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.
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.
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.
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.
An overlooked and annoyingly present reality for global people is wrestling season.
At any given moment there are tens of thousands of expats who knew all along that they wouldn’t stay forever, and are wrestling with the BIG decision of whether or not now is the time to go.
Here’s just a taste of what they wrestle with:
If I stay, how many more weddings, birthdays, big events, holidays and funerals will I miss?
If I go, how bad will I miss these beautiful people that I’ve bumbled through this with?
If I stay, am I going to screw up my kids?
If I go, will my kids get broken in the transition?
If I stay, who’s going to take care of my parents as they get older?
If I go, will my life be boring?
If I stay, am I going to stay in the same spot forever?
If I go, will I go “back” or somewhere else?
If I stay, what will it do to my career?
If I go, can my career go with me?
If I stay, am I hiding from something?
If I go, am I running from something?
If I stay, how long will I stay?
If I go, will I ever have anything like this again?
If I stay, will I ever really feel at home again?
If I go, will I ever really feel at home again?
If I stay, what will I miss?
If I go, what will I miss?
If I stay, will I ever be satisfied?
If I go, will I always regret?
See? It’s a challenge. A big one. And one that we don’t think about on the front end. It’s an internal struggle that we don’t share publicly because we don’t want to freak people out with our thoughts of departure or give them false hopes with our thoughts of return.
It’s extra weight that we carry in the context of our regular extra weight.
Here are three tips for anyone in the ring right now:
ONE: Don’t wrestle alone
It’s sensitive because your pondering and secret mulling don’t typically belong on the public stage — but finding a trusted, insightful, indifferent voice to help you process will break open discernment that you didn’t know you have.
TWO: Know yourself
This is your decision. Your process. Don’t wear someone else’s mask.
Don’t make a spreadsheet if you’re a whiteboard person. If you’re verbal processor– talk it out. If you’re active processor — get up and go. If you’re an inny processor — lock the door.
If you’re an OVER processor . . . um . . . this is going to take awhile . . . but you knew that about yourself. Own it. Do all the things but when you’ve done all the things — make a decision.
THREE: Keep it in the ring
Dedicate time and space to ONLY this decision.
Seriously. Close the tabs on your computer. Get a babysitter. Schedule time on your calendar with start time AND an end time to ONLY think about this. One hour of dedicated space is FAR more valuable than three weeks of “I really ought to think about this . . . sometime . . . when I can . . . oooh look, Netflix.”
The worst decisions are made when they are treated like a sidenote or a daydream.
Focus. You got this.
Happy wrestling.
Are you wrestling? Share your insight below. What else are you wrestling with? What’s your gameplan?
Have you been a wrestler? Whether you won or lost, tell us what you learned.
Know someone who is wrestling? Pass this on.
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Dear people who love people who live in faraway places,
Maybe you should sit down for this.
There are some things you should know. Simple things really, but your faraway people haven’t quite been able to sneak it into the conversation without making it completely awkward just yet.
Here are a few things that they might say if they could
I don’t live in a hut.
You’re not alone if you thought I did. It’s Gilligan’s fault really. And Dr. Livingstone. And National Geographic. And every Walt Disney production ever. It’s probably brain science too and the fact that we typically have one tiny spot in our prefrontal cortex where we cram EVERYTHING FOREIGN. So it would make sense that you might connect the dots and presume that I live in a hut or shimmy coconut trees or charm snakes.
It might also help you to know that I don’t eat leeches or tree frogs, I’ve never gotten stuck in quicksand and I am at ZERO RISK of being caned — probably.
Which brings me to my next hard to believe reality . . .
I like it here.
Not just in a “nice to visit” kind of way either. This is more than a vacation and I am more than a tourist. In fact (are you still sitting down?) sometimes I call this place . . .
HOME
I’ve got people here. Good people. Lifers. We’ve gone deep and gotten close and someday when I live far away from them I’ll put a lot of effort and spend a ton of money just to get a few more golden moments with them . . . just like I do with you.
This new place and these new people haven’t REPLACED anything . . . or anyone. It’s a different thing altogether but I like it, and I’m learning what it’s like to be home and miss home at the same time.
And maybe you should know.
I’ve changed.
You probably don’t notice at holiday dinners and on Skype calls because I still look the same . . . but I’m different in my core. That’s what happens when you step away from your own culture and see it through the lenses of another.
My politics are different because those BIG screaming issues that seemed so uber-critical don’t even register over here. They still matter . . . but so do other things.
And sometimes . . . just sometimes when you say stuff and assume that I feel the same way . . .
I don’t.
My faith is different too because I found out that God and I don’t share the same passport.
My perspectives are different.
My opinions.
My emotions.
And it’s weird sometimes to go back to the places where I used to fit perfectly and not fit perfectly.
And if I’m totally honest . . .
I judge you.
Sometimes I get all snooty and pretentious and feel like I’ve been enlightened to a whole new level of global understanding that you don’t have access to. Sometimes I feel a little bit judgy because you don’t see the big picture — because you’re caught up in your own little world.
That’s not true and it’s not fair — but it does happen.
And get this.
Sometimes I judge you . . . because you’re too judgy.
Figure that out.
But I probably judge you the most because . . .
Your jokes are just not as funny as they sounded in your head.
I know you’re just trying to connect but the horrible accents and the really bad one-liners that reduce my host culture to a painfully offensive stereotype are just . . . well . . . painful. Those stereotypes are now friends of mine — so you’re talking about my people.
I feel the same way when they make bad jokes about you.
There’s so much more I want to say but I probably never will.
Things like . . .
Facebook is only 10% true.
Those selfies are legit. We went to those places and it was SO cool . . . but we also do dishes. And we get bored. And we get cranky. And we binge Netflix. And sometimes, right after we post our global landmark, smiley pics we spend three hours stuck staring at our phones looking at other people’s 10% truth posts . . . and idiotic political memes . . . and kittens.
But we don’t say that on our socials. We just smile for the selfies.
That’s real . . . but there’s a whole other 90%.
And
I’m not a superhero for doing this
If you only knew how incompetent I feel sometimes.
And
I know it’s expensive but I want you to come visit
I LOVE it when I get to see you but I wish you could see me HERE. I have so much to show you. I want you to meet my people. I want you to eat this food.
I want you to hear me speak this language and be like, “PHUAWW YOU’RE AMAZING.” And I’ll be like, “Yeah, I been practicing” but I’ll know in my head that I just said it completely wrong and so will the guy I said it to but you won’t because you’re even MORE INCOMPETENT than me.
I want you to smell this place and hear this place and touch this place because it would connect us on a whole different level.
And
This is a big one.
I’m NOT breaking my kids.
I’m really not. There is SO much goodness and richness and beauty built into the core of who they are becoming through this experience. It goes so much deeper than seeing cool places and learning new languages.
They’re being shaped with perspectives that you and I never dreamed of.
They’re being equipped with understanding about people that will uniquely qualify them for good, good things.
Most of them are. For me and for other expats. But something here doesn’t apply to me. This was written by some guy who was trying to generalize the entire expat experience for all expats everywhere.
You can’t do that.
Some of this really hits home for me . . . and I want you to know it. But some of it doesn’t.
Maybe I DON’T really like it here. Maybe your jokes ARE funny. Maybe I DO live in a hut.
Leaving well for expats is all well and good as long as things go well . . . and good.
But sometimes they don’t.
Sometimes the final weeks of your expat experience get blasted by circumstance. Sometimes leaving is a mess, not a choice. Sometimes it’s a rush to the airport with no time for intentional eye contact or heartfelt affirmations. Sometimes the bitterness feels beyond reconciliation. Sometimes the schedules are just too crazy, the people are just too busy or the time is just too short.
And what about the Stayers? We do this every stinking year. We have circumstances too.
Plans get made — sometimes they work.
When they don’t, here are some things to consider.
Leaving is a process — not a moment.
There is a LOT more to leaving than the airplane ride. There is a ramp up to the moment of physical departure which is where “Leaving Well” belongs. It’s where you pay attention to your relationships (the strong ones and the strained ones), you crank up the intentionality and you schedule all of your “one last times.”
The driving principle is that there are things you can do during this time that will soon be off the table. Do them while you can. The ramp up is PRIME TIME for leaving well.
Unless you can’t. Then the loss is compounded by the sense of “I didn’t even get to . . .”
Here’s the reality . . . The process ramps DOWN too. Primetime may be over but that doesn’t have to equal a total loss.
If leaving didn’t look like you had hoped it would then stay intentional on the other side of the airplane until your relationships have received the attention they deserve.
Settle for less.
It’s really simple math. LESS is not what you hoped for. It’s disappointing. Frustrating. Sad.
But LESS is still MORE than NOTHING.
The tendency is to mentally shift into NEXT mode and hit the ground running. If you’re a Stayer then you wrap your head around the absence of your people and start adjusting to yet another new normal. Hard departures typically leave Stayers and Goers with either a sense of regret or blame.
“I wish I had done this.” OR “I hate how that happened.”
A Skype call is NOT a coffee date.
Email affirmations are NOT intentional eye contact.
Emojis are NOT hugs.
Wrap your head and your heart around that . . . and then make the call. Write the email. Send the emoji.
Lead with “This is not how I wanted to do this . . . but . . . ”
It’s OK to settle for less . . . but don’t settle for nothing.
Lifers are for life
PLANE RIDES DON’T end relationships.
Soak in that for a moment.
Incessant goodbyes are, hands down, the hardest part of a life abroad BUT the uber richness of a global network of friendships is hard to measure.
You’ve done life with these people. Incompetent, bumbling, smashed together life. You have figured stuff out together. Leaned on each other. Fallen apart in front of each other and the bond that comes out of that is not bound by geographical proximity. Even if the leaving process doesn’t turn out like you had always dreamed it would, take comfort in knowing that these relationships (at least the best ones) transcend accessibility.
Things get all messed up when they don’t go according to our plan. In the rush and the stress and the chaos of transition people are rarely the best versions of themselves. We say stuff. We forget stuff. We react poorly.
Here’s the thing . . . If leaving was hard you don’t get to leave that stuff behind.
Here’s the other thing . . . If being left was even harder, that stuff doesn’t fly away when they do.
Let some people off the hook for the pettiness, the pride, the selfishness and the frantic reactions that come out of hard seasons.
Pause.
Don’t hear me say, just slap a quick, “boom – forgiven” stamp on every misdeed and move on. NOT that easy. Forgiveness is hard. Deep. Complex. And just like leaving, it is a process.
But moving forward without it makes the next thing suck.
Dig in but don’t just ignore it.
Sometimes leaving well is a tall order. Sometimes being left is even taller. Don’t settle for the lie that there is only one way to do it.
When I was your age we knew the value of staying in one spot. We planted roots and they ran deep. We didn’t run off galavanting on some fancy schmancy airplane or traipsing through some foreign country trying to speak some crazy language that sounds like jibber jabber.
We were solid.
We were stable.
We were strong.
When I was your age things were different so listen up. I need you to hear this.
I LOVE YOUR LIFE.
Let me tell you why.
I had roots but you’ve got more. I can see them. They’re not deep but they’re strong . . . and they’re all over the place. In fact what I love about you is that you could plant yourself anywhere and still grow.
I sure couldn’t do that when I was your age.
You won’t graduate with the same friends that you went to preschool with BUT when you graduate you’ll have friends in every corner of the world.
I never dreamed of that when I was your age.
I know it sounds weird to say but I love that you can’t answer the question “where you are from? . . . and you may not be able to pinpoint where home is . . .
But you will ALWAYS know when you are there.
Back then I was either at home or I was homesick. I love that you are almost always both.
Honestly I was a little sad when we came here because I was realizing that you would never really connect to things like fireworks on the 4th of July like I did when I was your age.
Oh my.
Chinese New Year.
I had no idea what people could do . . . what they would do with tightly packed gun powder when I was your age.
I feel robbed.
I love that you’ve still got my holidays but you’ve got a whole new set of your own too.
I was afraid that you would get left behind on things like pop culture and maybe you have . . . a little . . . but you are miles ahead of me on culture culture.
Miles.
Such a good trade.
I NEVER had to say so many goodbyes. That’s a hard one but I want you to know that there is NOTHING in the world like, “hello again old friend.”
You’ve got a lot of those coming.
When I was your age, four hours in the back of a Buick was a long trip. Made me tired. Needed to stretch.
Six hours was just dumb.
Ha.
I love that no place on earth will EVER be too far away for you.
I love that you see things through different lenses than I did.
You can look at a globe and it makes you think about people . . . real people . . . friends with lives and bossy older sisters and bratty little brothers.
When I was your age I just saw stereotypes with big funny hats and soccer balls.
I love that you hear things through a different filter too.
You understand the thickest accents and empathize with the struggle to communicate . . . I rarely even heard an accent and when I did I just mocked them . . . because that’s what we all did . . . and now I regret that.
I missed so much when I was your age . . . because I thought I already knew it.
You have tasted bugs and sea creatures and plants and meats that I never knew existed when I was your age and I love that you always share your seaweed if you have enough to go around.
I had Taco Bell once when I was your age.
You’ve smelled the foulest, most repugnant stank and you’ve learned to wrinkle your nose and move on with your day.
I made a HUGE scene . . . and toilet jokes . . . and rude noises with my armpit for a week.
I do need to say though —
I don’t love it when you fight like cats and dogs.
It’s not my favorite when you whine about your chores.
It drives me nuts when you leave your Legos on the floor.
And I question my competence as a parent when I realize that you would play video games for a solid week and eat nothing but ice cream if I let you.
But those are the golden, magic moments when I realize — you’re not at all different than I was when I was your age.
EVERYTHING around you is — but you and I — we are the same — and even with all of the fancy schmancy airplanes and 36 hour trips. Through all of the mess and the moves and the hellos and goodbyes.
Through all of the transition.
Through all of the chaos.
We are solid.
We are stable.
We are strong.
Just like when I was your age.
I love you young lady. I love you young man.
And I truly love your beautiful global lives.
Love your kids? Love their lives? Let them know. Let the world know.
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.
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?
There are 232 MILLION Expats in the world. That’s a boat load of hard goodbyes.
This is the high season for leaving. Over the next few weeks the same scenes will play over and over at an airport near you. This is how you can tell them apart from the rest of the travelers:
The leavers are out numbered 3 to 1 by the people who came to see them off.
Two suitcases (not counting carry-ons) for every family member (including the three year old) stuffed to just over the maximum weight limit.
Small clusters of people waiting awkwardly for their turn to get a hug.
People standing outside the security gate staring in for the absolute final glimpse.
People inside the security gate turning back for one last wave.
Some form of that has happened 232 MILLION times to people living away from “home” right now. Add to that the fact that it is all repeated multiple times over in the average span of an expat’s life and the number goes up to 1.7 BAJILLION.
Goodbyes are tough. Whether you’re gearing up for the long flight and a new adventure or the long walk back to the airport parking lot — here are some thoughts on how to make hard goodbyes . . . good.
Tip #1: Don’t Save it For the Airport
Goodbyes are a process not a moment. We’re conditioned to reduce farewells into the few minutes leading up to the one moment that we physically part ways. It’s even weird when we share a heartfelt goodbye and then bump into that same person 15 minutes later.
“Oh . . . uh . . . hey there . . . goodbye? . . . do we hug again or uh . . . ”
The painful consequence is that we end up with a tiny window to share our deepest thoughts and feelings while other people are huddled around staring and waiting for their turn. Start early and give it some forethought. Consider what you are going to regret leaving unsaid or undone? Probably more than you can realistically squeeze in between the bag check and the x-rays.
Tip #2: Affirm X 3
What do you want to tell your BFF? Or your mother? Or your kid brother who thinks you hung the moon?
Start with a simple, heart felt affirmation but don’t stop there. Go at LEAST three levels deeper.
“Hey kid, I’m really proud of you.”
Great thought but why? What has he done that makes you proud? Who has he become? What impact has it had on you? What do you hope for him while you are apart? What excites you when you think about his future? What are you sad that you are going to miss?
Don’t be satisfied to leave the people you love with the generic version of what they already assume to be true – “You’re the best. I really appreciate you. I’m gonna’ miss you.”
Dig deeper. That’s where the gold is.
Tip #3: You Get Bonus Points for Awkward
The strength of your goodbyes and your affirmations are directly proportional to the amount of discomfort it causes you to say them. It’s the same principle that makes great movie endings.
The cold, authoritarian war hero dad who weeps and embraces his son who quit college to join the ballet.
The wedding that is interrupted by the brides true love.
You don’t have to win an Emmy here but if it’s hard for you to say, they’ll know you mean it.
sidenote: If you are that person who is always saying awkward things you get fewer points. You may want to skip this one.
Tip #4: Go Old School — Write it out
There is something uniquely powerful about a handwritten note read at a vulnerable moment. Whether you’re 30,000 feet over an ocean or in a van full of family and friends headed back home, pulling out the note that was slipped to you at the airport is pretty great. Or maybe they just left it where you could find it. Or maybe they read it to you out loud.
Regardless . . . big, long handwritten pages of notebook paper do something that an email and even cards never can.
Tip #5: Have a “Stupid Questions” Party
Whether you are leaving or being left it is likely that there is a huge gap between what is going on in your mind and what is going on in theirs. Often people staying have fears and concerns that they are afraid to discuss because they seem horribly inappropriate.
“I heard they put outsiders in prison for walking on the wrong side of the street.”
“I heard there are snakes that can eat a bus.”
Get together with the people you love the most and take off all of the restraints. No question is off limits. It’s not only a good way to do away with some unnecessary fears but it’s a great way to build a lasting connection that is based in reality and not assumption.
Tip #6: Turn Your Goodbye Into a Memory
Do something with your closest friends or family before you leave that pulls double duty. Say goodbye AND create some new memories at the same time.
Go on a road trip. Go skydiving. Go out to an expensive dinner or better yet get dressed up to the hilt and go out to the Burger Barn. Sit out on the roof of your house and talk until 3am. Photo bomb your city.
Point is go out with a bang. Do something that sets your time apart from your relationship routine. Laugh til it hurts and leave with something you can smile about when you’re missing them later.
Tip #7: Get Matching Somethings
This one is for you and your best bud (BFF or besty depending on your vernacular). It doesn’t really matter what it is but get a pair of something. Each of you take one and as you go your separate ways see how many pictures you can sneak it into. You’ll maintain a magical connection as you send each other photos in your matching purple t-shirts whether you’re on the Great Wall or at a hometown Junior High basketball game.
Careful though — If you’re both competitive it could get crazy.
Tip #8: Schedule Your First Call Before You Part Ways
Good intentions don’t survive long distances. You will never be more tuned into this relationship than when you are saying goodbye. After that, life kicks back in on both sides. Throw in different time zones, culture shock and all the responsibilities of figuring out what normal looks like and the likelihood of a Skype or FaceTime in the near future gets slimmer and slimmer.
Now is the time to get it on the calendar. Be realistic but get the first one in ink.
Tip #9: You Get Bonus Points for Creativity
Sing a song. Draw a picture. Get crafty. Cook a meal. Write a poem. Make a scrapbook.
Creativity does three things:
It requires forethought which communicates how much you value that relationship.
Its expresses something that is uniquely you. Not someone else’s prefabricated, store-bought idea.
It leaves them with something tangible that reminds them of you. They’ll think of you every time they look at your photo-copied smushy face that you framed and gift wrapped for them . . . that’s just one idea. There are probably others.
Tip #10: Say it in Chinese
Even if you or your loved one is moving to Kyrgyzstan (you just pronounced that wrong in your head) or Zimbabwe, say goodbye in Chinese.
Translated literally it means “See you again.”
Hold on to that thought and plan for that sweet moment.
Scratch that . . . “Hello again” is a process too.
But that’s another blog post.
If you’re gearing up for some hard goodbyes it is so worth the effort to make them good. Still hard . . . but good too.
If you know people who are gearing up for some hard goodbyes please pass this on.
If you are a veteran good goodbyer . . . don’t be stingy. What works for you?
I asked my son an unfair question that could have gone horribly in the wrong direction.
It was one of those questions that, as it came out of my mouth, I thought, “nope . . . I should not be asking a four year old this”. I braced for an awkward moment and had zero intention of ever sharing his answer with anyone in the world had he gotten it wrong. Some people might say, “sheesh, the kid is four . . . there are no wrong answers.” Those people are dumb. For this question there was definitely a clear cut, absolute right answer and an undisputed (please don’t say it) terribly wrong answer.
Here’s the back story — Emmy was family when we lived in China. She ate at our apartment at least once a week for the better part of three years. She connected with our family in a special way that happens when people are living as foreigners on the opposite side of the planet from the people they call family and the places they call home. She could trust us and we could trust her . . . with anything. She poured into our kids and saying goodbye a year ago was tough.
So . . . seeing her again was wonderful. We happened to be close enough to the same spot on the map to make it worth the trip to spend a day together. Here’s the best part. That spot was Hershey, Pennsylvania . . . where chocolate comes from. It’s a real live chocolatey wonderland with roller coasters, carousels, cotton candy and college students dressed up like Resee’s peanut butter cups.
It’s like Disney Land . . . dipped in chocolate.
So what kind of parent would ever ask a four year old to compare that to a living breathing soul.
This kind of parent.
Without an ounce of forethought, as we were moments away from our reunion I asked my son, “which is better, seeing Emmy or going to Hershey?”
Totally unfair question.
Without skipping a beat he nailed it . . . “Seeing Emmy.”
In the last month we have gotten to see more than a dozen friends that we have only known as fellow foreigners in China. It’s a little surreal because we’re seeing a slightly different version of them. The people we knew never drove cars, drank draught root beer or ate cheeseburgers the size of your face but seeing them again and catching up has been incredible.
There is something really sweet about seeing our friends from over there . . . over here.
No question . . . saying goodbye . . . so very much and so very often . . . is the hardest part of living abroad.
BUT my son said it best (and I paraphrase) — “Saying hello again is better than chocolate.”
To all of our friends that we have seen recently — it has been so good.
To our friends that we haven’t seen again just yet — we’ll meet you in Hershey.
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 35 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 will be missed. Thanks for being expats with us.
Life abroad can be incredible . . . and challenging . . . and wonderful . . . and horrible.
Transition from one space, one place, one system and one normal to another is an ongoing process.
Even after the initial settling in, “culture shock” and newby bumblings, life abroad remains more fluid, more changing and more filled up with shaky uncertainties than monocultural life back on the farm.
Another angle that we often miss (in our sweet little expat bubble) is the fact that we have also imported copious amounts of transition into our host culture. They were normal before we got here — or at least they knew what normal looked like. Now their lives are filled with a constant stream of incoming and outgoing foreigners who talk funny, act weird, eat wrong and complain a lot.
You can’t write stuff this good.
Wide-eyed, hyper-optimistic, fresh off the boat Newpats (new expats) getting initiated and inundated by multi-varying degrees of seasoned or disgruntled or savvy or battle-weary Vetpats (veteran expats) who introduce them to the ways of the Locals with wise, wise words of expat genius like . . . ” you can’t get that here.”
It’s a wild mix of people who don’t understand the least bit about each other but feel the pressure to act as if they do. It’s like a gigantic petri dish for toxic assumptions to go crazy.
It’s not always fatal but it is never healthy.
Here is a short (and very abridged) guide to cross-cultural assumptions:
NEWPAT ASSUMPTIONS
The assumption of direct correlation:The false assumption that every new experience is fully grasped and understood based on previous exposure to a completely unrelated and equally misunderstood foreign culture. Generally accompanied by the words, “That’s just like” or “When I was” or both.
Example:“Oh they eat with chopsticks?! That’s just like when I was in India . . . and they ate with their hands.”
Nope. It’s actually not.
The assumption of overestimated relational capital: The misguided perception that ones influence in his or her new community is stronger than than it actually is. Often accompanied by expectations for broad paradigm shifts based on personal recommendations, followed by confusion when said paradigm shifts don’t occur immediately.
Example: “Wow, you guys are way too introverted. It wasn’t like that where I come from. Let’s start a street corner karaoke night every Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Here’s a sign up sheet.”
“Anyone?”
“No?”
“Jerks.”
Slow down. People need to trust you before they can trust you (read that twice).
The assumption of different is wrong: The premature deduction that cultural characteristics, customs, traditions or actions are automatically faulty solely by nature of their deviation from the Newpats preferred alternative. Often accompanied by phrases such as, “did you see that?!” followed by some sort of question, mockery or expletive.
Example: “Did you see that toilet?!! It’s a hole in the floor. How do they even do that?”
Different does not equal wrong. If it does, you are in trouble. Look around — you are the different one.
The assumption of time standing still: The notion that virtually nothing has changed between the entry points of the Vetpat and the Newpat. Often accompanied by phrases like, “Yeah, you can’t get that here” or “you can’t do that here.”
Example:
Vetpat: “Soap? No we bring that from home.”
Newpat: “Really? I thought I saw some at the market.”
Vetpat: “No that’s probably Tofu.”
Newpat: “Ah. Ok. Do you think I could find it online?”
Vetpat: “On what?”
You don’t have to stay up on everything but don’t put the Newpats in your box.
The assumption of identical issues: The idea that the Newpat will experience the exact same gut reactions and frustrations that the Vetpat experienced. Accompanied by phrases like, “You’re going to . . . ” or “You’ll probably . . . ”
Example: “You’re going to love the food. You’re going to hate the smell. You’re going to get really frustrated when they stare at you so much so that you’ll probably snap at some point, put on a Spiderman costume and start screaming, “TAKE A PICTURE IT WILL LAST LONGER.”
“It’s ok if you do.”
Newpats will develop their own biases. Don’t insist they share yours.
The assumption of golden words:The ill-conceived impression that Newpats are hanging on every wise and wonderful nugget of advice and guidance offered by the Vetpat. Often accompanied by one sided conversations, long explanations, presumptuous opinions (stated as fact) and a deep sense of satisfaction for the Vetpat.
Example:
Newpat: “Hey where’s the bathroom.”
Vetpat: “Well, son let me tell you, there are actually three different types of (finger quotes) ‘bath rooms’ in this country. The first is an actual (finger quotes) ‘room for bathing’. Historically, you see, this is a much more collective culture than . . . (30 minutes later) . . . so the third one, or as the locals would call it the (finger quotes again) ‘room of the toilet’ is down the hall to the left. I’ll take you there.”
Newpat: “Nah. Thanks. I’m good.”
Your wisdom is so wise . . . really, it is . . . so stop talking and listen for a while so someone will hear it.
LOCAL ASSUMPTIONS
The assumption that ignorance equals stupidity:The misconception that ones intellect, intelligence or complexity is directly reflected in his or her capacity to express them in the context of a foreign language or culture. Generally accompanied by speaking louder, slower and offering disproportionate praise for the simplest accomplishments.
Example:
Local: “HELLO! WHAT . . . IS . . . YOUR . . . . . . . . . . . NAME?!!”
Foreigner: “Um . . . Bob”
Local: “WAAAHHH BOB. YOUR LANGUAGE IS SOOOOO GOOOD!!”
Foreigner: “Really? I just said my name”
Local: “WHAT . . . IS . . . YOUR . . . JOB?”
Foreigner: “Um . . . Astrophysicist”
Local: “WAAAH. YOU ARE SOOOO SMART. YES YOU ARE.”
Examples can vary drastically from location to location but the same assumption shows up universally. Just because the foreigner can’t say it, doesn’t mean they don’t know it.
The assumption of cookie cutter foreigners:The mistaken conclusion that all foreign people share a single set of opinions, ideas, understandings and temperaments. Accompanied by words like, “They”, “always” and “because.”
Example: “You’re feeding your foreign friend what?!! No don’t do that. THEY hate spicy food. They always start sweating and crying because they only eat cheese and vegetables.”
Special note: The assumption of cookie cutter LOCALS could be added to both the Newpat and the Vetpat lists.
The assumption of weird foreigners: The unfortunate deduction that all foreigners are strange, odd or different.
Actually this one is probably spot on. We can own it.
The only tragedy of oddness is when it becomes an insurmountable obstacle to relationship. Weird is worth working through.
THE ANTIDOTE
If assumptions are poison then QUESTIONS are the antidote. Good questions. Lots of questions.
Starting with “I don’t know, but I want to” instead of “yeah, that’s just like” changes absolutely everything.
So how do you ask good questions?
That’s another post entirely.
How about you? Which assumptions have poisoned you or your community the most? What other assumptions have you seen (or used)?
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.
Ironically, this post is based entirely on an outright assumption.
My assumption is this. If crossing cultures is a part of your life then you probably have some comprehension of the things that prevent you from doing that well. You don’t need a blog to tell you that mockery (for example) is going to slow you down if you’re really trying grasp the heart and soul of a people group that is different from your own.
Let’s get honest — it doesn’t mean you don’t mock. The cheap laugh. The sarcastic wisecrack. The overstated accent. We’ve all gone there at some point but generally speaking we know it’s not a good thing. You’ll find very few blogs that defend mockery as a mechanism to thrive as an expat.
Plenty of them that mock. Few that defend it.
There are numerous other attackers of the healthy expat life. Obvious ones like racism (no-brainer there), arrogance, stereotyping, ethnocentrism, name-calling. How about crawling into a hole and hiding from reality? That’s one. Maybe screaming “SPEAK ENGLISH!!” at people who don’t know how. Not a best practice.
Nothing new there.
These are the super villains — the arch-enemies of understanding a culture that is different from your own. I’m assuming you know that already — BUT — in fairness, assuming should probably go on the list.
Ohhh the irony. Let’s roll with that.
This is a list of the lesser obvious bad guys. These are the culprits that you don’t see coming. They blend in with the best practices and sometimes they even share the same names. However, in their sneaky, subtle ways they often cause more trouble than the big ones.
These are the ironic enemies of living cross-culturally
(count-down style for dramatic effect)
Enemy # 5: Grinning
We’ve established mockery as a bad thing right? Usually expats (following a period of adjustment) develop an instinctively visceral reaction to blatant, full on mockery of their host culture.
I, for example, grow Wolverine claws when the “hilarious”, self-proclaimed comedians from my own culture pop off with something like, “OOOHHHH you go to China? Ah ching chang willy willy bing bang bong.”
Trust me. It happens.
Expats (at least the healthy ones) move past mockery. However — sometimes the remnants remain.
It comes in the form a tiny little grin — a raised eyebrow — a silent head shake — an under the breath giggle (or sometimes a snort). Often it’s a shared moment of eye contact with someone who knows exactly what you’re saying in your head even though you didn’t say a word out loud. It’s micro-mockery and chances are it is much less externally damaging than it’s full grown form. Unfortunately, internally it’s fueled from the same source — a betterness complex and a sense of cultural superiority.
Bonus tip: Judge your ownself. Apart from time and relationship there is no weapon that works against mockery except the “awkward juke of shame”.
“You know guys, I just really don’t feel like that kind of talk is appropriate.”
That will stop Mr. Ching Chang dead in his tracks but it won’t change his heart. He just learned that he can’t make that joke around you . . . because you are hypersensitive. Try starting by being aware of where your own grins are coming from and model something different.
Enemy #4: Progress
Cross-cultural progress is a wild ride. I have a reputable source who says I am not the only one who set goals on the front end of my expat experience which turned out to be tantamount to a typical New Year’s resolution. Dropped cold by week three.
The consequence is a feeling (somewhere along the line) that we have failed miserably as expats.
“I thought I would be fluent by now and I can only order three dishes.”
“I planned to have great relationships and I haven’t even met my neighbors.”
“I was so ready to go exploring and I’ve barely left my apartment.”
We’re stuck with a depressing sense that we have made zero progress — UNTIL — someone comes to visit from our previous life.
IT IS AWESOME!
In one trip to the airport we transform into some kind of an expat superstar. The last time you saw these people you were at exactly the same level of linguistic fluency and cultural savvy. Now look at you. You’re practically a local.
So you see, progress can leave you delusional on both ends. You mistake yourself for a miserable failure or a colossal success based on a misguided assessment of what progress is supposed to look like.
Bonus Tip: Slow and steady wins the race. Progress (of course) is not an inherently bad thing but it doesn’t function well in extremes. Your benchmark is not the people who know nothing anymore than it is the people who know everything. Keep moving forward.
Enemy #3: High Praise
It’s been nearly ten years since we first moved to China. I must have ridden in a thousand taxis. That means that 900 plus taxi drivers have told me how great my Chinese is.
It’s really not.
Generally I lead with something simple like, “ni hao” which means “hello”. To which they say “WAAAH!! You’re Chinese is SO good!”
To which I say, “why thank you — I have been working on my ‘hello’.”
I know that not all expat experiences are like my China one but often a misunderstanding of cultural obligations surrounding hospitality combined with low expectations of the foreigners (like myself) result in a sort of surface level accolade that is easily mistaken by the dolt foreigner (like myself) as a fair and accurate assessment. “These people love me and wish they could be more like me!”
Sounds ridiculous but it’s not far from spot on.
Living in a highly complimentary host culture is not a bad gig if you can get it. However, the really good stuff is below the surface. Expats who set up camp in a La La Land of “They love me” miss the joy of genuine relationship. It’s a painful moment, though, when the Emperor discovers he’s not wearing clothes.
Bonus Tip: Ask double third person questions. Don’t ask your friends what they think of you. Ask them what their friends think of other foreigners — then assume that’s what they think of you. Brace yourself. You may be naked.
Enemy #2: Asking “WHY?”
Some of the best advice I ever got came from a veteran expat who told me to stop asking “why”.
My first response was knee jerk . . . “Seriously? Why?”
“Why” is the core. It is the source. It is the deep-rooted nucleus of everything that is happening around you. It is often ancient at it’s origins but complexified by hundreds, maybe thousands of years of socio-cultural events, political uprisings, economic trends, religious undertones and philosophical masterminds. Not to mention every “why” has a different answer — a different source — a different nucleus.
“Why do they eat with sticks?”
“Why do they rub noses?
“Why do they slam the ball into the ground, scream at the sky and punch each other when they score?”
The first assumption when you ask “why” is that the person whom you have asked actually knows the answer. The second assumption is that once you have heard it, you do too. Asked and answered is far too simple a process for nuclear topics.
Why should you not ask why? (are you following the irony here?). Because you can’t handle the why. That’s why.
Be a constant inquisitor but ask “who, what, when, where, how?” “Why” will become clearer over time.
Bonus tip: If you must ask “why” commit to asking it 100 times. Don’t accept that the first answer is the full one. Pile a hundred partially correct answers together, though, and you’ll start to get the picture. You’ll also realize how big the question is.
AND the #1 (ironic) enemy of living cross culturally . . . drum roll please
Enemy #1: Grace
If you have ever read anything that I have written you’re likely calling me a big fat hypocrite right now.
You are freakishly observant.
Grace is a theme for me. I have held it out there as a key (if not THE key) to thriving in practically every aspect of cross-cultural life (if not life in general).
I’m like a broken record and I’m not taking it back — but I’ve noticed something about myself.
I am great at extending grace . . . selectively.
Here’s an example: I am quick to give grace to my Chinese friends if they say something that could sound offensive.
“Meh — it’s cultural. They probably don’t know any better.”
However — When my friends back home (the ones who look, talk, think and act like me) say something equally offensive (“ching chang” for example) I am disproportionately slower to allow grace into the equation.
“Idiots. They should know better.”
This is where it stings a little. My selective grace — my harshness towards my own — is actually an expression of my own betterness complex.
“My people should know better than the poor, uninformed others.”
Don’t read me wrong. I’m NOT suggesting that you should give less grace to your host culture. Please don’t. Nor am I suggesting that you should let Mr. Ching Chang entirely off the hook. You can play that one by ear.
I may not even be suggesting anything but what I have recognized in myself is that when there is a disparity in my willingness to give grace it may be a result of some uncovered, yet to be dealt with prejudice.
In other words — when I’m pointing out one group’s prejudice and ignoring another’s . . . I’m revealing my own.
Ouch.
Bonus Tip: Cultures are not just foreign. It helps to recognize that “my people” have a culture too. A rich and imperfect history. A deep and misguided understanding of the world. A vast set of presuppositions built on centuries of shared experiences.
There they are. The sneaky. The subtle. The ironic enemies of living cross-culturally.
Now you know and “Knowledge is Power”.
Ironically “knowledge” should probably be on the list since once you think you know something you stop trying to understand it.
Ohh the irony. Let’s stop there.
Something to add? Ironic enemy # 6? #7? #8? Comment below and pass it on.
The original title of this post was “Ten Reasons I Love the Fact that My Kids are TCK’s.”
I couldn’t stop.
My kids are TCK’s and I love it.
I was re-reminded of this simple fact as we traveled back to China together last month. By definition they qualify for full membership as Third Culture Kids even though we now live in our passport country.
As parents we have done our fair share of second guessing and worrying about this. Is this too much transition? Too many goodbyes? Too many hellos? Will they ever have roots? Will they even know what roots are? Are we messing them up for life?
Despite the doubts and challenges I can say wholeheartedly that I love that my kids are TCK’s.
This is what I love
1. I love that they look at a map and see friends instead of stereotypes
You’ve seen them right? World maps that show us the “people of the world.” There is inevitably a soccer player in Brazil, a matador in Spain, a Crocodile Dundee knockoff in Australia and some guy with a pointy hat in China. I love that my daughter sees Brazil and thinks of Pedro who was in her 2nd grade class.
2. I love that they see people and not Disney Characters
Nothing against Disney but cultural cliche’s are fairly standard for animated features. I love that my kids are learning that cliche’s are not the full picture. There are people behind the stereotypes.
3. I love that they hear the world in rich languages and not funny accents
My kids are no strangers to hearing other languages or hearing English with thick, sometimes difficult to understand accents. Mocking those people doesn’t make sense to them though. Why would you make fun someone who speaks a second language poorly when you can’t speak any of theirs?
4. I love that they can empathize with language learners
We’ve lived on the flip side of speaking a second language poorly. My kids know how it feels to want (or even need) to say more than your vocabulary allows. This makes them uber slow to cast judgment on the bumbling foreigner in front of us at the American grocery store. We’ve been that bumbling foreigner. No one ever told us to speak Chinese or get out though.
5. I love that they are learning to communicate more content in fewer words
They have been trained the hard way to use fewer words, use more hand gestures and explain challenging concepts in simple terms. The ability to be concise is such a valuable skill. I would say more but that would ruin my point.
6. I love that they don’t make fun of people because they are different
Different is more normal than being normal. It’s not that my kids are above thinking that something (or even someone) is weird. They’re kids. However I am seeing in them that even weird is understood as a place where there is something to learn, not a place to mock because they don’t understand.
7. I love that they have been the weird ones
Being stared at has been an average day for us. Being questioned about our ethnicity and the mixed up color palate of our family has been our standard. Sometimes that was really hard. Irritating. Down right frustrating but I love that my kids have felt the sting of standing out in a crowd. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with #6.
8. I love that they are not intimidated by far off places
China may as well have been Mars when I was 11 years old. I tried digging a hole once. There is no place on earth that my kids would not be excited to go. There is also no place that they don’t think they could ever get to. They are explorers in a very literal and realistically expectant sense.
9. I love that they are not intimidated by new
New people. New places. New foods. New adventures. Always exciting. Always scary. Never not worth it.
10. I love that they love airports
Boarding passes. Security. Gate. They know the drill and they love the adventure of gift shops, snack stores, play places and luggage carts in-between each step. Every airport is both exactly the same and yet beautifully different.
11. I love that they can look forward to a 14 hour plane ride
Ok this one is much better now that most planes have video-on-demand but still . . . is there another scenario on earth where you can strap a hyperactive five year old boy to a chair for more than 50% of an entire day and he actually enjoys it? If so I have not found it yet.
12. I love that they can process without comparing
My kids are no stranger to paradox. They have learned that most everything is some mix of good and bad, exciting and challenging, fun and boring. However they have naturally learned to do something that I cannot. They process the paradox of individual issues without comparing them. In other words they don’t ask, “which is better, life in China or life in America?” They acknowledge that both are wonderful and tough but it doesn’t make sense to compare the two. They are different.
13. I love that their innocence has been sustained just a little bit longer
There are some things that they have missed growing up in America. I am not sad about all of those.
14. I love that they are not shaped by pop culture
They may have also missed a boy band or two. Again . . . I am not sad.
15. I love that the Evening News makes more sense to them than it ever did to me
I still don’t get it.
16. I love that they go deep quickly
They understand so well the value of right now. It doesn’t take them years to make friends because they may not have years. My introvert goes deep with one or two and my extravert goes deep with anyone he can find but neither of them wastes time on the surface.
17. I love that they know how to say goodbye
Goodbyes never get easier. Since that is true I’m thankful that they are developing the skill of doing it well.
18. I love that they pick up where they left off like no time has passed
It may be years between play dates but both of my kids have shown that they know how to jump right back in like it was yesterday. Life long relationships are not contingent on proximity for them.
19. I love that they see two sides and seek to make peace
Ok I haven’t so much seen this in my son just yet but he’s five. My daughter however, often finds herself conflicted because she sees two sides of an argument. Both right. Both wrong. It’s confusing in the fifth grade but a skill that I pray continues to develop.
20. They don’t freak out when something stinks
WAAAAHHHH!!! NAAASSSTY!! That seems like a common (and even fair) kid response when the smell of the public restroom actually burns your nasal passages. My kids may not like it but they’ve been there and done that. They know their options. No need to make a scene.
21. I love the pride they feel about where they’ve been
Appropriately of course. I love it when we see a map or a flag and they get to say, “been there.” I love it when someone says something completely stupid and stereotypical about China and they just grin because they know better. I love doing this part of their adventure with them.
22. I love that they never stop blowing my mind
Ever.
23. I love that they are MY kids
We fit. We look nothing alike. We drive each other nuts. They embrace with full passion their roles of bossy older sister and bratty little brother. Our home is rarely quiet and never, ever boring.
It’s perfect.
24. I love that they are unique
There is no catch all TCK stereotype. If there was Disney would make a movie about them. Every TCK is different and unique, including the two at my house.
My five year old son said it best while we were in China. Having flown for two days from the place he now calls home and standing in front of the place he has always known to be home we asked him the unanswerable TCK question . . . ”
Where is home?”
Unprompted, he nailed it.
“Wherever WE are.”
I love it — and I love my TCK’s.
Love that your kids are TCK’s too? Add to the list in the comment section.
Know some parents who love their TCK’s too? Pass this along.
“The process of coming home after living abroad is simple and stress free.”
This is a quote from NO ONE . . . EVER.
At least no one who has ever actually attempted the fine, fine art of repatriation. As a follow up to “Leaving Well: 10 Tips” I wanted to add some thoughts about what happens after the plane lands. Prepping for your departure and closing out your expat experience before you leave is SO important. It is also fully exhausting. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually and parentally (if applicable) EX – HAUST – ING.
Here’s the kicker. The only buffer between the exhaustion of the last thing and the exhaustion of the next thing is the trip between the two.
Bonus tip A: Take the longest flight you can find.
Sooner or later though . . . you have to land.
Here are ten tips for Landing Well.
Tip #1: Plan the After Party
It is perfectly fair for the people who love you and have missed you to want to celebrate your homecoming. Depending on your personality and, quite frankly, the personalities of the people who love and missed you these reunions can range from refreshing and wonderful to overwhelming and painful. Generally some mix of all of those.
Bonus tip B: Brace for Paradox
The initial “woohoos” are survivable. The dinners, the hugging, the slightly offensive jokes about that place that you called home less than a week ago . . . you can do it. You might even enjoy it and even if you don’t, it will be over soon enough.
The bigger issue is what do you do next?
I recommend taking a timeout. Plan some time to process the reality of your new life. Detox from the experience of back to back goodbyes and hellos in the context of high anxiety and jetlag. Pause for a moment. Take a deep breath and enjoy a very, very select group of people restricted to you, your family (who are also transitioning) and people from tip #2.
Granted, time off or away can be cost and schedule prohibitive but this is a worthwhile investment if you can do it. It could be two days locked up at home or two weeks on a beach. However you do it you’ll be much more ready to start figuring out what normal looks like when you’ve taken a break.
Photos courtesy of Dan Kennedy (aka Safe Haven #1)
Tip #2: Know Your Safe Havens
Some people just get it. They get you. Often (but not always) they’ve been right where you are and they can still feel your pain. They understand the paradox of what you are feeling and they are eager to help you through the process.
You need to know who those people are. They’re the ones who will keep you sane.
Here’s what to look for:
They ask questions that they actually want to know the answers to. Then they ask more questions.
They understand (instead of assuming) what is going on inside of you.
They listen to your stories without thinking up a better one while you talk.
They share great stories at the right time and it’s helpful.
They understand that you can still love your country and be overwhelmed by it at the same time.
They roll their eyes with you more than at you.
Just a few thoughts to help you spot them but you’ll know them when they come around. Spend time with these people. It will be as energizing as it is therapeutic.
Tip #3: Pace Yourself
There is something sweetly unique about the first few months after landing. You’ve missed so much and now you’re back. You can read. You know the language. It’s pretty normal to be excited about your new found accessibility. You may also find yourselves needing to restock your lives. We sold everything when we went to China. Then we sold everything again when we came back. We felt like we had a lot of catching up to do. Maybe you will too but you don’t have to do it all at once.
Pace yourself.
Specifically (but not restricted to) these 3 areas:
Food: No matter how long it’s been since you’ve had a good cheeseburger, you don’t have to eat them all right now. Pace yourself.
Money: You will get into trouble quick if you try to catch up immediately with what your friends have accumulated while you were away. Pace yourself. Just for a while.
Bonus Tip C: Enjoy the freedom of a season with less stuff.
Time: Everything takes longer in transition. You can’t do everything you want to right away. Take your time and focus your attention where it is needed. You’ll get there, but pace yourself.
“What are the top ten most important things in your life and why?”
You are not alone if your answer to that question shifted while you lived abroad. Seeing your own culture from an outside perspective changes things. It doesn’t mean you’ve let go of your high values but you may have discovered that some pieces weren’t really as vital as you once felt they were.
I’m being vague on purpose. Maybe that’s not fair.
How about your politics? What happened when you saw how other parts of the world feel about your country?
What about your faith? How did worshipping in a different context (maybe even a different language) shake or strengthen the perspective you had always known?
I could go on . . .
How did living in community impact how you discipline your kids?
How did witnessing poverty rock your world?
How did your experience change how you view education?
How did falling in love with nationals destroy your stereotypes?
How did studying a new language give you empathy?
How did living abroad change your paradigm of the world?
It happens. You are really not alone.
However, this is the tough part . . . Your friends who stayed right where they were, probably didn’t experience the same shift. Why would they?
Do you see the potential for friction here? You are so wise.
Taking inventory of your highest values and how they have shifted will prepare you for interacting with people. Knowing what is really important will give you a good sense of which conversations are best ignored and which one merit speaking up.
Bonus Tip D: Fight Feelings of Enlightenment
Tip #5: Allow People a Frame of Reference
“Wow, that is a really cool story about China. That’s just like when I went to France in high school.”
Nope. It’s not.
People have a frame of reference for anything different than their norm based on the most similar part of their own experience. They will get as close as they can but sometimes . . . “nope.”
Repeat after me, “It’s ok.”
Their frame may be horribly off but so is yours . . . about something. Try talking to a nuclear physicist (unless you are one). “Wow, that’s a great story about nuclear fusion. That’s just like when I dropped the mentos in some diet coke.”
Nope. It’s not.
You can see these interactions as a chance to politely broaden a frame of reference or just get irritated. The first one is better for your blood pressure.
Bonus Tip E: Not everyone wants to have their frame broadened. Repeat after me, “It’s ok.”
Tip #6: It’s OK to Love Two Places
“Man, I don’t know how you lived over there. I bet you’re glad to be home.”
I think this (frequently shared) statement can be more internally conflicting and frankly hard to respond to than any other.
I am so glad to be home but I was so glad to be there as well. There were some hard parts about living there but there are some hard parts about living here too. There were a lot of days “over there” that I missed home but there are days here when I feel something remarkably similar.
Loving where you lived as an expat doesn’t mean you love your homeland even the slightest bit less. Don’t feel guilty when you feel homesick at home.
Tip #7: Smooth Does Not Equal Easy
I see a LOT of people in transition. I teach this stuff. I know what a rough transition looks like. Ours has not been that. In fact ours has been as smooth as they come.
We had phenomenal Safe Havens who set us up and took care of everything we could ever need. They found our apartment, stocked it with food and furniture, picked us up at the airport, celebrated us, let us hide, listened to our stories and shared their own. Since then we have made other great relationships. We have a great church, our kids are in great schools getting great grades and making great friends. Zero major challenges. Which is also great.
Smooth.
And yet. It has still been hard.
We’ve needed to learn a new city while we figure out how to be American again. We’ve been overwhelmed by the cereal aisle and disgusted by the evening news. Some days . . . lots of days . . . we feel completely out of place. Like foreigners in a very familiar land.
Smooth is a good deal. We’ll take it. If you get the chance, you should too. But know going in that smooth doesn’t equal easy.
Tip #8: Swim Upstream
There is a looming fear in so many returning expats (myself included) that we will somehow slip back into the people that we were before this wonderful experience. It’s a fear that we might just get caught up in the hype and the rat race of “normal” life to the point that we forget about how we have been changed.
A fear that I will view my nations politics as more viable and important than any other nations.
A fear that I will forget about what its like to worship with people from all over the world.
A fear that I will revert to my stereotypes and my previous frame of reference.
A fear that I’ll never learn Chinese again because I don’t need to.
A fear that my kids will only see poverty on TV and never learn to empathize.
A fear that we will forget how to need other people because we are so freakishly independent.
A fear of becoming typical.
The harsh reality is. These fears are legit.
Left alone there is a high chance that all of these things will happen. My encouragement to you (and to myself) is to make decisions and then RESOLVE to make them happen.
Maintaining expat relationships . . . doesn’t just happen.
Traveling back . . . costs a lot of money.
Learning more language . . . not much motivation.
Needing people . . . harder than just doing it on my own.
Whatever it is that you want to hold onto will be a conscious and intentional decision followed up by a solid bit of determination. Swim upstream.
Tip #9: It’s a Better Adventure Than a Struggle
Do I really need to explain that one?
Bonus Tip F: Perspective changes everything.
Tip #10: Grace – Give it Freely and Keep Some for Yourself
When someone says, “you lived in Japan? My neighbor is Korean.” Give her some grace.
When someone says, “you lived in Germany? Heil Hitler!” Give him some grace.
When someone says, “you lived in China? Oh my gosh, were you persecuted?” Grace.
When someone says, “you lived in Africa? That is so cool, say something in African.” Grace.
When no one says anything, and you really wish they would. Grace.
When you snap, or cry, or crawl into a hole . . . it’s for you too . . . Give yourself some grace.
Landing is hard . . . sometimes because it was supposed to be easy. As you leave and after you land grace is key.
Bonus tip G: Grace Again (worth repeating)
If you are packing up or already home, I hope this helps.
If you are welcoming friends who are returning home . . . read #2
If you know someone who is packing up or transitioning now, please pass this on.
If you’ve been there and done that don’t be stingy. Add your tips. What worked for you?
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.”
Lifers laugh at things that are not funny to anyone else in the world
8. I love that they are not intimidated by far off places
