A Reflection on Three Years Abroad

what expat life has taught me

Colorful scarves for sale in Petra, Jordan.

As of this month, I’ve been living outside the U.S. for three years (!!). And to put it simply: it’s been life on steroids.

In that time, I’ve relocated from Cairo to Amman, Jordan. I’ve dealt with the stress of international moves. I quit a career I once thought was my forever path. I’ve visited (and written travel guides for) some truly incredible places, and I’ve occupied the weird liminal space of being back in the U.S. while in between homes.

As I approach my overseas anniversary and the end of my first year in Jordan, it feels right to revisit a post I wrote two years ago on what I’d learned from life as an expat¹. I want to reflect on how my thinking has evolved since, and share observations that I hope will guide you into deeper, more nuanced awareness of the world around you—because that’s the essence of why I write this newsletter.

So, with that, here are my takeaways from three years of expat life. Ask any questions you have in the comments!

your happiness is determined by how determined you are to be happy.

I knew a lot of expats in Cairo who absolutely despised living there. After hearing their many (and often valid) complaints, I noticed an interesting pattern: the people who hated Egypt the most tended to be the people who got out and experienced it the least. They would wax poetic about how sucky Cairo was because of the traffic and the pollution and the people constantly asking for tips—and meanwhile, they had never even taken the one-hour flight to Luxor to see the Valley of the Kings (I’m talking about the freaking Tomb of Tutankhamun, people!). They had become fixated on the bad and stopped seeking out the good, and that was a choice.

When Nick and I arrived in Egypt, we knew we were walking into a place that could be difficult and frustrating, but we were dead set on having a good time. We went to museums at every opportunity. We got scuba certifications and dove in the Red Sea. We cruised the Nile, taking in as many ancient sites as we could.

Did random people pester us for tips? Sure. Were there days when the gridlock downtown made us want to tear our hair out? You bet. But in the end, we fell in love with Cairo and wouldn’t trade those two years for the world.

While some places may be tougher to adapt to than others, there’s probably something awesome about them if you’re willing to look one layer deeper. And more importantly: don’t resign yourself to being miserable when you don’t have to be. If you can make peace with the downside and be dogged about finding the upside, it will pay off.

cultural assimilation takes enormous effort.

Two years ago, I wrote this about my time in Egypt:

I am here for a set period of time, relegating me to the status of an outside observer. Observer status is not all bad, though. I’ve learned plenty about Egypt just by watching and listening, and have learned even more about myself.

I feel the need to revisit that conclusion with the benefit of hindsight. Yes, I learned plenty about Egypt in my time there, but did I learn anywhere near as much about its history and culture as I theoretically could have? Absolutely not. It’s not that I didn’t want to learn. But looking back, I don’t think I fully appreciated the fact that knowledge about a place doesn’t arrive through osmosis.

Understanding a new culture takes more than watching and listening. It requires putting yourself out there; trying things that make you uncomfortable; and active learning, not just loafing around and hoping to absorb. And having been an outsider in a new country twice in the last three years, I can tell you from experience that it’s shockingly easy to live somewhere without learning anything about it, or assimilating at all.

This is especially true if you are surrounded by people who know your language and understand your native culture. Living in enclaves allows us to rely on what we already know rather than expanding our minds. For example, most people I interact with in Jordan speak English, and Arabic is far enough from English that I can’t just pick it up by listening to native speakers’ conversations. I need to actually study and apply myself. That is a herculean task. I’m lucky to have the time and resources to tackle it, but not everyone has that luxury.

I have tremendous respect for people like Dana Leigh Lyons and Narina Exelby who have made real efforts to integrate themselves into their adopted countries, as well as for people who immigrate to the U.S. and take steps to integrate into (or at least understand) American culture. On the other side of the coin, I empathize with people who are assimilating imperfectly—because I’ve been there.

View of the Nile from a bridge in downtown Cairo.

the cost of living in the U.S. is too damn high.

Nick and I have a nice life in Jordan. We have the things many American families aspire to have: a yard for our dog to run around in, a little office where I can write, and a spare bedroom for Nick’s dart board. We have easy access to restaurants, bakeries, and grocery stores.

Our lifestyle here is not exceptionally opulent, just quiet and comfortable—and we like it that way!—yet we could never afford it if we were back in D.C., especially not with me just having happily quit my job to write for peanuts. If we were to return to the States, maintaining our material standard of living would require us to find much more lucrative jobs that, in all likelihood, would make us unhappy and cause us stress.

I know we are not alone in this. I’m astounded that we’ve reached a point where a “middle class” lifestyle is out of reach for so many. Financial hardship is causing some to seek residence in cheaper countries where they can live stress-free (something

Dana Leigh Lyons

talked about in our recent interview), which is an indictment of our economic system—and specifically of uneven wealth distribution, wage stagnation, and the lack of social safety net.

That doesn’t mean other countries’ economic systems are perfect, or that they don’t suffer from the same problems. In fact, many are worse off. Which brings me to my next point…

people from less powerful countries are far more exposed to economic shocks—especially following big geopolitical events—than those of us from more powerful countries.

This is not me saying that wealthy countries don’t have very real economic problems that need fixed (see above). The west has issues, and we have every right to be mad about them. But I think it’s important to put those issues in context.

Imagine living in a country where elites have commandeered and extracted billions in profit from national resources while the average person makes less than $200 a month, and some are literally at risk of starving. That’s what Egypt—and much of the third world—is like. The wealth inequality is on a different level than in the west.

Further, western economies have remained relatively (and “relatively” is the operative word here) stable despite geopolitical shocks that have rocked other nations. I’ll give you an example from my time in Cairo.

Egypt imports nearly all its grain from Russia and Ukraine. When Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, production plummeted. Grain suddenly got a lot more scarce and a lot more expensive. Egyptian government subsidies, which had been keeping bread affordable for the masses, became untenable. People started going hungry. At the same time, the Egyptian pound lost half its value against the dollar. Inflation skyrocketed. There were shortages—so many shortages. Grocery store shelves were often bare.

In contrast, most Americans have hardly felt the effects of the war, aside from a modest increase in gas prices (and that’s in spite of taxpayer dollars funding Ukraine’s defense). This is something to be grateful for. What we Americans have doesn’t always feel like much, yet there are many who would gladly trade places with us.

being part of a community—especially a multi-generational one—does wonders for your well-being.

In D.C., Nick and I didn’t even know our neighbor’s names. In Amman, we have a tight-knit expat community. We are all outsiders together, so we support each other. My neighbors are people whose door I can knock on to borrow a cup of sugar. We watch each others’ dogs, we share local intel, and we trade fruit from our gardens.

Knowing that there is always someone who can help me out (and that I don’t have to have all the answers) is a weight off my shoulders.

Being part of a community also comes with a benefit I didn’t expect: I interact with people of different generations more than I ever did before. Back in D.C., I socialized exclusively with people my own age. But here, I spend time with friends’ kids. I hang out with older women who just know things. It’s been wonderful, and I now believe that having friends of different ages can help you gain perspective on your own life.

This passage I wrote two years ago bears repeating:

…I’ve found a group of female expat friends who are closer in age to my mother than to me. […] When I felt lost and rudderless, they assured me that my experience was normal and things would turn out okay. They reminded me that I must always do something only for myself—which is part of the reason I continue to write this newsletter. Their wisdom has been invaluable. And as a bonus, they taught me to play mahjong!

On the other end of the spectrum, the Cairo expat community has brought me into close contact with young kids for the first time since I was a kid myself. Just after we arrived, one of Nick’s coworkers took us for a walk around our new neighborhood with his three-year-old son, who I’ll call “Teddy.” Teddy was obsessed with leaves. Every couple feet, he’d grab my hand with clammy fingers and yank me down to his eye level so we could stare at the bushes growing next to the sidewalk. The bushes’ leaves had little white spots. Teddy would pluck a leaf and squeal “look! Dots!!”, then proudly hand it to me like it was a precious gift. And you know what? Those leaves were actually pretty amazing. Had it not been for Teddy, I would never have noticed them.

Wadi Rum, Jordan.

white westerners have a sort of global privilege that can be difficult for us to grasp until we spend significant time away from the west.

This one may be uncomfortable to hear. If you are a fellow white person, I promise I’m not booing you for having a privilege you didn’t ask to be born with. I just think it’s important for us to be aware of the special treatment we might receive when we travel outside the west. I’ve certainly noticed a difference in how people respond to me—particularly in Egypt, which is a profoundly class-conscious society. There were neighborhoods in Cairo where I was literally treated like a celebrity, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, dear reader, that I’m simply not that cool.

Some of this could be attributed to locals picking me out as a guest in their country and wanting to leave a good impression (which is lovely!). Some could be chalked up to folks assuming I have money I might be willing to part with (slightly less lovely, yet understandable). But, as I wrote two years ago, I think a lot of it has to do with being automatically perceived as wealthy and important:

While Americans are class-conscious, we like to feign belief that no one is better than anyone else. In Egypt, there is no pretending. […] Because I am pale and blonde, people immediately pick me out as a foreigner from a western (read: rich) country. They therefore place me as belonging to the higher social classes and treat me accordingly. This is uncomfortable for me, as there is a long, fraught history of foreigners coming to, ruling in, and exploiting Egypt…

Much as that class dynamic made me uncomfortable, it wasn’t something I could easily excuse myself from—nor can you. We have limited control over how people view and treat us. But we can control how we treat them in response. What we can do is try not to take advantage of our position in the power structure by being as gracious as possible and adhering to local norms as best we can.

At the end of the day, all this really boils down to is a slight variation on the golden rule: be kind, sensitive, and generous wherever you go.

thanks for reading Caravanserai.

Did you know paid subscribers get more good stuff every week? They recently received a guide to globally conscious holiday shopping and a virtual tour of one of my favorite towns in Jordan. Next week, paid subscribers will get an exclusive follow-up to this post, in the form of a lyrical letter to the person I was before I moved abroad.

Please upgrade your subscription if you’d like to follow along. Otherwise, I’ll be back next Thursday to interview the daring

Lisa Abend

of The Unplugged Traveler.

See you for our next adventure,
Sam

1. A quick note on terminology—I’ve heard some objections to the term “expat” because it implies a status above that of “immigrant.” That’s not my intent here. I use “expat” to describe myself because, as the spouse of a diplomat, I live in a given country for a set period of time, and I have no intention of changing my citizenship or of settling outside the U.S. permanently.