Theory of Expatriation, Pt. 1

Most friends know that I enjoying baking in my spare time, things such as pastries and rustic breads. Many friends also know that I also enjoy half-baking, mostly grandiose theories born from inadequate study in numerous areas, such as 'Physiological Relationship of Exercise and the Common Cold', 'Economic Incentives for the Organic Food Movement', 'A Practical Amalgamation of World Religion', 'Underying Psychology of World Politicians', 'Role of Special Interest Groups in Modern Capitalism' and 'Environmental Ramifications of the Social Dilemma.' Luckily, our move to Switzerland has provided fuel for development of several new theories (quarter-baked?), including 'Sociological Roots of Astronomic Swiss Prices for Everything' and 'Theories of Expatriation.' I'll dare to develop that last one a bit in black & white (the others are available only verbally after a minimum of eight alcoholic drinks)...

Working and living as an expatriate is like owning a dog--it instantly creates a common thread and thus spontaneously opens a mutually engaging dialogue between people. For example, Steph and I lived in Chicago's Lincoln Park neighborhood for seven years before owning a dog, never speaking a word to "neighbors" on the street. Two weeks after first parading around with Hobbes, we recognized and conversed with a dozen dog-owning neighbors whom doubtlessly passed us mutually unnoticed for years. So my evolving theory is based on a host of recent conversations with current- and ex-ex-pats, some happier than others, some longtime friends and some new acquaintances, some with short term assignments and some longer term, some fixed-term, e.g., two years only, and some open-ended (like ours), and some habitual globetrotters moving families across continents every few years. In fact, that's Tenant #1 of the Theory--moving overseas is like owning a dog. Deep start, eh?

My theory is self-absorbed in that it's more applicable to open-ended assignments; I've also already expanded it, viewing expatriation as merely a microcosm (albeit an extreme version) of the more common situation of relocating from any one home to another. The question probed is, "When one moves away from home, what factors determine either eventual adoption of the new location as 'home' or--even after years of an enjoyable relocation--spur one's return to the original or 'true' home?"

The theory goes that one loves certain aspects of home to a greater or lesser degree, and that one must grow to love new but different aspects as much or more in the new location to stay. So I enjoy breaking it into pieces. In our downtown Chicago, U.S.A. home of 14 years (how Chicago became home after growing up in WI/MN and attending college in IN would test the theory again), among other things we loved (consciously) the world-class restaurant scene, working downtown, Mexican food, the cultural diversity, our Roscoe Village house and kitchen and patio and entertaining for groups, our car, and (for me) club sandwiches for lunch and unsweetened iced tea everywhere. Most of all we loved our Midwest relationships with so many longtime friends and our proximity (say, within 400 miles) to many family members. We loved (unconsciously) the low cost of living. Other people might love living in the same town as their parents/grandparents, the local golf course, the Friday VFW fish fry or whatever. You have attachments to home spanning from at least a few years to perhaps your entire conscious life.

(Thus the building blocks for Tenant #2, which is that many people around the world never leave home because of the risk and cost of leaving so many things--or virtually everything--that they love and Tenant #3, which is that people who move around a lot have fewer years to develop deep attachments, a self-perpetuating cycle.)

So now that we're in Switzerland, ALL those things we love are gone. One has already painfully prepared oneself mentally for all the biggies, of course, like leaving family and friends and selling the beloved house and car for an apartment and no car. There's the known struggle with language and communication. Then there are things where you hold out unrealistic hope, like for good Mexican food. So disappointment in those areas is planned. But it's really the small and unconscious things that can kill you psychologically (of course, I'm using our Chicago/Swiss experience as an example, but the theory is built on numerous other ex-pat reports).

To extend our example, the vast majority restaurants here serve Swiss-German food all the time and the big meal is lunch; while certainly delicious, wienerschnitzel topped with a fried egg and a mound of fries or spaetzle or hash browns at midday grows slightly tiresome when you crave a modest club sandwich. ALL the iced tea is pre-bottled and sweet which I can't stand. Everything you buy, from daily groceries to furniture, is wallet-numbingly expensive (even by European standards). And even though you prepared mentally for everything possible, these types of things hit you every day and seep in and there's not much changing them. Thus you miss those things from home, a.k.a., homesickness. You think they don't matter but they do.

So that part is obvious, because really even the homesickness is expected yet always subsides in time with adjustment to the new reality; homesickness is short-term. The big issue is long-term, i.e., what determines the depth and length of dis/satisfaction and ultimately (over the next several years) whether you stay or go? That's the next piece and it deals with what I believe is a non-intuitive shift in psychology. But I'll need to address that in Part 2 because it's past my bedtime on a wild Saturday night.