a huge crash if you’re putting all of your hope into escaping to Utopia. You’ll also leave bits of unresolved brokenness behind you. Those don’t go away because you do and they don’t stay behind you.
LIE #2. The Lie of No One Cares
This lie is born out of a surprising discovery that most expats get smacked in the face with on their first trip home (even if they’re only home for a couple of weeks).
We move our lives to a foreign land. Every day is filled with some new and maddening challenge/adventure. We bumble around like a blindfolded walrus tripping through the forest and somehow we figure out a way to navigate — but one thing is certain — we come away with stories.
Good stories.
Painful stories
Funny stories.
And we can’t wait to tell them.
So the first time someone says “Ohh. You spent two years in China? How was that?” — we think they really want to know . . . in detail.
So we tell them . . .
. . . and it stings a little when we find out they were hoping we could sum up the whole experience in 20 seconds or less.
Or they reduce two years of our life to, “yeah that’s just like when we took a cruise to the Bahamas”.
Or they get excited because their doctor is from Japan.
Or they slap us on the back and say, “HA! Eat any dogs lately?!”
Or they don’t even ask at all.
It is especially shocking when the people we expected to be most interested (typically friends and family) are the least interested.
So it makes sense then, that the repats would feel like no one cares.
But that is a lie for two reasons:
1. Caring goes beyond frame of reference. People have an understanding about your host culture that may be restricted to what they have seen on the evening news — or a hometown stereotype — or a bad joke. They’re not going to be as connected as you are and to be fair — you don’t really care that much about their cruise. Let them off the hook. They may not even know the right questions to ask but that doesn’t mean they don’t care.
2. Everyone ≠ No one. Just because EVERYONE doesn’t want to hear your stories does not mean that NO ONE does. They are out there. They may not be the people you thought they would be — but they are there. Be patient. The listeners are worth the wait. When you find them — it is glorious.
3. The Lie of Going Back
“I’ve learned that you don’t go back . . . but you do go forward.”
I heard this a few weeks ago from a man who was packing up both literally and figuratively. He was in the final days of a decades long cross-cultural experience that has taken him to both Asia and the Middle East. It’s not the first time he has repatriated so he has the benefit of gleaning from his own wisdom.
Two things change when you go away from home.
You . . . and home.
Your world gets rocked when you see it from another one. Your perspectives are stretched. Your positions are challenged. Your understandings grow. It’s not uncommon for repats to feel like they are a completely different person than they were when they came in.
Here’s the kicker — moving away is not WHY you changed.
Try going to your high school reunion and finding someone who didn’t change. Had you never left you would still be a different person. You might be a different, different person but you would be different nonetheless. Your expat experience is just a part of the story of HOW you changed.
You’re going forward to a different place with different people . . . and you are different.
That’s a whole lot of different.
You’re in for a shock if you think you’re going back to the same.
4. The Lie of “These People”
“These people just don’t get it.”
“These people are so caught up in their own little world.”
It’s all too easy for the globetrotter to turn judgy when they reconnect with their homeland. Ironically it’s the same phenomenon that occurs when we cross cultures in the first place. We start dropping the “THEY” bomb (usually as soon as we land) on every situation that doesn’t make sense.
“THEY eat some weird stuff.”
“THEY drive like maniacs.”
“THEY have no respect for personal space.”
It’s hard sometimes, to see the trees for the forest so we lump THEM all together and we notice what THEY do that is different from US. The unstated insinuation, of course, is that OUR way is the right way and THEIR way is wrong. There are seminars to help you process the fallacy of this kind of thinking when you’re preparing to travel abroad — but it’s often a shock when we come back the other way. Who would have guessed that ALL of the people who used to be SO right would become SO wrong while we were away.
It took some time for me to realize that my time abroad (the first time) had not granted me total enlightenment. However, I did notice that people started gritting their teeth when I began EVERY SINGLE sentence with, “In China we . . . “
I could tell what they were thinking . . .
“This guy just doesn’t get it.”
“This guy is so caught up in his own little world.”
They were wrong about me (at least partially) — but I was wrong about them too.
Prepare to cut some slack.
5. The Lie of Never Again
Going home farewells can be harder than the leaving home ones. Don’t get me wrong — it’s not easy to leave home but there is generally a sense that you will see these people again. They are your people. This is your place. You’ll be back.
That’s not likely the case when you end your expat time. It’s hard to imagine investing the same amount of time and money in a trip back to your host country as you would to your home country. Even if you do you’re likely to discover that it changed even more dramatically and more quickly than home did.
There is a truth here. It will NEVER be EXACTLY the same — even if you make it back.
BUT (and this is a big but) don’t settle for the lie that you will NEVER see any of these people again.
Two things give hope here:
1. LIFERS are worth it: The investment that is. If you are saying goodbye to some Lifers (friends who will be friends regardless of time and distance) don’t settle for never again. You may need to rearrange your priorities but reconnection is worth spending your frequent flyer miles, saving your pocket change and skipping Disneyland. The return on that investment is outstanding.
Click here to read more about Lifers: Hello Again – The Unanticipated Bright Side of Perpetual Goodbyes
2. Distance has been redefined: Global people use a different measuring stick. When I was growing up we MIGHT drive across town to see someone we hadn’t seen in awhile. Now if friends can make it to the same half of the country we’ll find a way to catch up. I’m amazed at how many random reconnections (along with some near misses) we’ve been able to have with people all around the planet. It’s exciting when it happens.
Never say never.
6. The Lie of Re-Becoming
There is a fear that many repatriates share. It goes something like this:
“I’m afraid that I will slip back into my old life and become who I was before I moved abroad.”
We fear that our broadened horizons will re-narrow. That we’ll settle back into the comforts and conveniences of home so much so that we’ll forget what it was like to live on the other side.
- That our political focus will be only local.
- That our worship will be painfully monocultural.
- That we will forget what genuine community looks like.
- That we will lose our grasp on world events.
- That our friends will only speak our language(s).
- That our neighbors will look, act and think like us.
- That we’ll start liking sad imitations of ethnic foods and forget what the “real thing” actually is.
We’re petrified that we’ll start laughing at the same old jokes, chasing the same old ambitions and settling into the same old values (maybe even prejudices) that living away has broken us out of.
I say fair enough. The fear is legitimate BUT to believe that there is no other option is to fall for a lie.
Settling comes naturally — so be unnatural.
- Watch international news.
- Befriend foreigners.
- Keep learning language.
- Enjoy people who push you, stretch you and disagree with you even when you don’t have to.
- Explore.
- Celebrate your host culture’s holidays.
- Travel every chance you get.
Most importantly — think it through. Sit down and spend some quality time contemplating the skills, the values and the experiences that are a part of your story because you lived abroad. Get creative. How are you going to hold on to those?
7. The Brown Grass Lie
For every impending Repat who can’t wait to get on the plane there is one who is dreading it.
There is no shortage of repatriation chatter. In an effort to be “truth tellers” and good processors we hone in on the painful parts. We find comfort in the other broken people.
It’s not a bad thing.
But when you’re packing up it can freak you out.
The stories are real.
People actually do break down in the cereal aisle. They get overwhelmed by their own language. They forget how to pay bills and stand in line and cross the street. They feel isolated in crowds and unnoticed at their own homecoming parties.
It’s all true.
But keep in mind — we only talk about the surprises. The shocks. The stuff we didn’t see coming. The best bits get overshadowed by the bumblings and we forget to write about the fact that even though we are different and so is home . . . it’s good to be there.
Repatriation is usually hard. But hard doesn’t mean NOT good.
Don’t buy the lie that repatriating can’t be good. It most certainly can.
How about you?
Been there? — Spread a little hope. Share your best Repat moments.
About to repatriate? — What are you afraid of? Looking forward to?
Welcoming someone home? — What’s your plan for doing it well?
Comment below and pass it on.
Feb 14, 2016 |
We are expats. We say goodbye. A lot.
I could end this post right there and know that I have struck a chord. But I won’t.
If you’re living far from home (or you instinctively use finger quotes when you even say the word “home”) you’ve noticed it. You started this whole thing with a massive (if not universal) round of “goodbyes.” Before you were culture shocked. Before you were homesick. Before you ever felt the sting of being a bumbling foreigner, “Goodbye” was the hurdle you had to jump.
It probably went something like this.
via GIPHY
Who knew that there was a skill set for saying goodbye?
But there is. And you got better. Or maybe you didn’t.
Regardless you realized, somewhere along the line, that the first round of goodbyes was exactly that . . . the first . . . and they haven’t stopped since.
Saying goodbye is hard — even when you’re good at it. So signing on (or being signed on) to a life that includes more farewells than you ever could have imagined is, so very often, the darkest, bitterest, most horrible part of the life cross-cultural.
We have spent the past two weeks rediscovering the brightest, sweetest most wonderful part.
“Hello again.”
I am writing this post under the influence of jet lag having spent some UBER-quality with old friends in Prague. They were the other half of the first double date that my wife and I ever went on. I was their son’s first baby sitter and we lived next door in married student housing. He taught me survival Czech for college credit but all I remembered was “put your hands up and give me some money.”
This trip was my first chance to use that in context.
It was rich to catch up with great friends but it was even richer to take inventory of just how blessed we are with so many great friendships.
I call them “LIFERS” (and in doing so recognize the need to distinguish them from the prison sort).
They are people that we have done life with and connected with on some deep, deep, almost inexplicable level and forged a relationship that will absolutely, unquestionably be life long. They are friends that will always be friends regardless of petty little things like time or geography. Some are family members and we’ve never not known them, some we have grown up with and others we’ve actually spent a remarkably small amount of time with. They are all different but the single uniting feature is that, at some point, it has been hard . . . really hard . . . to say goodbye.
I don’t think you can cram Lifers into a neatly packaged box of easily definable (or even describable characteristics) but here are a few things that I’ve noticed:
Lifers pick up where they left off
There is some kind of wormhole that Lifers step through when they say “hello again”. It’s like the elapsed time since they last said goodbye never happened . . . only it did because you’ve still got those memories and you’ve all grown older but it feels like all of that took place in moments and not years. Catching up on what you’ve missed and reminiscing about your past times together are like red and blue play-dough that get all smashed together in a bluey-red, swirly ball.
It’s weird. But wonderful.
The Lifer connection is not strained by poor communication
There is a security between Lifers that is nether contingent nor fragile. “Hello again’s” are not made awkward by guilt. There is no sense of “I thought we were good friends but you never . . .” There is only, “wow, it’s good to be back together.” You’d think we’d be more ashamed. More apologetic. But there is no need.
It’s unnatural. But refreshing.
Lifers are not threatened by other Lifers
Spending time with some of our favorite friends has got me thinking about just how many favorite friends we have. In fact we loved telling stories of our other favorites to the favorites we were spending time with and we also loved hearing stories of their other favorites. There is real joy and zero jealousy in knowing that our Lifers have other Lifers.
Granted, it might be weird to be in a room with all of our favorites at the same time but the likeliness of that ever happening is slim.
It’s hard to explain. But rock solid.
Lifers laugh at things that are not funny to anyone else in the world
I mean gut laughing. The kind that hurts your ears. Over simple, ridiculous things. Shared moments that you think are hysterical but the entire population of the universe (with the sole exception of your Lifers) would not.
At all.
They would just squint . . . or maybe chuckle because they were embarrassed for you.
You and your Lifers though — you pee in your pants a little bit every time you talk about it.
For example: When I babysat our friend’s son he cried the whole time.
See? You’re squinting. But you should see us laugh (and pee) every single time we talk about it.
It makes no sense. But man it’s funny.
Lifers repeat themselves
When Lifers say “hello again” we have a limited amount of time and the clock starts ticking from the first hug. We also have a limited number of stories to remember because our times together are always short and sweet. So we choose our favorites and we relive them . . . the exact same stories we relived the last time we saw each other and the same stories that will relive again . . . every single time.
I can guarantee that should we all live to be old and senile, that boy’s great grandchildren will know that he cried the whole entire time that I babysat him.
It’s redundant. But it never gets old.
Lifers are worth investment
If your Lifers are like ours they are everywhere — literally spread out across the globe. Unless your bank account is considerably more impressive than ours and you have considerably more free time on your hands than we do, opportunities for reconnection are rare.
So when they come . . . pounce on them.
This time around our Lifers were the ones who opened the door for this to even be possible. We are so thankful they did.
Every Hello Again costs time and it costs money but the return on that investment is impossible to put a tag on.
It’s expensive. But so very worth it.
As a final sidenote I should add that I thought it would be a nice tribute to put pictures of all of our Lifers in this post. Two things stopped me.
• I was afraid I would miss one and they would be like, “oh I see how it is Jerkface” (even though they wouldn’t)
• We’ve got a lot of Lifers. More than I have ever realized.
It’s not a bad problem to have.
Maybe you (like me) have never taken time to count your Lifers. Give it a shot. I would bet you’ll be surprised.
Send them this post and say something like, “Yep. This is you.”
Then start dreaming about your next Hello . . . Again.
Expats struggle. We strain. We may even fail and do significant damage NOT because we don’t understand something but because we INSIST on proceeding as if we do.
