Introduction

My name is Randy Green. I am an American expat. I am and will always be an American but I have not lived in the country of my birth for many years. My purpose in this weekly newsletter is to expand upon and clarify some issues – the lifestyle, experiences, and mindset of an expat. As promised, you can expect some of these to be acidic, some wacky, and a few may be useful. So, let’s get started.

What exactly is an expat and what is an expat lifestyle? The answer to the first part of the question is relatively simple: An expat is a person who is voluntarily living outside their native country; merely a matter of changing addresses. It is important to note, however, that this address change is at least semi-permanent. Thus, although it can be enlightening, a semester abroad as an exchange student or a gap year of international travel does not meet that standard. If there is a return ticket involved, you are a traveler, not an expat.

But what about the expat lifestyle? How is it separate and distinct from the way normal people live? In defining an expat lifestyle, no clear and easy answer is forthcoming. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that no single answer is correct, for each expat may have a different but equally valid response.

In my case, I have not lived on American soil for many years. I am where I am by choice. The key word is choice. I choose to live outside the country of my birth; that, by definition, makes me an expat. However, it is also important to note that this choice is never a permanent commitment. One of the glories of being an expat is the realization that, having made an international relocation once, it is actually quite easy to do it again - and, if desired, again and again. That includes the option to reverse course and return to your homeland.

My father, who lived to be 87, and my mother, who lived to 94, stayed in the same small midwestern American town their entire adult lives. Somehow, the relocation gene skipped their generation of my family. Or perhaps, having lived through the triple whammy of the Depression of the 1930s, the World War of the 1940s, and the Cold War of the 1950s, they were perfectly content to keep their head down and stay in one place if it offered some sense of security and stability.

Not me, however. Although I shared the same DNA and the same environment, I never felt the roots that kept my parents firmly tethered to that small town. Like many other young people, going to college opened the door to leaving home and hometown. Upon graduation, returning to their hometown became a matter of choice rather than inevitable.

But moving to another city in the same country does not make one an expat. You are still dealing with the same language and culture. To make the cross-border leap to expat class requires a conscious decision involving legal documents, extensive preparations, and dealing with gatekeepers with their arcane regulations, often in a foreign language. The primary criterion is both external and internal: An expat is a person who has shifted their geographical location (including diet and background noise) but also their self-image and expectations. The acid test: At some point, genuine expats will find themselves thinking, “I wonder what they are doing back in (insert home town) on this Saturday night. Certainly, nothing like this. Who would’a thunk it?”

For expats, once the cultural shackles are removed, a degree of freedom descends and with it comes the realization that the set of rules we learned as children do not apply universally. Nor are those childhood rules superior to other sets of rules that we encounter… although the comfortable familiarity of those first rules makes them feel natural. Grandmother’s dumplings – or jiaozi, pierogi, ravioli, or whatever your grandmother called them – will always be your standard for how dumplings should taste. Likewise, your idea of what constitutes a proper breakfast was learned early; it was part of your socialization.

We can never break those ties that bind us; not entirely. Wherever you live later, your innate self-image will be inexorably anchored to your hometown, regardless of how much or how loudly you repudiate certain aspects of it later. That simple example of grandmother’s dumplings also applies to other filters in our eyes. Let’s look at a famous expat from the past. Ernest Hemingway, the American writer of the last century, never returned to his Illinois hometown. But, in his writing, he never completely left it. While he was living in Paris or Key West or Havana, he was always keenly aware of the norms and behaviors he had left behind. Even when he rejected much of that lifestyle and provincial outlook, everything in his writing was still colored by the standards he learned as a child. We’re all that way.

Someone told me long ago that you can’t really call a new place your house until you can walk through it in the middle of the night without turning on any lights on your way to the bathroom. That’s also a pretty good test as to what constitutes an expat. When the strange new people and behaviors around you become normal, you are officially an expat, settled into your new country. What you see outside your window in the morning is now normal. 

So… how does one become an expat, aside from the physical relocation? How is it that you wake up one morning, perhaps a little better rested than usual, and find yourself thinking, “How the hell did I get here?” Perhaps the most succinct answer to this self-query comes from another famous expat of a previous generation, the Norwegian explorer, adventurer, and writer Thor Heyerdahl:

Once in a while, you find yourself in an odd situation.  You get into it by degrees and in the most natural way but, when you are right in the midst of it, you are suddenly astonished and ask yourself how in the world it all came about.

Another facet of the expat: To paraphrase that famous admonition by the American crooner philosopher Willie Nelson, “Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be expats. ‘Cos they’ll never stay home and they’re always alone even with someone they love.” That feeling of aloneness is the expat’s occupational hazard, although most would say it is well worth the price. They value the freedom of not being tied to a single place in a single culture. Of course there are some tradeoffs. This dark side of expat life was elucidated by Plato. “Those who are able to see beyond the shadows and lies of their culture will never be understood let alone believed by the masses.” Once you acquire bicultural vision, it is difficult to communicate with someone lacking it. Ask a combat veteran.

Why write about expats? In the imaginations of most people (non-expats), they are different, interesting. Their life in a foreign land must be verging on exotic – sometimes over the verge. They get invited to better parties. They have more fun! Readers were deeply influenced by expats like Hemingway and Heyerdahl, even if they never actually moved to Paris or Polynesia - although a few readers undoubtedly did just that.

I intend to examine all these issues and more. My purpose is to explore aspects of the expat lifestyle and perspective. Perhaps you are an expat, know one, or are considering becoming one yourself. While the topics I write on will not be an exhaustive survey, they will prime you for what to expect – at least, what I encountered. Maybe you will find some of my ideas dubious; I don’t expect you to agree with everything that follows. As the car manufacturers say, your mileage may vary. But I hope you will enjoy the ride as I describe the mindset, experiences, and the lifestyle of expats.

Randy Green

May 2022