Expat Life Failed Me

I moved ten times in ten years in order to find myself. I’m still unsure.

I was always envious of people who possessed a strong sense of self, people who knew what they wanted to be (doctors, sculptors, chefs) and where (London, Cape Town, Paris). I, meanwhile, felt that I was constantly trying on new personalities, styles, ambitions, careers, and cities. I played dress up with myself where others followed tightly-held passions. Nowhere was this more apparent than in my inability to settle down.

I have been very privileged to have been offered multiple opportunities to move abroad throughout my life. Every time I was presented with a possible relocation, I jumped at the chance—the potential to move somewhere that no one knows me? Say less. I craved adventure, but I also loved the anonymity. I cherished the opportunity to reinvent myself in places where no one had heard of me, each city offering me the ability to try on new personas, new ways of being, safely hidden from the eyes of those who really knew me.

I first moved to Los Angeles where I became preoccupied with my own health—walks on the beach, pressed juices, the satisfaction of ‘wellness’. In Hong Kong I purposely swung the other direction, experimenting with a party girl lifestyle and embedding myself in the endless nightlife of Lan Kwai Fong. San Francisco pulled me to introversion once again as I was unable to make friends in a city that prizes career above all else. Milan was my reprieve—I was working in academia which made me feel worldly and sophisticated, spending every evening enjoying spritzes and DJ sets along the canal with other expat friends. In Dubai my work as a heritage preservation consultant meant staying up until midnight every night developing presentations for clients; the little free time that I had spent tucked away inside my apartment sleeping. I took many different forms over these years.

I’m sure that the effect of the culture, the language, and the people who inhabit these places have their part to play in my transformations—I dressed better in Milan than I did in San Francisco, I stay out later in New York than I did Dubai. The atmosphere of a city can change you with its varying rhythms and priorities. But I think an even larger driver of my changing whims was a discomfort with myself. I tried on different versions of myself to find the one that would fit. When I no longer enjoyed who I was in Milan, when it had grown quiet and stale for me, I took a job opportunity in Dubai. When my heart got broken in Dubai, I packed up again and went to New York City. I was victim to the false perception that if I moved often and experimented enough, I would finally become a person that I was proud of.

My apartment in Milan (2019-2022) vs. my apartment in Dubai (2022)

A couple years ago I came across a piece by Arthur Brooks, “Find the Place You Love. Then Move There.” In it, he espouses finding the place where we feel “most at home” then relocating there in an effort to live in alignment with our true selves. I don’t know if it’s that simple. First there is the incredible financial toll of moving—most of us don’t have disposable income to fund movers, airfares, storage costs, and higher rents. Then there are the many logistical complications in the form of work visas, bank accounts, national health insurances, and more paperwork than you could ever imagine. Finally, there’s the emotional sacrifice as we are forced to say goodbye to our communities and families to start our new lives. Moving is not a simple decision, nor an easy ticket to inner alignment.

His words caused me to reflect on my own experiences. I had found places that I loved, truly loved, and I had moved there. I thought that these grand experiments would turn me into a finished product, but that didn’t happen. I’m still a work in progress doing my best to create a life that excites me. No amount of moving was ever going to show me who to become, I needed to unearth it by connecting with myself. True self-actualization requires digging deeply and thoughtfully into the backrooms of our minds to find ourselves where we’ve always been waiting. The only place where you exist is inside of yourself, not in a certain country or city.

Now, safely settled into New York, who am I? I carry with me the experiences of all the places I have lived and all the versions of me that existed in them. Milan taught me to appreciate beauty with its ethereal alleys and cobblestoned piazzas. In San Francisco, solitary and disconnected, I learned to love my own company. Hong Kong provided me with my love of food—a city of night markets and hidden stalls where I ate the best meals of my life. Dubai is where I fell in love for the first time, the whole city drips in meaning for me now. Los Angeles showed me how to take care of myself as I basked in its sunshine and open air. I’m an amalgamation of the places I’ve been and people I’ve met.

So if you want to move, move. But if you want to stay where you are, stay comfortably. We find ourselves in the quiet of our minds, not in the places we inhabit. We can fall in love with ourselves wherever we are.