I’m Dancing with Reverse Culture Shock since Returning To America

I like my daily comforts, but I also don’t want to be reliant on them

There’s something bittersweet about coming back to the United States after spending time in another country.

I’ll be the first to admit that I like and appreciate our traffic laws. My anxiety has never been as high as when I’m sitting in the back of a tuk tuk — or as a passenger in a taxi or rental car — on rough and narrow roads in South or Central America.

It’s also refreshing, not to feel like such a foreigner. When you don’t speak the dominant language of the place you are visiting, it wears on you. There’s a lot of fumbling over your words and trying to make sure you are understood, as are the people you’re interacting with.

My partner and I said we wouldn’t go to another Spanish-speaking country without first learning the language. Duolingo is cool, but it (in my humble opinion) does not prepare you for real conversations with real people.

While in Peru back in September, I felt the language barrier took away from my experience at times. I thought I was prepared, but all the words I knew seemed to disappear the moment someone began speaking to me.

There was never anyone outwardly rude because I could not understand them… except for the woman at the airport who almost didn’t let me board my flight for a reason I still don’t know (a story for another time), but I just personally wished I could communicate better with the locals.

I wanted to ask them questions and hear them tell stories; I wished I could comprehend all that was being said during tours and excursions without having to listen to a translator.

While in Honduras just last week, my partner and I felt similarly while exploring certain parts of the island of Roatan. Roatan did have many more English speakers than the area of Peru I was in, but we still ran into locals who we struggled to fully understand.

Something else that was confusing was the amount of people who spoke Creole English. We’d catch certain words or phrases, but the rest sounded like gibberish. It was fun to listen to, but impossible to comprehend.

There was a very healthy mix of Spanish, English, and Creole English speakers on the island. So, more than once, we’d pull out a few of our practised Spanish phrases and greetings, only to realize the person we were speaking to spoke English.

“Hola, ¿cómo estás?” we’d ask.

“Hi. How are you guys?” they’d respond.

Gah. This was almost a worse feeling than just not speaking the language at all! We learned early on to hold back our assumptions, start a conversation in English, and then go from there.

I will say, traveling with another person made managing the language barrier a lot easier. Between the two of us, we could most of the time — and through some trial and error — make out what was being said.

We met a couple selling jewelry on the side of the road and stopped to talk with them for some time. The woman was from Argentina, and her partner was from Chile. We walked away that night amazed at their effort to speak English.

When they didn’t know how to say something, they’d take a moment to think about it, talk to each other, and then try again. It was definitely an inspiring moment where we both were reminded that it’s okay to take your time.

And, if in the end you still don’t get it quite right, just laugh. Laughter is a common language among all languages that connects people. We met up with this couple later in our trip and spent a lot of time laughing over a cup of coffee.

Something else I realized after coming home is how much more I appreciate my living space after being away for long periods of time.

Before we left for our two-week trip, I was feeling irritable and anxious in our home. We live in a small space and it’s easy for it to feel cluttered even when it’s clean. So, I was looking forward to a change in scenery and a break from normal household duties.

When we returned, though, there was an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I couldn’t wait to be settled back in and recognized how, although small, our little home has everything we need — and more.

That leads me to one of the bitter moments of returning…

The moment I remembered, most Americans have so much more than they actually need to be okay.

Visiting a third-world country will teach and show you it doesn’t take much to be happy. We were told by a local that the average wage in Roatan is $20 a day… and that’s considered somewhat good money. That’s what construction workers are getting paid to stand out in the grueling sun on a dusty road all day, some of which are pregnant women.

But they don’t know any different, and they make it work.

The Hondurans in Roatan are some of the hardest workers I’ve ever witnessed. Even the women hustling on the beach to braid your hair or give you a massage.

I let one cover me in baby oil while she told me her story, and I couldn’t believe her resilience and determination to provide for her family and grandkids. After handing her $50, I didn’t see her again that day.

The next time I saw her, on a separate day, she was sitting in the shade and said she had done one hair braid and one massage so far. It was 3 PM, and she started early.

I began to understand, on an even deeper level, the hard labor and long hours women like her put in just to survive.

Because of these experiences and many others while abroad, coming back to America put a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. We are constantly buying, collecting, and hoarding stuff we don’t need, but have been conditioned to think we need to live a good life.

I already have a habit of getting rid of items whenever I bring new ones home. But after returning from our trip, I started a few give-away and get rid-of piles just because.

Because I don’t want to be someone who relies on material items to be happy. I want to know and believe I’ll be okay, even if all I had was one pair of shoes and a backpack with a few belongings in it.

I love and hate this country

I’ve known for a while that what America claims to be the good life isn’t that good after all. What’s supposed to feel like freedom feels like a trap, and I’m over it.

More than once in the past year, I’ve made jokes and comments about packing up our stuff and moving to a different country when I feel frustrated by our healthcare, order for justice, political climate, endless rules and responsibilities, and ass-backward narratives we’ve been trained to believe.

The moment I feel at ease, there are more hoops to jump through; more demands; more this is the cost required to be an American.

And sometimes I don’t know if I want to pay what it costs. Because, when I go to other countries and talk to people from all over the world, I feel it’s not really worth it. I think about how the way we do things here in America doesn’t really make sense.

I mean, of course, it benefits a lot of people with a lot of money and status. But what about the rest of us?

The beach makes me happy. Really, any body of water makes me happy. I like the sunshine and simple ways of living.

I enjoy good food, even better if it’s homegrown and home-cooked.

A community of people I vibe with, and with whom I can share my deepest parts with, is what I strive for.

Yoga, writing, and mornings where the only thing on the to-do list is seeing where life takes us brings me ease just to think about.

That’s what I want, and it’s not just a pipe dream. Either here or in another country, I’m determined to find, touch, see, and feel my own version of the good life.

To end

What I’ve learned is that traveling teaches you to adapt to change and appreciate familiarity. In my opinion, it makes you more well-rounded, well-versed, and open.

Thinking back to our time in Honduras, I remember being overwhelmed in the grocery store by unfamiliar items, a new currency, and the unknown of where everything I needed was.

What we did learn quickly were the brands and labels we were used to were double or triple the price compared to local brands and labels. So, we took a gamble and tried new types of bread, milk, jam, beer, cereal, etc.

One of the best risks we took was when on our first day in, we grabbed a couple of unknown ice cream bars from the freezer at checkout. We didn’t know what any of them said, but chose the one with the packaging we liked most.

Throughout our two weeks there, we would buy them any place we saw them because they ended up being that good. On our last day, we savored every bite and talked about how much we would miss what we came to find out was white chocolate with fresh strawberry filling.

When I got home and went to the grocery store for the first time, I felt relieved at how quick and easy it was for me to grab what I needed, while having a general idea of what I’d be spending.

I knew I liked what was in the cart, and there would be no surprises. There would be no fruit flies in the fridge and freezer, like in the Airbnb we stayed in. There would be no need to seal everything super tightly and be sure to leave no crumbs on the counter.

For that, I’m grateful.

But a part of me will miss living on the water of Roatan for two weeks. That which seemed inconvenient at the time is a clear memory I’ll hold close.

Some surprises I’ll miss. Some of the “strange” ways of living, I’ll think back on and smile at.

I’m quickly making my to many dream destinations and countries I’ve always wished to visit, and with each one, I’m learning and remaining equally grateful I have the opportunity to travel and experience life outside of my comfort zone.

Comfort is not bad, but it’s definitely not something I want to grow reliant on.

Thanks for reading, and until next time Honduras.