The Loneliness of Living Abroad: Where is Home? 

There’s a deep kind of loneliness that comes with living in a country that’s not your own. It’s not only missing your friends and family. It’s not just yearning for the comforts of your favorite restaurant, your daily walk, or randomly bumping into your neighbor and the grocery store. 

It’s not even about physical homes, though I often pine for my large American kitchen and California King bed. It’s something much deeper than that. It’s a hole that can’t be filled, and the hole is a feeling of belonging. 

I often find myself out of the loop, not privy to some larger truth that everyone seems to know but me. Navigating a foreign country’s systems – from schools to medical care to shopping to socializing – feels like walking into a party where you don’t know a single soul, and the partygoers aren’t smiling or welcoming. 

Here’s a recent example. We’re in the process of choosing schools for reception (the American equivalent of pre-school) for our youngest child. We need to give our top 6 choices, without knowing anything about the reputation of the schools. 

People who have lived here longer than us know that this school is known as terrible, and this other school has the best reputation. Longtime residents (or, you know, people who have native friends they can talk to) could write their top six in their sleep – they’ve known what they would choose before they even had children. 

Inside this pinata is my son’s future, and it’s up to me to blindly whack away and hope the candy comes tumbling out.

On top of this confusing game, there is no adult standing behind me to steer me in the right direction. I’m aimlessly spinning, trying to find my target, and all the other partygoers are silently watching, never lending a hand. 

Getting help with this process feels like pulling teeth. First, you have to find someone you have rapport with, because the English are nothing if not curt and polite, keeping social interactions short and sweet short.

Then, get ready to humble yourself, because here’s where the unspoken rules of society come into play. 

You’ll need to explain that you don’t know anything about anything. Everyone assumes you know the ins and outs, and you’ll have to very clearly explain that you’re the anomaly.

Then, you’ll need to try to coax an answer out of them that isn’t deeply encoded in British civility. Although they’re speaking English, they’re not speaking your English.  

If the English hate a meal, for example, they’ll never send it back, and tell the server that it was “lovely”. But if they really like something, they say it’s “nice.” 

If they dislike something, on the other hand, they’ll say it’s “fine.” 

If they’re asking for a yes, they’ll ask if you’re “happy.” (No, Karen, I’m not “happy” to pay that amount in rent, but I will, because I have to). 

Every commonly used word you’ve used all your life now has a totally different meaning, and you don’t have a dictionary. 

“Sorry” is the most pervasive and confusing of these terms. If you bump into someone, they will say “sorry.” But what they really mean is, “you absolute twat, watch where you’re going!” 

If you need to squeeze by and say, “excuse me,” you are being extremely rude. But if you say “sorry,” they’ll step aside without even a glance. 

If someone bumps into you, YOU say “sorry.” It doesn’t make sense, but I don’t make the rules. 

Most of living here feels this way, like they’re all playing a game with unwritten instructions. You can only pick up how to play piece by piece, by deciphering body language, facial expressions, and reading between the lines. 

This is the pervasive loneliness that I can’t shake; I will never be part of the club. 

If I feel this lonely and excluded, I can’t even begin to imagine how people of color and non-English speakers feel living here. Even if I whine, I never, ever take for granted the privileges I have that others do not.

Not all of England or the UK is as isolating or divided as this. London is the worst, notoriously chilly and unwelcoming. Strangers don’t talk to strangers, and definitely don’t smile. 

As an American, this is hard to comprehend and even harder to navigate. People aren’t mean or rude, they just keep to themselves and have personal and social boundaries firmly in place. 

But the hardest part of living abroad is that if I simply keep to myself, I’ll never really know anyone. This is why meeting other immigrants is easier, and why we tend to group together: we’re the only ones looking for and open to connections. 

But then, on the other hand, what’s the point of living in a foreign country when you don’t make friends with anyone actually from that country? It’s a conundrum, and one that will only take time and patience to resolve. 

I haven’t found my people yet, but I still have hope that I will. For now, I walk in loneliness, but never without the will to keep trying to find connections. 

I’ll keep whacking at the pinata, blindly searching for the jackpot. Maybe a helpful adult will come and steer me in the right direction; maybe not.

But either way, this is my new job, and my new life. My American optimism and friendliness has never done me dirty before, and I can only hope it won’t now. 

But for now, life is “fine.” I’m “happy” to keep plodding along, searching for friends who are “nice.” It’s a “lovely” adventure, and I’m “sorry” if the road is a little lonely sometimes.