Showing posts with label culture shock. Show all posts
Showing posts with label culture shock. Show all posts

Fun quirks about Irish homes

07 October 2013

short term apartment in sandycove
:: Jack in the short-term flat ::

When Matt's parents came to visit us in our old place, they were amazed by many of our Irish conventions. His dad spent an afternoon documenting our bathrooms and cupboards and kitchen layout. Having lived here over a year at the time, it was a bit funny to see our Irish house through new American eyes. We tend to forget how foreign it all seemed at first glance, when today most everything feels familiar, if not normal.

There are a few things, though, that take a bit longer getting used to...

Like the water heater. It's got a rotary dial, with tiny little switches corresponding to times of day. It goes by the 24-hour clock which is it's only little brand of confusing (who needs am/pm??), but there's also no clear indication on which way you push the little dial notches to turn the water heater on. Even when you get that sorted, the thermostat (which is separate, in another room) has to be turned on enough for the heat to kick on through the radiators. THEN you can get hot water... if the heat's not on in the house, it's not on in the water either.



Or the radiators. I actually quite love them. They are attached to the wall and handy for drying clothes on and leaning up against to warm against the cold, damp winter's chill. We have a radiator in every room, and in the upstairs rooms, the "rads" have a handy dial numbered 1-5 in order for you to control how hot you want it. I love this! Unfortunately, our downstairs rads are not so helpful, and whilst you can turn one to the right in one room, another room has you turning it left, and some don't budge at all. So if you don't want heat in the summer, best to leave the aforementioned water heater off at all times, and turn to...

The hot water immersion tank. This is a giant fun thing found in the upstairs hot press (linen closet, which I guess in olden days was where you stored damp linens to dry). Ours has two switches: an on/off switch and a bath/sink switch. In the winter, we don't typically use the immersion tank because we have the water heater on downstairs. But in the summer, if you want a hot bath or hot water for dirty dishes, you gotta flip the switch. I've not really figured out a good system for this, and am almost always giving the children cold baths.

So, apparently all the little things I'm still figuring out have to do with heating water. Tomorrow I'll tackle the things I love, which... actually... also have to do with heating water... like the electric kettle!

To be continued.

Between the clicking and the crash (five steps to managing culture stress)

06 May 2013



There's this thing that happens when you move to another culture. You have a really great day, everything flows, you accomplish much and feel like things are finally clicking. You've been waiting a long time for this clicking, this normalcy, and victory awaits you in the wings.

Then you have dinner, a couple of hours at home, or even just a few lazy minutes by yourself. It's overcast out, the bedtime routine is drawing nigh, and the crash hits. This level of exhaustion where all your emotional, mental and physical energy is zapped clean out of your body. You don't know whether to run for the hills or crawl under the covers.

It's so surprising, given the really awesome day you just had. You feel like all the effort, all the success has been overshadowed by... well, by nothing, really. It is what it is. You could call it culture stress. Or maybe homesickness. Or plain old fatigue.  But whatever it is, it's got you in a vice grip.

So what do you do? This is what I do.

1) Hide in bed. This seems counterintuitive, I know. But the first thing I really need is a quiet space where I can figure out why I feel so crappy.

For me, this is my bed; the one we bought our first year of marriage and shipped over the ocean and is all bent and creaky and mine. It's a cocoon of comfort and familiarity and when I feel all the feelings (loneliness and fear and frustration and tiredness and anxiety and...), I escape here to sort it out.

Living in another country, culture or region is literal, actual hard work. Find your quiet hiding place (garage, comfy chair, toilet seat), rest and search your heart.

2) Give the children something to do (in lieue of children, this could be your spouse, roommate or any other random people you happen to be living with). They will not suffer (long) if you place them in front of the telly, put a remote in their hand and flee the area. It could be anything: toys, food, games, but let's be real - electronic devices are preferred and will offer you the most time to recoup. Don't judge me.

By giving them an activity, you release yourself to take care of you so you can take care of them. And you allow them space from you so you don't freak out on them.  This is key. Don't freak out on them. This they will remember. I know from experience.

3) Get outside. Just do it. Right now. Go outside.

Fresh air is a cure for all ills. If you didn't sort what's in your head before, do it now in the wide open. Pray or talk or do yoga. Again, it doesn't really matter what you do or where you go, but the big blue sky has a knack of recalibrating the soul. Garden, walk, sit, people watch. Be outside and be all there. 

Fun fact: Ireland is awesome for this. We've got the sea, meadows, forest, mountains, and cities, all within an hour of our doorstep. And I've got a man who likes to kick us all out of the house when things get tense. We walk, the kids play, we rescue Ash from oncoming traffic, and we arrive back home renewed and nearly ready for the next big (or small) thing that comes our way.

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4) Do the next thing. What is the next thing, you ask? For me, it's feeding somebody. Or switching laundry. Or replying to an email. Whatever you need to do, just do it. If you keep it small, all the better. It's usually so much easier, not to mention faster, to switch a load of laundry rather than menu plan for a month. Build up to it. Do the next thing, and then the next and then the next.

Free tip: if it's not on your to-do list, add it on after you do it. Then cross that thing right off. Tick. Done. Congratulations, you've completed your to-do list and you didn't even know you had one.

5) Write it down. What just happened here? Did you suddenly realize your mom wasn't close enough to drop everything and pop over with a diet coke? Did you get to bed too late and up too early and miss your third cup of coffee? Did the mere thought of shifting gears with your left hand just seem so exhausting you just couldn't leave the house one. more. time?

Whatever it was, even if you don't know, write out how you got here. Whatever you did today, whatever you did or didn't accomplish, wherever you went or whomever you saw, write it down. And when you've reached down deep and found the cause (not the symptom) at play, write that down, too.



A few weeks ago I was laying in bed. I just could not force myself to get out. We needed milk and cereal and an assortment of other things, and the thought of getting in the car and driving the 2km to the shop overwhelmed me to pieces. I emailed my sister to ask her to pray and in that moment it hit me. I knew exactly what it was the stunted me. The ladies at the shop don't smile. When I queue up to pay for my groceries, nobody smiles at me. Nobody is happy to see me, nobody knows my name... nobody knows me.

I needed just one face, one smile, just one person to see me. And I couldn't face leaving the house and coming back without that need being met. When I realized what it was, I could talk about it with people who've been here longer. They could tell me what smiling looks like here (it's in the eyes, in the posture, in the words being used) so I knew how to look for it. I realized the smiling thing was just a symptom of a deeper need for someone to know me.

And yes, people smile here all the time. My BIF - best Irish friend - Bronagh has a brilliant, loving smile and I really should just pick up the phone or meet her for lunch. (Ugh, see how much you discover just by writing it down?)

So, you know, I hide for a bit. Then I get out and do the next thing. I try to write it down and then I do it all over again. Because I want to have that feeling... the feeling of a great day, things accomplished, the peace and comfort and joy that comes with new rhythms. I want that feeling where things just... click. Even if exhaustion and discouragement follows soon thereafter, and it will. It's the clicking I remember.

That's the other thing I meant to tell you. You'll forget the exhaustion, the fear, the doubtful bit. It's shortlived. Tomorrow you'll wake up and you'll only remember the victory. 

Ok, I need your help now. What am I missing? How do you cope with stress, of any kind?

A frustrating time

02 November 2010

I'm ready to go home now. Five months back and I'm ready to go home. Now.

The husband is in Wisconsin for what I'm terribly afraid will be a fruitless missions conference. It's hard to convince the mega church that people in modern western Europe are in as dire need for a Saviour as the rest of the world is. Especially when the "rest of the world" is within a 5 mile radius of the church and is also in dire need of a state-of-the-art work out facility and wedding chapel and climbing wall... I could go on and on. Nevertheless, I hold out a wee bit of hope, because I want to go home.

I'm with the children in Missouri, cut off from communication with husband because of very rather dodgy internet reception (and a jacked-up phone). The internet has been this way for months now, and makes working and communicating with coworkers and friends a world away quite impossible. But every day, we try to again, because we want to go home.

The children are rebelling against me. They know the disciplinarian (and also the fun one) has gone missing, so that leaves me - the weak one with the short fuse - attempting to hold things together. The girl screams at me from time to time, the boy looks at me so disappointingly when I've let him down (most recently because of a forgotten darth vader mask and light saber on halloween), and the baby follows me from room to room crying and hanging onto my leg because I'm all he's got left. Add to this no-sleeping and a bit of bed-wetting, and we're all suffering the ill effects of a change in routine. They feel encumbered by our current living and working and schooling situation, because they too want to go home.

A distant family member continues to try and sabotage our work by communicating with our organization - this time with the president of the organization - over an issue she has which is actually quite important: a tattoo. She makes phone calls, writes letters, and makes terribly loathing insinuations about us and our calling - and even our ethics - to anyone who will hear her. Happily, I think people are done hearing her, realizing that she's fighting for the losing side in a battle of spiritual nature. But still, the pettiness and sadness and humiliation over the whole things makes me want to run away, straight back home.

And finally, this teeny tiny computer I'm typing this on. Not my computer, but the man's (who has mine to wow the important people with in WI). It's small and slow and every once in awhile a new window pops up or a search engine - I'm fairly sure I didn't do that. Or it goes to sleep, or beeps at me. The text on the window randomly gets bigger, or smaller, or disappears altogether. It's driving me crazy! Unfortunately, it's an inanimate object so can't long for home, but it does allow me to blame one more thing on being here.

In spite of all this, I'm glad to have my family. Loving a new church. Glad to have fall colours in a familiar place. Happy to shop and eat wherever I so choose. Blessed by things all over the place. But there's an Irish weight hanging over me. It follows me wherever I go, hovers around whoever I'm talking to. It sleeps in the bed between me and the man and whichever little person is there for the night. It sits in my Bible when I open it, echoing every word.

It says, "You are not home."

*rereading this I feel like I complain too much and praise too little. I hate this about my writing, feel like it's a recurring theme. These, however, are my feelings, true and raw, today. Tomorrow, hopefully, prayerfully, I will write of the praiseworthy things I often forget to mention. Thank you God for letting us complain to you, and forgiving us of our selfishness. Teach me how to praise.

Top 10, Ireland Style

06 January 2009

So I've hit a rough patch with living overseas recently. Surprisingly to me, the 8 month mark on the culture shock curve shows an upswing, while I feel like I'm in a tailspin. So in order to help myself look at things more rationally, here is my Top 10 Things I Love About Ireland & Would Miss if We Left:

  1. Tea & biscuits (or even better, tea & scones!)
  2. The Irish church (not just our church, but the Christian community at-large)
  3. My coworkers, who I so rarely get to see, but always enjoy and learn from
  4. Living within an hour's drive of mountains
  5. Living within 5 minutes of the sea, and getting to see it nearly every day
  6. Public transportation (especially the train that runs by the sea)
  7. Our new Irish friends, several who have taken the time to mentor us in the ways of the Irish
  8. Rugby and hurling (really fun to watch, though I don't yet understand a thing about them)
  9. Jackson's school, which he loves
  10. No political commercials! :)


 
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