Be Prepared For Panic
Dear Student,
Over the past 44 days, I’ve walked you through every issue and challenge you’ll face as you launch your new life in your chosen haven overseas.
However, the challenges don’t end the day you show up in your new home. The process of establishing yourself in a foreign country continues through your first several weeks of residence, at least.
Therefore, I’d like today to begin addressing this getting-settled period.
Perhaps the biggest challenge you might face during this initial time in your new home is panic.
No matter how long you’ve planned for this, how much research you’ve carried out, or how diligently you’ve followed this program, there is a very good chance that, sometime during your first year in your new country, perhaps, again, even during your first month in your new home, you’ll wonder what in the world ever possessed you to think this “leaving home” thing was a good idea.
What were you thinking? You must have taken leave of your senses. Paradise? This place is no paradise. This place is a nightmare.
This isn’t an adventure. This is nuts.
My best advice is to wait out the panic. It will pass.
Moving to Ireland, we thought the transition would be transparent. We Americans think we know the Irish. They’re just like us, aren’t they?
No, they’re not.
Wherever you decide to chase your dreams overseas, even if it’s somewhere as seemingly familiar as Ireland, you’re going to discover that the people living there aren’t like you either, in ways that won’t be apparent at first.
You’re going to find that life is more difficult than it was wherever you came from. More complicated. Less predictable.
We didn’t choose Waterford, Ireland, for our first international move. It was chosen for us by my employers at the time. And we didn’t visit for an extended time before we made the leap, because we didn’t have time to. My husband, my daughter, and I visited for two two-week planning trips, one in July, the other in September, then we arrived as full-time residents in Waterford in November.
By February, I was sad. Indescribably sad for no reason I could identify. We were comfortable in our rental cottage on the river. Kaitlin was doing well in her new school. Our office was established, and our daily commute was a pleasant 15-minute walk into town. All was well, but I was, frankly, miserable.
Then we took a trip to Nicaragua. After a few days on that country’s sunny southern Pacific coast, my sadness disappeared. What was going on?
The Irish winter, that’s what. Though I’d traveled in Ireland for years, I’d never lived through an Irish winter. Some days the sun rises after 9 a.m. and sets before 4 in the afternoon. In between those hours, it’s typically gray, drizzling, overcast, and damp.
Ireland can be a great place to call home, but before you commit to a new life in the Auld Sod, experience it in winter. Spend time in the country in January and February. Or don’t. Ireland is one place that makes good sense as a part-time haven. You could relocate to Ireland each summer then spend your winters someplace bright and sunny. That was our strategy. After our first long winter in Waterford, we escaped to the tropics every December and returned to the Emerald Isle in early March, in time to appreciate Irish spring and summer.
In Paris, we wondered about our sanity from the start. During our first few months, my husband and I and our two children were crammed into a 600-square-foot, one-bedroom apartment. Our children slept on cots in a tiny mezzanine. I stored clothes in the china hutch. Lief and I shared a single internet connection at the single desk in the corner of the single bedroom.
In fact, though, our temporary stay in super-cramped rented quarters when we first arrived in Paris made the transition from Ireland to France more palatable. Instead of going straight from 5,000 square feet and five bedrooms on 7 acres in County Waterford to the 1,200 square feet and three bedrooms of the apartment we eventually bought and renovated in central Paris, we went from 5,000 square feet to the 600 square feet of our interim rental to, finally, 1,200 square feet. By the time the renovation of our little apartment on the rue de Verneuil was complete and we were able to move in, the place didn’t seem so little.
I speak about this panic phase often—in my regular daily dispatches, at conferences, with friends thinking about making their first international move. Because it is one thing I wasn’t prepared for at all, something I wish someone had tipped me off to in advance of our move to Waterford.
Once, when I mentioned the phenomenon to a friend preparing to move overseas for the first time, suggesting that he shouldn’t worry about the panic stage he’d eventually experience, that it’d pass, my friend smiled and nodded politely, humoring me.
It can be hard to imagine, I understand, during the excitement of the pre-move phase, that after maybe only a month or two in your new home, you might find yourself questioning the move altogether. My friend insisted that it wouldn’t happen to him. “I’ve spent months researching and making my plan,” Tom explained with confidence. “I understand what I’m getting into. I’ve thought this through from every angle, and I’m fully prepared.”
A couple of years later, over drinks one night, Tom remarked, “You know, before my move, when you talked about the panic stage that everyone goes through at some point after relocating to a new country, I laughed to myself. Panic, I thought. Why would I panic? The idea seemed extreme and, frankly, silly.
“But, I have to tell you, it happened to me. It was maybe a year into my move to Ecuador. I realized that I was feeling out of my element and uncertain in a fundamental way. Unsure of myself and my new situation. I was experiencing a feeling that, I had to admit, could best be described as panic.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I remembered what you’d recommended. I waited it out. I realized that I was feeling overwhelmed by the frustrations of living in the Third World. I reminded myself why I’d wanted to make the move in the first place and of all the things about Ecuador that I love. There are many. After a little while, the panic passed.”
Your panic phase in your new home could be a result of the weather and the seasons, as it was for us in Ireland. It could be a reaction to the trials and frustrating tribulations of life in a developing country, as it was for my friend Tom. It could be homesickness, as for another friend, Rebecca, who often, during the first year after her move from Canada to Panama, found herself sitting home alone, missing her old life so much she almost returned to Ontario to resurrect it.
Rebecca was wise enough in the end to recognize that she wasn’t going to make a new life for herself in Panama overnight or without some effort. Moving to a foreign country can be especially challenging for a woman on her own. Without a husband or partner to accompany you, the idea of dinner out at the café on the corner or a weekend away exploring your new surroundings can be intimidating, even frightening. You consider it, maybe even plan for it, but then opt for another quiet evening or weekend at home instead. If you move to another country as a single woman, you’ll have to work even harder than the average expat overseas to establish yourself. Rebecca found that the secret was making one local girlfriend. That girl introduced Rebecca to her friends and to her boyfriend’s friends, and, soon enough, Rebecca found herself part of a whole new circle of company. Rebecca is five years on now in her new life in Panama.
Does she think today about returning to Canada? Never.
No country is perfect. Every country on my Top Havens list, as we’ve discussed, has its pluses and its minuses. The minuses eventually are going to get to you. Living high in the mountains in Panama may provide glorious views and a gentle, spring-like climate, but you won’t be near a real city or an international airport. You’ll be living a country life among neighbors who, in this part of Panama, speak only Spanish. Sometimes the remoteness will overwhelm you.
Ecuador may offer the most affordable cost of living in the world today, but Ecuador is a truly Third World country. As my friend Tom discovered, life in the Third World isn’t for everyone.
Although it was our third international move and our third country of residence since we left the States, we experienced the panic phase in Panama, too. In fact, it was more severe than in either Ireland or France. In Panama City, we struggled adjusting to the climate. I grew up in Baltimore, Maryland, which enjoys four seasons, spring, summer, winter, and fall, each distinct and contrasting but none extreme. I’ve told you about the weather in Ireland. In Paris, we again enjoyed four distinct seasons, including blissful springtimes and autumns. Ah, what a welcome change from Waterford.
In Panama, there are two seasons, wet and dry, both hot and humid. It’s the tropics. We recognized that fact before we became full-time residents, of course, and we’d been spending time in Panama for many years. Visiting the tropics, however, is not the same as living in the tropics. Full-time living in a full-on tropical climate takes getting used to.
In Panama City, we struggled to readjust to the inconvenience factor. We’d adjusted to it during our seven years in Ireland, where life can generally be described as inconvenient. In Paris, we returned to the first world and grew accustomed again to the easy life in many regards. In Panama, we were back in a land where things don’t work as we’d like or as one generally might expect they should.
We also missed the distractions of Paris—the museums, the restaurants, the theaters, the shops. On the other hand, in Panama City, we could escape with Jack to the beach any Friday afternoon we had a mind to. We could wake up any Saturday morning and decide to take the ferry to Taboga Island for a day of snorkeling. We could go jungle trekking, hiking, horseback riding, river kayaking, or swimming in the cool pools you find at the bottoms of the many waterfalls in the beautiful, mountainous interior of this country. We missed the diversions of Paris, but, when we did, we reminded ourselves of the diversions of Panama… Now, back in Paris, the shoe is on the other foot again.
The key to being happy in your new home, wherever you decide to make it, is to keep your perspective and your sense of humor. When doubt and frustration creep in, as they will, remind yourself of two things.
First, don’t make any hasty decisions. The moment of panic will pass.
Second, while you’re waiting for that to subside, remember why you chose this country in the first place. Was it for the beach? Then escape to the coast for a few days of relaxation beneath the palms. Was it for the super-low cost of living? Take yourself out for a nice dinner on the cheap. What do you enjoy most in your new home—the fishing, the boating, the shopping, the neighbors? Then make time to catch some fish or to have your new friends over for an authentic home-cooked American dinner.
Think, too, about why, specifically, you’re feeling uncertain about your decision. No place is perfect. Once you identify the minuses, you can figure ways around them. If you don’t like the current season, go somewhere else until it passes. If you’re missing family back home, invite them to come visit. If you’re not happy in the neighborhood where you’ve initially settled, consider another.
My point is this: Be prepared, at some time during your first year in your new home, perhaps even during the first month or two, to wonder what in the world you’ve done.
No, this wasn’t crazy, and it wasn’t a mistake. Wait it out. The panic will pass. Just on the other side is the life you came to find.
Tomorrow, more on making the most of your first month in your new home overseas…
Kathleen Peddicord
Your New Life Overseas Coach