On sunk costs, conditional belonging, and what happens before you give yourself permission to leave — a response to Alejandra Hagedorn's essay on expats who stay in countries they secretly want to leave.
The first summer back, I met a woman at my part-time job who had just returned to the U.S. after 17 years in Spain. She said the re-entry was what scared her the most when making the, should I stay or should I go? decision. That stayed with me.
I like how you frame staying as a neutral decision. I feel like I had to make the conscious choice to stay during my first five years in Spain, to fight the job market and the bureaucracy of the whole thing. When the reward came, what was left? And what was next? Then came mortgage and kids and the decisions are no longer my own.
I sometimes romanticize about living in the U.S. and being close to my sister and her family. The U.S., I then remember, is great for a visit but not for us long-term. We can be in Saudi for three or four years because we know it's finite. But faced with choosing another country to go to? No idea. My kids and husband have strong roots in Spain, but I could see us living elsewhere. Just don't know where!
Cat, wow. Nineteen years today, and that re-entry fear from the woman you met still lands; that someone who built and left a whole life abroad found the homecoming to be the scarier variable.
"The decisions are no longer my own" might be the real shift you're naming — not that you chose less, but that the choosing got shared with people who never made that first choice themselves.
And there's something real in your Saudi-finite versus new-country-open-ended distinction. Not knowing where comes next is a completely different kind of not-knowing than not knowing how long. Thank you for sharing.
I lived abroad twice. Ecuador and Spain. I sometimes felt like a little more time in Ecuador might have made sense. Some said: Give it at least 3 years. I stated 1.5 and that was good enough for me.
Spain just didn’t work out. It was Barcelona and not what I really wanted.
This was in the 90s, then 2000s, btw.
Anyway, I did feel a little pressure to stay longer. But leaving was easy enough. I owned no property.
I’d imagine if you’re 40, 50, etc and have bought a house or condo or whatever and feel it’s no longer what you want, that decision to leave might be tough. You’ve invested so much…etc
Thanks for sharing and restacking the essay, Lisa. The three-year rule is its own quiet tyranny. Glad you didn't wait for permission to know Barcelona wasn't it for you.
Owning “nothing” sounds like it made the exit clean. I also think about how much harder that living abroad stay-or-go calculus gets once a mortgage is the one making the decision for you…
A number of years ago I had an appointment at the American Embassy in Dublin, Ireland. It was during that dark period around 2010 or 2011 when the Irish economy had collapsed and economic governance of the country had essentially been turned over to three European financial institutions, referred to derisively as "the troika" in the press at the time.
While I was waiting, I found a seat next to a service point where staff were seated behind a service window with vertical metal bars. I sat next to a man who was clearly distraught, and who would periodically stand and proceed to one of the windows to make his case, which had clearly already been rejected.
He had lived in Ireland for many years and now sought the Embassy's help in returning home. He had lost his job and housing and lacked the financial means to return to the U.S. He argued that it had always been U.S. policy to assist American citizens in his circumstances to return "home." Policy had changed, it seemed, and there would be no such help: he could not accept it. He would return to his seat, head in hand, before walking once again to that window to plead for help.
One does not often read of the experiences of those for whom an international move simply has not worked out. I assume it is because, nowadays, it takes some level of economic privilege to leave the U.S. and live under the economic restrictions of another country's visa. I assume we hear little about these experiences as people might be inclined to view a return as a sign of failure, rather than as yet another act of privilege.
I think frequently of my immigrant forbears, who came to the U.S. without the English language and for whom there could be no notion of returning home. If one moves abroad as an experiment, as an adventure, or as an extended holiday, there is no commitment to the destination country, no sense of brotherhood with hat country's society, and the feelings that accompany such circumstances might catch up with you someday and say, "go home."
That is, I think, the difference between the privileged expat you write about, and the émigré or immigrant that others become.
Today is my 19th anniversary of living abroad.
The first summer back, I met a woman at my part-time job who had just returned to the U.S. after 17 years in Spain. She said the re-entry was what scared her the most when making the, should I stay or should I go? decision. That stayed with me.
I like how you frame staying as a neutral decision. I feel like I had to make the conscious choice to stay during my first five years in Spain, to fight the job market and the bureaucracy of the whole thing. When the reward came, what was left? And what was next? Then came mortgage and kids and the decisions are no longer my own.
I sometimes romanticize about living in the U.S. and being close to my sister and her family. The U.S., I then remember, is great for a visit but not for us long-term. We can be in Saudi for three or four years because we know it's finite. But faced with choosing another country to go to? No idea. My kids and husband have strong roots in Spain, but I could see us living elsewhere. Just don't know where!
Cat, wow. Nineteen years today, and that re-entry fear from the woman you met still lands; that someone who built and left a whole life abroad found the homecoming to be the scarier variable.
"The decisions are no longer my own" might be the real shift you're naming — not that you chose less, but that the choosing got shared with people who never made that first choice themselves.
And there's something real in your Saudi-finite versus new-country-open-ended distinction. Not knowing where comes next is a completely different kind of not-knowing than not knowing how long. Thank you for sharing.
I lived abroad twice. Ecuador and Spain. I sometimes felt like a little more time in Ecuador might have made sense. Some said: Give it at least 3 years. I stated 1.5 and that was good enough for me.
Spain just didn’t work out. It was Barcelona and not what I really wanted.
This was in the 90s, then 2000s, btw.
Anyway, I did feel a little pressure to stay longer. But leaving was easy enough. I owned no property.
I’d imagine if you’re 40, 50, etc and have bought a house or condo or whatever and feel it’s no longer what you want, that decision to leave might be tough. You’ve invested so much…etc
I do see some staying
Thanks for sharing and restacking the essay, Lisa. The three-year rule is its own quiet tyranny. Glad you didn't wait for permission to know Barcelona wasn't it for you.
Owning “nothing” sounds like it made the exit clean. I also think about how much harder that living abroad stay-or-go calculus gets once a mortgage is the one making the decision for you…
Oh yes--a mortgage would certainly complicate it! Glad I didn't have that .
You're welcome...this was an excellent article!
A number of years ago I had an appointment at the American Embassy in Dublin, Ireland. It was during that dark period around 2010 or 2011 when the Irish economy had collapsed and economic governance of the country had essentially been turned over to three European financial institutions, referred to derisively as "the troika" in the press at the time.
While I was waiting, I found a seat next to a service point where staff were seated behind a service window with vertical metal bars. I sat next to a man who was clearly distraught, and who would periodically stand and proceed to one of the windows to make his case, which had clearly already been rejected.
He had lived in Ireland for many years and now sought the Embassy's help in returning home. He had lost his job and housing and lacked the financial means to return to the U.S. He argued that it had always been U.S. policy to assist American citizens in his circumstances to return "home." Policy had changed, it seemed, and there would be no such help: he could not accept it. He would return to his seat, head in hand, before walking once again to that window to plead for help.
One does not often read of the experiences of those for whom an international move simply has not worked out. I assume it is because, nowadays, it takes some level of economic privilege to leave the U.S. and live under the economic restrictions of another country's visa. I assume we hear little about these experiences as people might be inclined to view a return as a sign of failure, rather than as yet another act of privilege.
I think frequently of my immigrant forbears, who came to the U.S. without the English language and for whom there could be no notion of returning home. If one moves abroad as an experiment, as an adventure, or as an extended holiday, there is no commitment to the destination country, no sense of brotherhood with hat country's society, and the feelings that accompany such circumstances might catch up with you someday and say, "go home."
That is, I think, the difference between the privileged expat you write about, and the émigré or immigrant that others become.