Is Culture Stress a Thing?

I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced “reverse culture shock,” but the term “reverse culture stress” resonates a bit with this TCK. Returning to one’s passport country sounds like it should be easy and a welcome reprieve from some of those hard differences another culture can bring, but the truth is that it carries its own challenges. Some might be pathetically minor, but it’s crazy how they can still affect my everyday. For instance, what’s up with this shreddable, soft stuff people call toilet paper here? And why does choosing a loaf of bread take me 10 whole minutes?

Some of the changes are indeed wonderful. I’m speaking of you, air conditioning on those three-digit-degree days, and you, Caribou Coffee (where I currently sit). I both love the freedom to run to the store on a Sunday afternoon and at the same time wish the neighbors weren’t mowing the grass. How am I supposed to take my Sunday nap? Give me all the Mexican food, please, but you can keep all that ice away from my drink, thank you very much. I’m grateful I know how to speak up for myself in restaurants and that customer service is such a high priority that I will always get what I ask for, yet I wish they wouldn’t rush me out of there after 45 minutes. I’m here to visit with my friend!

Far trickier culture stresses are the internal ones I wrestle with in my mind: should I be bringing a hostess gift to dinner? What’s the appropriate time frame for showing up to an appointment with someone? 5 minutes early? 10 minutes late? How and when do I offer to pay, and how or when do I allow someone else to pay on my behalf? Are there signals to this dance? How long do I wait before reaching out a second time to someone who hasn’t responded yet to a message? These thoughts feel barely worth mentioning, and yet, because I don’t live here day in and day out, these are the minor stresses I conscientiously think about often. 

Sometimes it just helps to verbalize: belonging to a place that you don’t live in regularly isn’t always comfortable. But I wouldn’t trade being here for the world either. I learned at a workshop once that stress isn't good or bad. It just is. How we respond to it is the more telling part in whether we're keeping healthy or not. So here I am, staring reverse culture stress in the face, and saying "Bring it on! I'm here, and I'm grateful." Just another part of the TCK life.

Love seeing friends again!!

Up to Hochblauen

MG reached across my plate. “Excuse me” she said with a smile. To be fair, the picnic table was rather narrow, and we were 5 bodies crowded onto the bench, so it was all rather tight and snug. Just the way I’d envisioned it. She ladled another spoonful of pasta salad onto her plate, digging deep for the extra cucumbers. “Pass the chips,” NL smiled from the opposite end. “Katrina, by any chance did you perhaps bring napkins, maybe?” MR mused, glancing up and down the full table in search of them. I tossed her the paper towel roll, and she caught it deftly, despite being blinded by the sun as our entire side of the table was. But no one complained about that. It was literally the first sunny day in a week, and I was so grateful it allowed us to keep alive the tradition of driving up the mountain, Hochblauen, for our year’s last Small Group.

This school year, we had studied the book of Luke using gospel journals. It was fun to see the girls mark up their favorite verses and ask some hard questions about others. “Why was Mary allowed to ask the angel obvious questions, but not Zechariah? I wonder what Jesus found funny and sad? Why is Elijah mentioned so often in Luke 9? Would Jesus really pronounce woes on entire cities for a lack of peace?” The discussions had been beautiful and deep, and I myself had been challenged by their questions and observations over and over again. 

As HK, AY, and I bounded up the stairs of the tower on Hochblauen to take some pictures, we marveled at the gorgeous view God had created. The blue and green layers of the Black Forest, the hazy Rhine valley to our west and the outline of the city of Basel to our south. The girls crowded along the railing, gazing out toward the sun, still high in the June sky at 8:30pm. The way they wrapped their arms around each other and laughed out loud warmed my heart. It’s not a given that eight random girls put together for a weekly Bible study would actually like each other, yet that’s the gift I’ve been given. What a lovely Junior year with them!

on top of the Hochblauen Tower