Thank you, Magdalena! There’s a strange relief in seeing your own friendship patterns named on a page. I’m glad this landed with you from where you are :)
Instability is the foundation for depth, because you know you have a finite amount of time to make a connection. It's one of those delicate life trade-offs.
As slow travelers, we’re often very much on our own too — and honestly only sometimes interested in making small talk with strangers. What’s surprised me most is that the deepest connections we’ve made haven’t really been with fellow travelers at all, but with locals. The woman teaching me Balinese words. Our guide. Villa hosts who become friends. People whose lives are rooted in the places we’re temporarily passing through.
That said, we still have a home base in the US, which is admittedly a bit of a cheat code because we reconnect with loved ones at least a couple times a year. And honestly, I don’t think we could sustain this life emotionally without social media and video calls. Granted, our youngest sons are both fairly averse to social media, so gathering updates about their lives sometimes feels like trying to get classified intelligence from a reluctant source. Thank goodness for Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and the occasional weekend FaceTime.
And I think you touched on something important about friendship evolution too. We’ve been lucky to grow older alongside people who are healthy, happy, emotionally curious, and still growing themselves. But we’ve also quietly pruned relationships over the years that no longer felt aligned, reciprocal, or emotionally safe. That part matters too.
So no… I don’t think we’re really expats exactly. More like temporary participants in other people’s worlds while trying to stay deeply connected to our own.
I appreciate you sharing this and engaging so thoughtfully, Kelly!
I like how you name that the deepest connections haven’t been with other travelers, but with people whose lives are rooted in the places you’re just passing through – the language teacher, the guide, the villa hosts who become friends. There’s something about knowing that you’re only there for a few days that invites you to let your guard down.
And that piece about quietly pruning relationships over time so that what remains is aligned and emotionally safe feels like such an under‑acknowledged part of long‑term life on the move. This pattern comes up in so many conversations I have with globally mobile folks, and I wanted to give it a name in this essay.
I love “temporary participants in other people’s worlds while trying to stay deeply connected to our own”. That feels very close to what so many of us are doing, whether we call ourselves expats or not.
I really appreciate the care and precision you bring to these conversations. You have a way of putting language around experiences that a lot of us are quietly living but haven’t fully articulated yet. And honestly, this exchange itself feels like part of the point of all this. Temporary participants in each other’s worlds for a moment… who somehow still leave a lasting imprint.
I’m grateful our paths crossed here on Substack and I look forward to continuing to grow, question, wander, and compare notes alongside you!
Twelve years in Thailand plus all the moves before that is a long time to build up a kind of callus around people coming and going. But watching your daughters have to say goodbye to best friends again and again is a different kind of ache — it lands in a place you can’t really buffer for them.
Thank you for bringing the parenting piece into this; it’s a side of expat friendship that doesn’t often get named out loud.
This named something I don’t think I had fully understood before: that expat friendship is not only fragile because people leave, but also because sometimes the friendship cannot hold the whole version of who you are becoming abroad.
I especially loved the line about learning to hold people with an open hand. There is so much tenderness in that, but also a kind of exhaustion. Living far away seems to teach you both intimacy and impermanence at the same time.
That distinction you named is exactly the quieter layer that’s so hard to see while you’re in it.
And yes, “learning to hold people with an open hand” feels like one of the central lessons of life abroad... it teaches intimacy and impermanence at the same time, often in the same friendship.
I have only been in Saudi eight months and am already putting people into the stay / go categories because of the transience you mention. I have struggled with this for 19 years, from Spain to France to Spain to Saudi - and it always stings.
That’s a lot of cycles to hold, Cat. The way you named it, quietly sorting people into stay/go categories almost from the start, is such an honest description of what transience does to folks like us. I keep hearing versions of that same pattern in conversations with long-term expats, and it seems to land in the body long before it reaches the mind. And yes, even when you can see it coming, it still stings.
I love this piece! We actually cheat a little because we still have a home base to return to. That’s where we get our long-form friend fix. We stay as long as we need to catch up, reconnect, remember who we were before this version of life.
The friendships we make while slow traveling can feel incredibly intense though. Fast intimacy. Shared context. Tiny windows of time. And yes… often transient unless they’re not.
I actually have people from around the world woven into my regular life now in funny ordinary ways. A daily Wordle chat with Annie from Cornwall. Friends in my WhatsApp who don’t speak much English and I don’t speak much of their language either — but somehow we still keep showing up for each other.
I think that’s what fascinates me most about this kind of life. Some people pass through like weather. Others quietly become part of the fabric. 💛 Kelly
“We still have a home base to return to. That’s where we get our long-form friend fix.” —> that’s such a clean way to name a version of this life that doesn’t get talked about much, especially the kind of witness so many long-term expats and travellers quietly crave.
And the contrast you drew really lands: some people passing through like weather, others quietly becoming part of the fabric of your everyday… via Wordle chats, half-shared languages, tiny rituals that keep going long after each trip ends.
Thank you for putting such precise language to a pattern a lot of people will recognize in themselves.
Tiny rituals. Half-finished conversations. People woven into your ordinary life from completely different corners of the world. There’s something oddly intimate about that.
Social media often feels like performing at each other. Substack sometimes feels more like quietly recognizing each other. 💛
I have been abroad for 13 years, and all of this is so true. I am currently writing about some of this, and when you have kids that are also now living their own expat life! But the friendships I have gained and lost over the years, some are big losses and hurt a bit more. There always seems to be a cycle or a wave of people, and you jsut learn to ride and appreciate the waves.
Thirteen years abroad, plus kids living their own version of it — that’s a lot of layers to hold, Andrea.
The wave image you used feels right: people arriving, anchoring a season of your life, and then receding again, with some losses landing much harder than others. Writing through that cycle while you’re still riding it is no small thing. I look forward to reading it when it's ready :)
This is so relatable. I always “take” 1-2 people from each phase of my life with me. These people stay in my life for a long time, despite distances. But other than that, my relationships and social dynamics as someone who lives abroad are constantly changing.
That carrying of 1-2 people from each phase of your life forward... that's such a clean, accurate way to describe it. The core few who travel with you, and then the rest of the social landscape constantly rearranging itself in the background... that’s so much of long-term expat life. Thank you for sharing, Karen.
“Why the 10 or 15 of us found one another in the first place”--> that’s the question underneath this, isn’t it. The way certain people recognize the same specific strangeness in each other and cluster, at least for a time. The intensity makes a lot more sense when you look at how rare that kind of recognition actually is.
Well said. But isn't this also true of all friendships? We all go through phases. After our children were in their teens, one of my besties decided to have another baby. We didn't see each other for two years as a result of the changes in our lives. Not that we didn't still love one another. I just needed something other than diaper changes and pediatrician visits to talk about. We are very close to this day. Even here, living in Mexico for the past 8+ years, I have had similar experiences. Moving from one city to another, friends marrying and having babies (I am 68), changes of employment, relocations, ... there are many reasons to fall out of touch. I moved around the US a lot, too. I actually found it a bit liberating not to have to rehash my whole life. People didn't care about whatever trauma I lived through, although, when necessary they listen compassionately. They just loved me, as I was/am. Isn't this what matters?
Donna, what a beautiful thread of life you're describing. You're right that love across distance and change is its own kind of constancy. What I'm exploring in this essay is a layer underneath that — the specific grief of expat friendship that ends not through life changes but through departure, and without the language for goodbye. Both things can be true at once.
One thing I’m still learning myself — and that keeps coming up in my research with long‑term expats — is how some experiences really are widely human, and others are shaped by the specific structures we’re living inside, like visas, borders, and who’s allowed to belong where.
This essay is me trying to name that second layer a bit more clearly.
Kay, as an expat, I can relate to many things you have described. Great post!
Thank you, Magdalena! There’s a strange relief in seeing your own friendship patterns named on a page. I’m glad this landed with you from where you are :)
Instability is the foundation for depth, because you know you have a finite amount of time to make a connection. It's one of those delicate life trade-offs.
Chris, yes — that’s exactly the tension I keep circling.
The very thing that makes these friendships so deep, so quickly is the same instability that means we’re often building them on borrowed time.
It really is one of those delicate trade‑offs, and it feels important to name it without trying to resolve it.
This was so familiar to me, Kay.
As slow travelers, we’re often very much on our own too — and honestly only sometimes interested in making small talk with strangers. What’s surprised me most is that the deepest connections we’ve made haven’t really been with fellow travelers at all, but with locals. The woman teaching me Balinese words. Our guide. Villa hosts who become friends. People whose lives are rooted in the places we’re temporarily passing through.
That said, we still have a home base in the US, which is admittedly a bit of a cheat code because we reconnect with loved ones at least a couple times a year. And honestly, I don’t think we could sustain this life emotionally without social media and video calls. Granted, our youngest sons are both fairly averse to social media, so gathering updates about their lives sometimes feels like trying to get classified intelligence from a reluctant source. Thank goodness for Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, and the occasional weekend FaceTime.
And I think you touched on something important about friendship evolution too. We’ve been lucky to grow older alongside people who are healthy, happy, emotionally curious, and still growing themselves. But we’ve also quietly pruned relationships over the years that no longer felt aligned, reciprocal, or emotionally safe. That part matters too.
So no… I don’t think we’re really expats exactly. More like temporary participants in other people’s worlds while trying to stay deeply connected to our own.
Really thoughtful piece. 💛 Kelly
I appreciate you sharing this and engaging so thoughtfully, Kelly!
I like how you name that the deepest connections haven’t been with other travelers, but with people whose lives are rooted in the places you’re just passing through – the language teacher, the guide, the villa hosts who become friends. There’s something about knowing that you’re only there for a few days that invites you to let your guard down.
And that piece about quietly pruning relationships over time so that what remains is aligned and emotionally safe feels like such an under‑acknowledged part of long‑term life on the move. This pattern comes up in so many conversations I have with globally mobile folks, and I wanted to give it a name in this essay.
I love “temporary participants in other people’s worlds while trying to stay deeply connected to our own”. That feels very close to what so many of us are doing, whether we call ourselves expats or not.
I really appreciate the care and precision you bring to these conversations. You have a way of putting language around experiences that a lot of us are quietly living but haven’t fully articulated yet. And honestly, this exchange itself feels like part of the point of all this. Temporary participants in each other’s worlds for a moment… who somehow still leave a lasting imprint.
I’m grateful our paths crossed here on Substack and I look forward to continuing to grow, question, wander, and compare notes alongside you!
The particular loneliness of being fluent, but slightly off-rhythm. I don't think I've ever heard this feeling articulated this well.
Lori, thank you — that means a lot.
That “fluent but slightly off‑rhythm” feeling is one of the most common threads I hear from long‑term expats, and also one of the hardest to describe.
I’m glad the words gave it a bit of shape for you :).
I tend to be cynical and a bit of an introvert, so people coming and going doesn't bother me so much.
But my daughters have had to say goodbye to best friends on several occasions, and it always broke my heart.
Twelve years in Thailand plus all the moves before that is a long time to build up a kind of callus around people coming and going. But watching your daughters have to say goodbye to best friends again and again is a different kind of ache — it lands in a place you can’t really buffer for them.
Thank you for bringing the parenting piece into this; it’s a side of expat friendship that doesn’t often get named out loud.
This named something I don’t think I had fully understood before: that expat friendship is not only fragile because people leave, but also because sometimes the friendship cannot hold the whole version of who you are becoming abroad.
I especially loved the line about learning to hold people with an open hand. There is so much tenderness in that, but also a kind of exhaustion. Living far away seems to teach you both intimacy and impermanence at the same time.
This is beautifully put, Adeline.
That distinction you named is exactly the quieter layer that’s so hard to see while you’re in it.
And yes, “learning to hold people with an open hand” feels like one of the central lessons of life abroad... it teaches intimacy and impermanence at the same time, often in the same friendship.
Thank you for sharing how it landed :)
I have only been in Saudi eight months and am already putting people into the stay / go categories because of the transience you mention. I have struggled with this for 19 years, from Spain to France to Spain to Saudi - and it always stings.
That’s a lot of cycles to hold, Cat. The way you named it, quietly sorting people into stay/go categories almost from the start, is such an honest description of what transience does to folks like us. I keep hearing versions of that same pattern in conversations with long-term expats, and it seems to land in the body long before it reaches the mind. And yes, even when you can see it coming, it still stings.
I love this piece! We actually cheat a little because we still have a home base to return to. That’s where we get our long-form friend fix. We stay as long as we need to catch up, reconnect, remember who we were before this version of life.
The friendships we make while slow traveling can feel incredibly intense though. Fast intimacy. Shared context. Tiny windows of time. And yes… often transient unless they’re not.
I actually have people from around the world woven into my regular life now in funny ordinary ways. A daily Wordle chat with Annie from Cornwall. Friends in my WhatsApp who don’t speak much English and I don’t speak much of their language either — but somehow we still keep showing up for each other.
I think that’s what fascinates me most about this kind of life. Some people pass through like weather. Others quietly become part of the fabric. 💛 Kelly
Kelly, this is beautiful.
“We still have a home base to return to. That’s where we get our long-form friend fix.” —> that’s such a clean way to name a version of this life that doesn’t get talked about much, especially the kind of witness so many long-term expats and travellers quietly crave.
And the contrast you drew really lands: some people passing through like weather, others quietly becoming part of the fabric of your everyday… via Wordle chats, half-shared languages, tiny rituals that keep going long after each trip ends.
Thank you for putting such precise language to a pattern a lot of people will recognize in themselves.
Honestly… it’s the reason I love Substack.
Tiny rituals. Half-finished conversations. People woven into your ordinary life from completely different corners of the world. There’s something oddly intimate about that.
Social media often feels like performing at each other. Substack sometimes feels more like quietly recognizing each other. 💛
I have been abroad for 13 years, and all of this is so true. I am currently writing about some of this, and when you have kids that are also now living their own expat life! But the friendships I have gained and lost over the years, some are big losses and hurt a bit more. There always seems to be a cycle or a wave of people, and you jsut learn to ride and appreciate the waves.
Thirteen years abroad, plus kids living their own version of it — that’s a lot of layers to hold, Andrea.
The wave image you used feels right: people arriving, anchoring a season of your life, and then receding again, with some losses landing much harder than others. Writing through that cycle while you’re still riding it is no small thing. I look forward to reading it when it's ready :)
This is so relatable. I always “take” 1-2 people from each phase of my life with me. These people stay in my life for a long time, despite distances. But other than that, my relationships and social dynamics as someone who lives abroad are constantly changing.
That carrying of 1-2 people from each phase of your life forward... that's such a clean, accurate way to describe it. The core few who travel with you, and then the rest of the social landscape constantly rearranging itself in the background... that’s so much of long-term expat life. Thank you for sharing, Karen.
Oh yes. In retrospect, it was more about, why the 10 or 15 of us found one another in 1st place.
“Why the 10 or 15 of us found one another in the first place”--> that’s the question underneath this, isn’t it. The way certain people recognize the same specific strangeness in each other and cluster, at least for a time. The intensity makes a lot more sense when you look at how rare that kind of recognition actually is.
I thought a lot about that when i looked for a cause
Well said. But isn't this also true of all friendships? We all go through phases. After our children were in their teens, one of my besties decided to have another baby. We didn't see each other for two years as a result of the changes in our lives. Not that we didn't still love one another. I just needed something other than diaper changes and pediatrician visits to talk about. We are very close to this day. Even here, living in Mexico for the past 8+ years, I have had similar experiences. Moving from one city to another, friends marrying and having babies (I am 68), changes of employment, relocations, ... there are many reasons to fall out of touch. I moved around the US a lot, too. I actually found it a bit liberating not to have to rehash my whole life. People didn't care about whatever trauma I lived through, although, when necessary they listen compassionately. They just loved me, as I was/am. Isn't this what matters?
Donna, what a beautiful thread of life you're describing. You're right that love across distance and change is its own kind of constancy. What I'm exploring in this essay is a layer underneath that — the specific grief of expat friendship that ends not through life changes but through departure, and without the language for goodbye. Both things can be true at once.
Absolutely! I hear you and I feel your grief.
Thanks, Donna.
One thing I’m still learning myself — and that keeps coming up in my research with long‑term expats — is how some experiences really are widely human, and others are shaped by the specific structures we’re living inside, like visas, borders, and who’s allowed to belong where.
This essay is me trying to name that second layer a bit more clearly.