Field Notes on Starting Over: Note #3—Ten Things I’ve Learned From Ten Years Living Abroad

Lessons from the school of (expat) life

Over the last ten years, I have lived and worked in six countries and traveled through many more. Recently, I have been reflecting on what I have gleaned from this past decade of expat living. My worldview, habits, and even some core aspects of my personality have been changed by living so long outside my home country. The following is just a handful of the plethora of takeaways I have gained from my time globetrotting.

1. The transitory nature of life

People, places, seasons of life—nothing lasts forever, nothing stays the same. I have always both thrived on and loathed change. I have always struggled with endings and goodbyes. If you live in the town where you grew up and have the same friends you’ve had since high school, you may not feel the ephemerality of relationships and your surroundings quite so intensely. As an expat or long-term traveler, farewells come with the territory. You can either love completely and throw every ounce of energy into relationships you know will be fleeting, or you can shut yourself off from getting too close to anyone in order to avoid the inevitable.

After living liminally for so long, I have learned to operate somewhere in the middle—fully opening my heart to a best-friend-for-a-day, baring my soul to someone I know I’ll never see again, while at the same time not getting attached to any future hopes. I build community quickly, thrive in it, live so fully in the moment, while all along keeping in mind that it’s all finite. I have lost touch with people who once knew all my darkest secrets, have revisited once-beloved places that have changed beyond recognition.

The passage of time, and the change it leaves in its wake, is both bitter and sweet.

This lifestyle has made me value connection and be present even more. It makes me appreciate the things that don’t change—the friendships that endure across time and space, the steadfast corner coffee shop, the essence of a place that remains despite overdevelopment and overtourism.

2. It’s possible to pivot, no matter your age

It was so inspiring to see a 60-year-old retired lawyer and a 40-year-old former psychiatrist on my English teacher certification course in a little beach town in Ecuador. I have worked alongside so many interesting humans of all ages and backgrounds who decided it wasn’t too late to end careers they were no longer passionate about and start over somewhere new. I met a couple in their 50s who’d sold all their worldly possessions, bought a boat and were sailing around the world. I’ve met multiple mid-lifers who had nothing but a suitcase to their name, whose parents’ basement was their only home base. I have started over multiple times, moving from country to country without knowing a soul—sometimes without even having a job or apartment secured first—and each time it got a little less scary.

You don’t have to be an aimless itinerant to start over or try something new. You just have to believe that you are never too old, and it’s never too late.

3. Less is more

We don’t need half as much as we think we need. I remember talking to a friend in the U.S. who had a big, beautiful home and she was complaining that she didn’t have enough space. I asked her what she wanted, and she said, “Well, a three-car garage would be nice.” “You don’t even have three cars!” I cried, incredulous. When I lived in the U.S., I also subscribed to the belief that more is more. I fully embraced consumer culture. But since giving up two closets full of clothes and another full of shoes for one checked and a carry-on, I have been much happier in my life.

Experiences > things.

4. People are good

Maybe it’s because I am naturally more present when I travel or in unfamiliar surroundings, but living and traveling abroad has helped me see more kindness in humanity. That’s not to say it doesn’t exist in my home country, I’m just more open to noticing it when I’m not operating on autopilot. As a traveler, I have relied on the kindness of strangers more times than I can count.

When we attune ourselves to noticing the good, the more good we’ll find.

Keep your eyes peeled for random acts of kindness

5. There is no one right way to do something

When I was living on a farm in the-middle-of-nowhere France, if there was a difficult, more roundabout ass way of doing something, that’s how it was done. Getting a simple bike rental card in Colombia required a convoluted round-robin visit to four different offices around the city where one must provide the same exact information to each (first name, last name, blood oath, promise of your firstborn child). In Japan, some dental insurance companies will only pay for you to get one quadrant of your teeth cleaned at a time, and you must wait at least one week in between each cleaning. And don’t even get me started on how the plague was handled in Indonesia.

Frustrating? Yes. Nonsensical? I think so. But that’s the point. It doesn’t matter what I or anyone else thinks. Things are done differently in different places, and you can either learn to roll with it or just be pissed off all the time.

If you take the attitude in life that it’s your way or the highway, you’re going to be alone in a jalopy sputtering down a long, lonely road, my friend.

6. Patience

Piggybacking off the last lesson, patience is something I have learned (been forced) to cultivate living abroad. When I lived in the U.S., “patient” is the last word you would use to describe me. I was always in a rush, quick to anger, had terrible road rage (I once flipped someone off while wearing mittens—not very effective), and was very Type A. I couldn’t relax, couldn’t sit still, always tapping my foot, checking the clock. Living in tropical climates naturally slowed me down—it was too damn hot to be in a rush. In Japan, waiting in line is almost like a national sport—the more stoically you do so, the better. In Indonesia, I learned to trust the process. There was no use getting impatient and anxious over highly time sensitive things getting done because one just learned that they always would get done. At the very last possible minute, mind you, but they would get done.

May we all be granted the serenity to accept the things we cannot change.

7. Resilience and self-reliance

These two go hand in hand. I had to learn to trust my instincts more in foreign lands. Is moving to a country I’ve never been to—jobless and homeless—a wise decision? Does this person seem safe to hitchhike with, or do they look like they’re stowing an axe in their trunk? Should I follow this strange man down a dark alley at night? (true story for another time). Does this roadside stand look capable of producing the best meal of my life or does it scream Hepatitis A with a side of dysentery? The vast majority of the time, my gut has been spot on; and when it hasn’t, I learned to bounce back. I trusted that I would always be ok because I’d always have my own back.

Through repeatedly doing hard things and proving that we’ll make it to the other side, we learn to get back on the horse and ride our own damn selves off into the sunset—no princes required.

8. If we don’t get uncomfortable, we don’t grow

Solo travel and starting from scratch in so many countries has put me in some very uncomfortable situations—language barriers, loneliness, navigating my way around an unfamiliar city, starting or looking for a new job, learning to ride a motorbike for the first time (on the opposite side of the road, to boot!), dealing with visa bureaucracy. But without these experiences, I wouldn’t have grown into the empowered, patient, street smart woman I am today. Staying in my cozy little shell—maintaining the status quo, living in the same city surrounded by the same people, operating in a culture and language I knew—didn’t require much of me.

I’m sure you all know of the lobster analogy. As a lobster grows, its shell becomes too confining, forcing the lobster to rid itself of it and make a new one. Before the lobster can do this, it must first get uncomfortable and vulnerable. The stress and pressure of the old shell is the catalyst for growth. And before the new shell solidifies, it is too soft to offer protection; the lobster literally risks its life to grow.

Like the courageous crustacean, we too must cast off our shells of safety and comfort sometimes to make room for growth.

If we are never challenged, we don’t learn what we’re truly capable of.

Shells are made to be broken

9. There’s more to you than what meets the eye

I discovered so many different versions of myself in different places and when speaking other languages. Spanish brings out a more extroverted, even flamboyant side of my personality. I am funniest in English, shyest in Japanese, playful in Indonesian. French somehow makes me feel more poised than I actually am. In some countries, I discover a confidence and self-assuredness I didn’t know I possessed. In others, I more readily set aside my fierce independence and allow myself to receive help. You don’t have to live abroad or travel to meet yourself, but you do have to get out of your comfort zone, your everyday world, if you want to know what you’re truly made of. Different situations will bring out different aspects of your personality, so the more varied experiences you allow yourself to have, the more of YOU you will get to see.

Don’t judge a book by its cover—you are a whole book, full of nuanced characters and exciting chapters just waiting to be read.

10. The importance of community

Whether or not you believe the old adage that we are more alike than different, humans have an undeniable evolutionary affinity for connection. I have never felt this so acutely than when I have been removed from everything and everyone that is safe and familiar to me. Building community has always been the most important thing for me whenever I moved to a new city or country. I was always a terribly shy person until I started traveling solo and living abroad. I had to force myself out of my shell until it became natural. Before moving somewhere new I would get on community social media pages and apps to network and meet people so I would already have a friendly face waiting for me wherever I was going. Establishing a community in the places I have lived abroad hasn’t always been easy—especially among expats who are, by nature, transient creatures—but is something I’ve striven for.

The WHO declared loneliness to be a global health threat, a sense of community is a huge contributor to the famed longevity of those in blue zones, multiple self-help books have been written on the topic of making friends as an adult.

Community is essential, not optional.

This Substack was birthed from a place of deep loneliness, isolation and desire for community and connection. It saved me from feeling lost and without purpose; and I appreciate every single one of you for being here. From the ninja readers (the silent majority) to those of you who drop likes and comments—thank you for being a part of this community.