Ann Marie's Blog

The Best Medicine

One of the nicest things our landlords gave us when we leased their home in Holland for a few years was a two page list of their favorite local places to eat and shop, along with the names and phone numbers of various English-speaking service/repair people who were already familiar with the house and yard. 

We kept that list next to the phone in the kitchen and used it often.

As grateful as we were for the entire list, there was one name and number that still stands out today as by far the most valuable --- the name of a local family doctor who practiced out of his home about two miles from ours and spoke perfect English. Knowing that he was nearby and available if we got sick, or especially if our two-year-old daughter was ill, was comforting. 

Of course, until we actually needed medical attention, we had no idea that speaking English only meant that we would be able to tell the doctor about our symptoms and understand his diagnosis and prescriptions. Sharing a common language in no way guaranteed that we could actually expect the same approach to medical care that we were accustomed to in the U.S.

Our first clue about the fundamentally different approach to health care came when our daughter had a bad cough, which in those days (the early 1990's) would have automatically been treated with antibiotics in the U.S. Our Dutch doctor patiently explained what is now common knowledge and practice in the U.S.: that antibiotics are only useful in treating bacterial infections and that their overprescription in the U.S. was actually counterproductive. Intellectually, this made sense to us but it was still scary to take a sick child home and just wait for her to get better.

A couple years later, that same doctor confirmed my pregnancy and then sent me home with instructions to come back in 8-10 weeks if I was still pregnant. No ultrasound or other investments yet, just a realistic acknowledgement that the first 12 weeks of pregnancy are risky, especially at my advanced age of 35! He did assure me, though, that if I wanted to deliver this baby in Holland I would be allowed to go to a hospital, even though most Dutch women give birth at home with a midwife. 

Then there was the time that our houseguest from the U.S. had a medical emergency in the middle of the night. Not only did our neighborhood doctor answer his phone at 2:00 am, but he told us to bring our guest to his home office immediately, where he examined and treated her (maybe in his pajamas--I don't remember). No need to call an ambulance or go to the ER. Just a quick drive down the street and back home again to bed. 

Sometimes the best medicine is a different approach than we expected...

 

 

Culture shock and self discovery

"I am not a typical ugly American!" 

When I was much younger, I really believed this statement and was eager to prove it. I wanted to distance myself from the stereotype of the loud, brash, pushy American tourist and blend in to the cultures in the countries I was lucky enough to visit. I tried hard to pay attention to my surroundings, watch and listen before speaking, respect the local traditions, try the foods, and make friends with the people.

During my first trip to France, I remember a beautiful sunny day in the Jardin des Tuileries in Paris. Our quiet lunch was suddenly interrupted by someone speaking English with a strong mid-western-U.S. accent, loudly criticizing French people. When I turned and saw a man in a bright orange sweatshirt from a U.S. university, my negative opinion of him was solidified. I was embarrassed to be seen as an American, especially in the vicinity of such a fine example of an ugly one, and decided to try to blend in and act as French as possible for the rest of the trip.

For the next few years I was full of good intentions and really thought that those, along with my conscious efforts to adapt, would be enough to carry me successfully through many adventures and business situations in foreign countries. 

Little did I know then, how little I really knew. Or how very American I really am.

It wasn't until we moved to The Netherlands, to live and work for three years, that I started to catch some hints about the depth of my ignorance, and the many ways in which I was so easily and obviously identifiable as a U.S.-American to my European colleagues and neighbors. Over the years, helpful friends pointed out strange things that we Americans did, like:

• smiling and saying "hello" to people we passed on the sidewalks
• working from home occasionally in the evenings, or at the office on weekends, or postponing vacations if an important business meeting came up.
• putting bike helmets on our kids and even wearing them ourselves just to run errands in the neighborhood
• asking for "special preparations" or substitutions of menu items in restaurants 
• inviting friends to our homes for dinner, and then asking them to bring a dish to share or a bottle of wine, and then offering them a tour of the entire home, including private spaces like bedrooms and bathrooms!
• and much, much more...

I couldn't argue with their observations. I did all of these things. They came naturally to me, and I had never realized that they might be interpreted as different or strange when viewed through a different cultural lens. I started to think that maybe I was really more of a typical American than I had wanted to admit before.

My illusions were shattered for good when I read an article by L. Robert Kohls, The Values Americans Live By, during my first semester studying for a masters degree in Intercultural Relations. Suddenly many of the beliefs that drove my behavior, and that I thought were somehow uniquely mine, were spelled out in black and white, in a 14-page article, as typical mainstream U.S. American Values.

Being informal. Taking initiative. Loving competition. Treating people as equals. Being seen, and seeing myself, as a unique individual. Being optimistic and action-oriented.  

These all rang true and I could no longer deny it. Compared to people from most other cultures in the world, my values are more aligned than not with mainstream U.S. values.

I don't mind any more being seen as a typical American. This is who I am and these values are the starting point and foundation for everything I do.

But I'll still always try to avoid the ugly part.

 

The Art of Coming Home

Our friendly UPS driver just dropped 25 more copies of Craig Storti's practical book, The Art of Coming Home, on my front porch.  For the 8th year in a row I look forward to giving this book to a group of people preparing to return home to their respective countries in Asia after living and working in the U.S. for 7 months. This book has become a cornerstone of our final cultural integration sessions together in this particular corporate training program.

For me this book, and it's clear explanation of the typical stages of "reverse culture-shock," falls into the (rather large) category of "things that sure would have been helpful if they'd existed when I needed them!"  Things that I can't wait to share with other people, so they can avoid the ignorance and bypass some of the mistakes I made along the way.

For example, while we were getting ready to move home from Holland in 1995 (before the first edition of this book was ever published), a friend invited me to meet for coffee once we were settled into our old house in Portland, and talk about how my "re-entry" was going. Our conversation went something like this:

Her: "Let's meet for coffee sometime when you're back in Portland. I'd love to hear how your re-entry is going."

Me: "My what?"

Her: "Re-entry."

Me: "What's that?"

Her: "You know, 'repatriation.' Your adjustment to life back in the U.S." 

Me: "Hmmm, well, OK, I'd love to have coffee" (thinking at the same time that I couldn't imagine having something interesting to talk about---after all, how hard could it be to move back into the same house in the same neighborhood and go back to work at the same place I knew so well?)

Well, my friend is a cross-cultural consultant and has lived overseas herself, so of course she knew some things that I didn't know. I soon learned that "re-entry" and "reverse culture-shock" were very real experiences, and we had plenty to talk about over coffee!

It's because of those conversations, and my own re-adjustment experiences, that I now love giving Storti's book to people and helping them create simple strategies for anticipating and dealing with their own re-entry experiences. 

In some cases I simply give the book as a gift, but with this particular group from Asia each year we actually get to do this in a formal workshop setting. We have time to work together to outline plans for leave-taking and departure, helping to solidify their new personal and professional relationships, and say their "good-byes" during the last few weeks in the U.S.

They have time to brainstorm together, to help each other prepare for the inevitable challenges of reverse culture shock, and anticipate ways to deal with the doubt, anxiety, and feelings of being an outsider that often settle in once the initial, joyful honeymoon stage has faded away (and friends and family members have grown tired of looking at their pictures and hearing stories about life in the U.S).

Finally, we talk openly and hopefully about what readjustment might look like, and which aspects of the U.S. experience they would really like to integrate into their future lives back home. They envision ways they might achieve more balance in their lives, spend more time with their families, keep up with the exercise programs they started in the U.S., or incorporate some American management practices into their daily work.

I've always believed that this was time well-spent, but had no idea how truly meaningful these sessions were until I crossed paths with several graduates of this program during a trip through Asia last Spring. In each country, several people pulled me aside and told me something about their experiences adjusting to life back home. They all talked about the book, and about our discussions during those final workshop sessions, and they thanked me for both. 

They've also become sort of an informal pool of mentors for each subsequent group of people who come home from this program. Like my friend did for me so many years ago, they meet for coffee or tea and listen to each others' stories and share their experiences and ideas for making the reentry experience less of a struggle and more of an art.

I think Craig Storti would be proud...

 

 

 

 

 

Intense and Alive

When we lived in Holland several years ago friends from home would ask what it was like. They usually assumed it must be great---one adventure after another---and in many ways it was. But the pre-move advice from a more experienced expat, to be aware that "the highs will be higher and the lows will be lower," also proved worthy of attention.

Over time I developed my own response to this question. I would say that living in Europe was more intense than living at home, and that it made me feel more alive. 

We had to pay closer attention to everything because nothing was familiar or comfortable. The language. Paying for parking. Figuring out how to weigh and label the produce in the grocery store. Calling the plumber. Introducing ourselves to the neighbors.

It was frustrating and scary and exhilarating and exhausting and fun. We were learning at a crazy pace, and seeing everything through new eyes. 

It was intense.

We felt really alive.

Good to remember (and try to replicate more often).