Taken by the Wind » Reverse Culture Shock

Raising Risk-Takers

Reannon Muth — Fri, 26 Nov 2010 23:26:31 +0000

While reading on the beach this morning (I’m back in California for the weekend) I spotted a two-year-old girl running towards the shoreline.

“Bethany!” screamed what I could only assume was the girl’s mother. “Nooo!” She grabbed Bethany’s arm just as the little girl was about to plant a sneakered foot into the salt water. “That’s dangerous!” The mom scolded, carrying Bethany back towards the beach blanket. “You could have been knocked over by a wave!”

Bethany and I both looked from her mother’s panicked face, to the calm bay behind her and seemed to share the same confused thought: What was she talking about? The ocean was as smooth as a lake! And the only “waves” were so small, they couldn’t knock over an inchworm, never-mind a two-foot-tall human being.

The only logical explanation was that Bethany’s mom was insane. But at least according to a study conducted by Play England, fairly average, as well.

The study found that parents nowadays are more risk-adverse than ever before. So terrified are these parents of skinned knees or scraped shins that 50 percent of children in England are not allowed to climb trees and 17 percent are forbidden from playing tag. As the study revealed, children’s play these days is mostly confined to indoors or to supervised outings at the playground.

Kids on Bikes by Jon Tunnell

Apparently encouraging children to take healthy risks has become a thing of the past. Forget mud pies and dodge-ball, some parents won’t even let their children play outside alone, period.

This may prove to have a damaging effect on the next generation of would-be entrepreneurs. As Simon Woodroffe, a judge on the BBC show Dragons’ Den told The Sunday Times, “We need to encourage children to push themselves, to go beyond their limits, in order to build a nation of bold and confident people.”

Goin' Surfin' by Lars Ploughmann

And in a small village in Wiltshire, England, at least, parents are taking the necessary steps to do just that. In what the owner claims is England’s first “outdoor nursery” students at this preschool spend the majority of their day learning and exploring outside. They build forts and fires, learn how to count using rocks and bugs and make obstacle courses out of logs. While none of them are forced to remain outside, most of them chose to, coming inside only for lunch or snack time.

People have marveled at how the school’s concept of outdoor play is such a unique and novel educational approach, but as the school’s head teacher, Sue Palmer, points out, her methods are hardly new. The fact that her school is considered unconventional is just shows how “sterile” and restrictive society has become.

Tree Climbing by Clemens V. Vogelsang

”My children know stinging nettles sting and that brambles are nasty,” she explains. “They know that fire is dangerous. Some nurseries say ‘Let’s go indoors, it’s raining’. But we say ‘Come on, let’s go and splash in the puddles.’ “

I love this idea. And it’s no wonder; I was raised with much the same philosophy. When I was young my mother would drop me off at the bus stop with nothing more than a few dollars, a bus schedule and instructions to find my own way home. “See you in a little while!” she’d call out through the station-wagon window before leaving alone in a cloud of red dirt. I was 10.

While occassionally I’d day-dream or sleep past my stop and several times, found myself trudging for 45 minutes along a winding stretch highway long after dusk, I quickly developed the sense that no matter what problems I found myself in, I could trust on my own intellect and strength to navigate my way out of them.

My mother has since commented (jokingly) that she ‘created a monster’ and wishes she’d placed a little less emphasis on self-reliance and a little more on self-discipline. I don’t think she ever imagined that I’d take my independence and run with it (literally) half-way ’round the world or that I’d feel so empowered I’d move abroad and then never come back (to date, I’ve lived in five countries).

I don’t have any children yet and it’ll be interesting to see if my opinions on this change once I do, but I think raising children to be brave, independent risk-takers is the greatest gift a parent can give. Because eventually kids are going to fall and they’re going to get hurt, no matter how many shin guards and elbow pads parents’ bundle up their bundles of joy in. It’s a part of life. So why not have them learn how to be resilient while they’re young? The falls will hurt a lot less when their five then when they’re fifty.

After Bethany’s scolding, she eye-balled the water with a newfound apprehension and stayed several sand-castle lengths away from it for the rest of the morning. I imagined that a few years from now she’ll stand crying and screaming on the edge of a pool while her mother and swim coach try to coax her in. “Bethany!” Her mother will exclaim in exasperation. “What’s the matter with you? It’s just a pool!” By then she’ll have forgotten entirely about that one morning on the beach. She’ll be clueless to the fact that her attempts at keeping Bethany safe have in fact, kept Bethany chained to a lifetime of a fear.

Help! I Was Born in the Wrong Country!

Reannon Muth — Sat, 20 Nov 2010 23:05:01 +0000

Flag Girl by Brittany Randolf

”The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”
– Maya Angelou

Since I wrote that post about personality types and their corresponding countries, a lot of you have found this site through google-searching “Where in the world do I belong?” or “My country doesn’t match my personality type.”

Apparently, there are quite a number of you who feel as though the stork got lost while on his way to say, Fiji and dropped you off in Finland or France or Fallujah instead. Well, that sucks. And I hear ya. I’ve often wondered if a country like Spain (with it’s siestas and 36-day of yearly paid vacation time) wouldn’t perhaps have been a better cultural fit for my vagabond ways than my motherland (Land of the Free, Home of the Work-Enslaved).

The author of the book Geography of Bliss: One Grumps Search for the Happiest Places in the World, Eric Weiner, has a term for this. He refers to people who’ve found a better cultural fit in a country other than their birth-place, ‘hedonic refugees’. As he explains, hedonic refugees are “not political refugees, escaping a repressive regime, nor economic refugees, crossing a border in search of a better-paying job. They are hedonic refugees, moving to a new land, a new culture, because they are happier there. Usually, hedonic refugees have an epiphany, a moment of great clarity when they realize, beyond a doubt, that they were born in the wrong country.”

For me, that epiphany came when I was 15. I’d just returned from spending a summer studying abroad in Chiba, Japan and although I knew that Japan wasn’t where I was meant to spend the rest of my life, I knew without a doubt that the US wasn’t either. While my peers were busy plotting what they’d wear to prom, I was in the school library pouring over the encyclopedia and plotting future trips to Paris and Peru. ‘Operation: Move Abroad and Live Happily Ever After’ was in full-swing and now, 30 countries and 13 years later, it’s nowhere near completion. I still haven’t found a country to call ’home’ and I’m beginning to think that I never will. Which, perhaps, at least according to Eric Weiner, isn’t such a bad thing.

“What to do with this information?” He asks after detailing the phenomenon of ‘cultural fit’. “Should we administer cultural-compatibility tests to high school students, the way we used to test for career compatibility? I can imagine the phone call from the school guidance counselor. “Hi, Mrs. Williams, we’ve tested little Johnnie and determined that he would fit in perfectly in Albania. He’d really be much happier there. A flight leaves at 7:00 p.m. Should I go ahead and make that booking for you?

Of course not. Just because the culture fits doesn’t mean we should wear it, and, besides, every society needs its cultural misfits. It is these people – those who are partially though not completely alienated from their own culture – who produce great art and science. Einstein, a German Jew, was a cultural misfit. We all benefit from Einstein’s work…”

He has a point. I imagine that if I ever did manage to find a country filled with people identical in personality to me, I probably wouldn’t want to live there. If such a country existed, I’d imagine that it probably wouldn’t fare too well for the simple fact that there’d never be anyone there to run-it. At any given time, half of the country’s population would probably be sitting in a park somewhere in London or Los Angeles and on every restaurant or storefront window would read the sign: “Gone on a vacation break. Be back in 5-10 days”.

I guess the point I’m trying to make is that you could devote your entire life to traveling the world to find that soul-mate of cities or that country you were destined to spend happily ever after with and maybe you’ll luck out and find it. Author David Sedaris (an American in Paris) did. As did Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Madonna, Johnny Depp, Arnold Schwarzenegger and Pamela Anderson.

Or…

You could save yourself the trouble and devote your energy to learning to love the country you’re in. Embrace your outsider status. And let that freak flag fly.

For more information on hedonic refugees, read an interview with Eric Weiner on World Hum.

Dear America, Stop Trying to Change Us! Love, an Introvert

Reannon Muth — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 18:33:08 +0000

Reading Alone by Alex Hung

“If you could chose three adjectives to describe yourself, which ones would you chose and why?”

Ah, a tired, clichéd question and standard favorite among job interviewers the world- over. How many of you have been asked that question before? And what did you say in response?

Well, if you’ve ever been to a job interview in the United States, then you’ve probably, at one time or another, answered something along the lines of: “friendly, outgoing and a team-player”. Whether these adjectives are accurate descriptions of you or not, is irrelevant. American employers favor candidates who are out-going. Some companies even go as far as to screen applicants for this trait, using a personality test that measures levels of extroversion. This application process, in effect, renders anyone on the quieter, more introspective side of the spectrum out of the running for a job that he or she may be well-suited for. Therefore, anyone applying for a job in America would be smart to pretend to be the life of the party, even if the truth is that they’d far prefer to read a book about a party than ever attend one.

Burning Red by Nam Nguyen

According to the Psychology Today article “Revenge of the Introvert”, this cultural bias towards extroversion is due to the fact that the U.S. is a “verbal culture”. Americans place high value on those who possess a gift for gab and who are good at thinking on their feet.

Or as researchers Anio Sallinen-Kuparinen, James McCroskey, and Virginia Richmond explained, “In verbal cultures, remaining silent presents a problem.” Someone who takes a few minutes to absorb what was said before she offers her opinion, is often seen as a “bad communicator” or worse, slow and incompetent.

Solo Monk by Jason Tabarias

But this bias doesn’t always exist in other cultures. As the article points out, the Finnish hold a high regard for those who value silence and in Asian cultures, “privacy and restraint” are qualities that are favored over more extroverted communication styles like small-talk or being overly direct or chatty.

So why does the U.S. favor talkative-types over deep-thinkers? Is it because extroverts make up a larger portion of the American population? Surprisingly, no. According to Psychology Today, the ratio of extroverts to introverts in the U.S. is an even 50-50. It would therefore stand to reason that, given the fact that every other person in America is an introvert, there would be more of an awareness for the gifts an introvert has to offer. But reality is quite the opposite. The trend in American culture is to label those who prefer to converse with a few close friends, rather than a room full of strangers as “shy”. People mistakenly assume that a person who would rather focus inward for solutions to problems instead of brainstorming with a group, is a “bad team-player”.

This gross misunderstanding of the introvert personality type (by extroverts and introverts alike) is doing society a real disservice. Psychology Today claims that it’s what accounts for why many introverts in the U.S. suffer from depression. They feel ashamed and alienated; like outsiders in their own culture.

The fact is that introversion isn’t a curse, it’s a gift. Or as introvert-life coach Beth Buelow put it, “We hate people telling us how we can be more extroverted, as if that’s the desired state.” Introversion isn’t any better or worse than extroversion, it’s just different. And although introverts may not naturally excel at small talk or may shy away from impromptu speeches, they have skills that extroverts don’t. They are natural-born listeners and problem-solvers for one, and are excellent choices for any job that requires a great deal of concentration or thought.

Perhaps some day, the time will come when an introvert can attend a job interview and proudly describe herself as “quiet” or answer honestly when asked whether or not she “prefers to work with others or alone”, without worrying that the interviewer will think she’s anti-social. But until then, introverts will continue to hide among the masses, suffering in silence.

For more information on what it means to be an introvert, read Sophia Dembling’s column, ‘The Introvert’s Corner’, on Psychology Today’s website or my post about being an introverted traveler.

America, I Love you but…

Reannon Muth — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 17:18:00 +0000

Little Patriot by Karol M

“Travel is like adultery: one is always tempted to be unfaithful to one’s own country. To have imagination is inevitably to be dissatisfied with where you live … in our wanderlust, we are lovers looking for consummation.”
- Anatole Broyard

I once visited a zoo in Kathmandu, Nepal. The zoo was like a poorly-tended hospice; a wasteland of sickly, under-nourished animals who’d been abandoned to die. The lion cage was lined with garbage and the hippos waded through a thick soup of sewage. But perhaps the worst off, were two twin black bears who’d gone insane from being trapped in a six by six foot cell. They paced their cage, back and forth and back and forth and each time they paced past the barred window that faced the entrance of the zoo, they’d bash their heads against it.

This morning I woke up thinking about those bears. Sometimes I feel so trapped here in the US; so stuck. ‘Clawing-at-the-walls desperate to escape’ sorta stuck. And it’s frustrating because I can’t pin-point why. There’s nothing specific about my life here that I dislike, it’s more just this general feeling of unease; this haunting need to break free.

I think Bill Bryson described it best in I’m a Stranger Here Myself: Notes on Returning to America after 20 Years Away, when he wrote:

“I felt as if we’d made a terrible mistake. I had nothing against America, you understand. It’s a wonderful country, splendid in every way. But this felt uncomfortably like a backward step – like moving in with one’s parents in middle age. They may be perfectly delightful people, but you just don’t want to live with them any longer. Your life has moved on. I felt like that about a nation.”

Recently, I visited in an old friend from high school. As teenagers, we had a lot in common. Our mutual love of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, for example, our crush on Ben Afleck and our shared habit of cutting class to watch tapings of MTV’sTotal Request Live in Times Square…These were the bonds that held teenage friendships together.

But about 20 minutes into our lunch in New York two weeks ago, it became clear that our lives had diverged in two completely opposite directions. And after playing catch-up and reminiscing about some of crazy shenanigans we’d gotten ourselves into back then, we found we had nothing to say. The friendship was familiar and comfortable, but at some point over the years it’d gone stale. It had expired.

And that’s precisely how I feel about my relationship with America. It’s expired and no matter how hard I try to breathe new life into it, it’s too late. We’re just too different.

Alice in Americaland

Reannon Muth — Tue, 14 Jul 2009 13:11:00 +0000

Alice in Wonderland by Annie Leibovitz

“The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land.” – G. K. Chesterton

“So how are you adjusting to life back in the US?” That’s a question I’ve gotten asked a lot in the six weeks since I returned ‘home’. Particularly this past week while I was in Canada visiting the older brother and his family. Frankly, I’m surprised I’m still here. I guess a part of me just always assumed that I’d marry a European and would be living on a yacht somewhere in the Mediterranean by now. The idea that this whole living in America thing could be permanent makes me more than a little uncomfortable. Whenever people ask me where it is that I live, I have to think about it for a second before replying uncertainly: “California…I think. Sorta. Well, for now anyway.”

Reverse culture shock has definitely set in. It feels a little like trying to squeeze into this four poster canopy water bed I had in Elementary school. I’ve completely outgrown it and no matter which position I scrunch myself into, there’s always an arm or a leg that’s left hanging over the side. I don’t fit anymore…and I haven’t for years. And yet it’s so familiar and I have these vivid memories of when it felt comfortable and comforting. It’s a very odd feeling.

Will.i.am (from the Black Eyed Peas), compared returning home after an extended period abroad to walking back into your house and noticing for the first time that it’s got a ‘funky fish smell’. The fish smell had always been there but it was so familiar you’d never noticed before. It was only after you’d left for a while that you realized that what you’re friends had been telling you all along really was the truth: The place you’ve called home all these years smells…really weird.

Not that I think America stinks. I don’t. I’m actually really happy to be back…but Home has definitely taken on a foreign, alien quality. First of all, in Americaland, people smile at each other. All the time. They also like their food served with a double dose of dairy; (everything comes swimming in Ranch dressing or cheese). And then there’s the health food store New Leaf. It’s like the mothership of bizarre American culture; as large as a super Walmart and instead of frozen TV dinners, it sells organic potato chips (75% organic!), organic boxed Mac n’ Cheese (with organic ‘natural food coloring’ and organic sodium phosphate) and books on how to lose weight without exercise or dieting.

Sometimes I casually mention these observations to friends or family and am usually met with a glassy-eyed stare in return. I worry that with each passing day I’m further cementing my outsider status. Give me another few decades and I’ll be ‘kooky ol’ aunt Re…always going on about how everything is better in Japan/Europe.’ I’ll be the Uncle Fester of the family and banished to the crawl space under the stairs.

But I can’t help it…I think that if you live abroad long enough, you stop being able to identify with your home culture and instead develop this curious culture hybrid. I’ve subconsciously picked up habits and characteristics from each culture I’ve visited and have consequently turned into this science experiment; a test tube mixture of cultures. I eat European style, with a knife and for (thanks, Germany) and I nod and “Mhm” non-commitally at everything anyone says (thanks, Japan). I drink Chai all day and put coconut oil in my hair (thanks, India) and the other day my mom walked in on me wolfing down leftover fried fish at seven in the morning.

In short, I’m freakish. I should just start over on some uninhabited tropical island somewhere. Set up my own artist colony for other lost transplants.

Eight Ways to Know You’re Home for Awhile pretty much sums up my life at the moment perfectly.