The Time I Thought Moving Overseas Would Solve My Problems
About the time I sat on a bench as an unemployed twentysomething
In my early 20s, I thought the answer to my problems was to live somewhere else. Apparently that was supposed to be Australia, sitting on a bench in Queen’s Park in Brisbane, wondering why I flew halfway across the world with no job prospects in sight.
Never mind the hostel I was staying at which had cockroaches as regular guests.
To be fair, the recruiting agency I spoke to had no idea I was committed to flying over when we first spoke about a teaching job.
No worries, I thought. I have the right qualifications. Surely, this meant I’d land the job. That, after several paychecks, I can afford to buy a surfboard, and off to the beach I go each weekend. Never mind the fact that I had no idea how to surf and was scared of swimming in the ocean.
The story does have a somewhat happy ending, as I did end up getting a job, but with the recruiting agency. My hunch was correct: everyone who worked there were the loveliest people, showing me around the city and how to find my own place.
I even befriended some locals because in a panic, I reached out to several on an online forum trying to get out of the hostel because I could no longer stand having itchy skin and my clothes being stolen (whoever you are, I hope you looked good in the bright blue tunic I so adored).
The idyllic life I led in the six months I was there felt great, enough for me to feel some sort of independence, some agency over my own life. I was a university graduate with something to prove, that I can make it in the teaching profession even though it was difficult to get a job back in Canada.
Everything felt like an adventure, from grocery shopping at Coles, to getting lost on the Ipswich line, to wondering what the big deal is with Vegemite (I’m in the “it’s delicious” camp). I bragged to friends and family back home how I made it, how being abroad made me feel so special and everyone needs to try this at least once in their lives.
The truth is, I was miserable by the end of it. I wanted to move forward with my teaching career although I loved Australia, it was proving to be a dead end with job leads. My relationship was on rocky ground and I wasn’t sure how I would support myself financially once my contract ended.
What I thought would be the answer to all my problems simply masked it. And relying on a place (let alone in a new country) to solve it all is unrealistic and frankly naive.
Looking back, I wanted this experience abroad to prove that I was worthy. That I was someone who people admired and wanted to be around. Some who had their shit together.
Returning home to live with my parents after completing a three week road trip around New Zealand when I left the recruiting agency was humbling. My independent life turned into worrying about where my next paycheck would come from, adhering to my parent’s dinner schedule, and generally feeling heartbroken.
It’s easy to say this in hindsight, but living overseas during this time taught me that falling apart is a normal part of life.
Maybe I was naive for flying across the world for a job that wasn’t promised to me. But it eventually taught me that not taking the time to understand myself and my needs, meant that when external circumstances didn’t work out the way I expected, does not mean I was somehow a failure. And finding steady footing now doesn’t mean all my problems go away for the rest of my life.
Pema Chödrön puts it best in her book When Things Fall Apart:
Things falling apart is a kind of testing and also a kind of healing. We think that the point is to pass the test or to overcome the problem, but the truth is that things don’t really get solved. They come together and they fall apart. Then they come together again and fall apart again. It’s just like that. The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy.
The next time I moved overseas I had a clearer idea of what my goals were. My emotions were in a better place and I knew I was open to figuring out who I was and being whatever comes. Things fell apart, and then they came together again.
Most importantly, I learned that if I don’t work on my own healing, it won’t matter where I am, because I’ll never be satisfied. Even if I’m in the most beautiful place in the world.
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Thanks for writing this! My dad always said, “no matter where you go, you take yourself with you.” I’ve found that to be very helpful for myself when I think escaping will help me!
I have a different rite passage, there being I went around backpacking solo for years, looking for "home", and indeed, it turned out, it is something I need to search inside of me. I would not trade my backpacking days for anything else, they were the best times of my life, and it became the foundation of who I am today. So, yeah, I think it is great you leap and went to try living abroad. But I agree with you that we all need to work on our own healing.