LIVING ABROAD

According to my mom, I took my first international trip at age 4.  I doubt I even noticed when the Subaru crossed into British Columbia, less than 100 miles from my hometown in Idaho.  Though not international, the leap from Seattle to New York City a few years later for grad school at NYU was a bit more drastic.  One degree and one husband later, the prospect of a new job for him in Europe implied, on paper, the most extreme migration of all.  Realistically, the decision was an easy one, perhaps because we made it together.  Or perhaps because like the rest of my generation, satisfaction with my current life—city, country, whatever—was elusive.  With no idea what to expect and those thoughts in mind, we boarded a direct flight from New York to Budapest.

Now, as far as I can tell, there are a few different phases of living abroad.  Your experience might differ, but based on my own experience (American girl in Europe) and some qualitative research, it goes a little something like this…

On Holiday to Stay

At first, living abroad is a bit like a vacation on crack.  There are the typical sightseeing tours, mixed with a whirlwind of apartment leases, administrative paperwork, and “cultural training” classes.  I was newly married, so for me it was like a honeymoon turned bizarre game of house, complete with all new 220-volt appliances.

In the midst of the excitement, you learn a lot of things really quickly—like not speak English at a rate of 92 miles per hour.  You learn not to reference miles, come to think of it.  You give up the American habit of chasing your meal around the plate before eating and settle down, proper-like, with fork and knife.

For the things you can’t immediately master, there are shortcuts.  After all, when everything is new, a bit of complexity reduction is necessary.  For example, in Hungarian, goodbye is Szia.  If you just say “See ya!” you can get pretty close and don’t feel too dumb.  Similarly, if a situation calls for, say, German and you don’t know a certain word, you can just say the English word with a strong German accent.  This is great fun and shockingly effective.

Then there are the shopping tricks.  When the nice Hungarian at the market indicates that a chicken is 1000 forints, you quickly learn to drop three zeros and multiply by 6 (now 5) for dollars.  Close enough.  For length, you revert to the Idaho “yay” system.  This involves holding up your hands the proper distance apart to indicate that you would like “yay” amount of the item in question—usually some sort of salami.  By simply cupping the hands, this system can be extended to units of weight and volume.  Easy peasy.

Basically, it’s all new and hilarious, especially if you’re me, and you’re going through life with approximately 50% of the average person’s allotment of common sense.

Expatri-hating

Then one day, something goes awry—you take a wrong turn that leads you outside of your comfort zone, there’s an accident and you don’t know who to call, whatever—and the happy little vacation patch comes loose, revealing a whole mess of misfit pieces and big gaping holes of knowledge.  If you have kids, they start to struggle at school.  They don’t understand why they have to start all over again and you can’t explain it in a way that convinces even you.  You realize that the language is a true barrier and wonder if “expat” is just another word for glorified tourist—no longer an attractive thought.   Getting things done, that very essence of living a normal life, feels impossible.

As you start to really miss your friends and family, the degree of mourning of your old life becomes inversely related to your happiness with your new one.  You turn your attention to work, where suddenly you’re faced with intricacies —laws, business practices—you’ve never encountered. And if you are expatriated for the sole purpose of work, your career can easily start to seem like your purpose in life.  The infamous work/life balance becomes indistinguishable at worst, off kilter at best.  Things are even more complicated if you or your partner is not working and/or has sacrificed something (career, friends, pet) to join you abroad.  Some people stay in this phase permanently; some move back home. I imagine some probably discover palinka.

Expatriation Appreciation

If you’re lucky, you stop expatri-hating quickly, though you might relapse a time or two.  Eventually, your life makes peace with your work. Your family— now a reliable, indestructible little unit—becomes closer than ever.  You make a friend or two, and you develop a permanent Skype schedule with people back home.  For some expats, the best solution is to create a life that, in fact, resembles home.  They find the import section at Tesco and stock up on peanut butter.  They spend time with other expats and live happily separate, without assimilating much into the society of their new country.  For people who move around a lot, this is especially understandable.

The alternative, I think, is to take a deep breath and dive in.  Absorb the local culture.  Attempt to make goulash.  Explore the surrounding areas.  For us, Vienna is a short drive, perfect for a day of strudel (with vanilla sauce) and a glimpse at the life of Mozart and Beethoven.  Venice is a quick plane ride to another world, and good for stocking up on artisan pasta and cheap Murano glass rings.  The rocky coast of Croatia—my favorite place in the whole world and not a common destination from an Idaho perspective—is just a few hours away by car.  (Assuming that you remember it’s not Schengen and don’t forget your passport, that is.)

It may not be right for everyone, but I’m starting to think that the ultimate life abroad is one in which nationality can still define you, but it doesn’t limit your thinking or your opportunities in any obvious way.  Where globalization and protectionism coexist on a higher plane.  A life in which you can have roots and wings… and appreciate some other peoples’ roots as well.  It’s just an idea, and I’m not saying I’m there yet… but I’m crossing over.