Story of an Expat, Part I

Here’s where my story starts. Almost twelve years ago, my husband and I were sitting up in bed on a sunny, Sunday morning. The kids were blissfully and, unusually, asleep; it was a rare moment of quiet. And as we lay there, this man I loved with all my heart told me about a job….

Third Culture Kids Aren’t a Triangle–They’re a Wave

A recent conversation sucked me, feet first, into the black hole of expat doubt. And by doubt, I really mean: “What the hell is going to happen to my kids at the end of this experiment?” The conversation, with a brilliant friend who studies cultural differences, was about the unknown effect of removing yourself from…

Maybe That’s Your World but it Doesn’t Have to Be Mine

View at Medium.com View at Medium.com Maybe when you were six, skipping rope, a stranger showed you a part of himself you should never have seen. Maybe when you were eleven, one of the uncles who sat around your dinner table touched you in places you didn’t even know you had. Maybe when you were…

Pardon Me, Can You Point Me to the Toilet?

Twenty something years ago I sat in an Italian restaurant in England with my then boyfriend’s family and asked where the bathroom was. My future in-laws looked at me with the kind of blank confusion I can only assume my face resembles when my children talk to me about FortNite, leaving me–cross-legged and full-bladdered–in a…