From Dreaming to Belonging Again
If you have ever pondered living in another country, welcome to the club. Researchers estimate that a third of adults worldwide have at some point entertained the idea of moving abroad, with a half of this group (16%) seriously considering a permanent relocation. Motivations for a big move like this range from escaping unsustainable conditions ‘back home’ to seeking adventure and a good life somewhere new.
While many people like the idea of moving, most stop at dreaming about it, or admiring those who had done it. Only a relative few begin to take action: sharing the dream with family, putting aside money, researching destinations and jobs. In the end, about 3% of adults worldwide advance from imagining to letting go (packing or parting with possessions, un-anchoring from a place, reflecting on ways to stay connected) and ultimately leaping (selling a house, booking a flight, and actually taking off).
In the previous post, I reflected on how, once we have arrived in the new place, we might re-root: make new connections, create routines, grow comfortable being where we are. The final stage of relocating has to do with belonging. This is where we try to work out who we are, sort through not being ‘from here’ and not yet feeling at home, eager to connect and be accepted, and perhaps to fit in. I think of it as the quest to define ourselves as someone who belongs again.
The Changing Sense of Self
A move will change you. Not only in the sense that you may acquire an accent, or that you go through new experiences, but because how you view yourself is likely to evolve. Dan P. McAdams and Kate C. McLean study people’s narrative identities — the stories we tell ourselves about our lives, in which we weave together “the reconstructed past and imagined future” in order to feel “some degree of unity and purpose”. I am entertained by the thought that we may: (a) make the past to be whatever we remember and believe that in some way defines us; (b) take a creative licence as we decide (and seek to convince others) how special the future we create is going to be; and finally, (c) weave this past and this future into a story that helps us make sense of our lives.
Whether or not the story you tell your friends truly reflects who you are, i.e. however you create your narrative identity, that identity is going to be put to a test when you move. How? Well, if you used to introduce yourself as an electrical engineer, and now you have left that career behind, who are you? Or, if you are just starting to learn the language of your new place, do you belong? Or, if you are a private person who had always enjoyed blending in, yet in your new town you attract attention simply because you are taller than people around you, has your identity remained the same?
And when your name is not common where you have moved to, or when responding to ‘Where are you from?’ is no longer easy, you may realize something is different. A change involving you and your new surroundings is causing ‘who you are’ to shift. In Canada, I used to tell people I was from Slovakia. When we travelled, I was from Canada. Now here in Portugal, when I say I am from Slovakia, people don’t know what to make of my Canadian-sounding English. When I say I am from Canada, they are puzzled by the spelling of my first name. And the danger of presenting myself as being from Portugal when we are on a trip is in having someone reply in Portuguese, causing confusion and a bit of shame on my part (as we are no longer that new here).
BTW, who are you when you visit ‘back home’? During a visit to my home town in Slovakia a few years after my move to Canada, a friend remarked that not only I had become Canadian, I was now also speaking Slovak with an accent. What?! What do you mean Canadian? Surely I’d always be ‘me’! And you mean it when you say I have an accent!? In Jean-Paul Sartre’s words, “Nothing has changed and yet everything is different.” I must be different, though I had no idea until my friend spoke up.
Place changes you as well. Relatives visiting Vancouver would often remark on the diversity of people, cultures, cuisines — notably richer than where I had grown up. Yet it was as if those differences were ‘visible’ just to those visiting. The new place quickly offers a lens through which you see the world. A friendly community, good weather, predictable systems are all easy to get used to. When the opposites become more noticeable elsewhere, you and your ‘norms’ of how the world should be may have changed — sometimes to the annoyance of those you point these things out to.
You have heard the metaphor of the world as a book where not exploring it would be like reading only one page. Living in different places stimulates both our senses (think ocean waves, blooming tulips, city lights) and the mind. As our appreciation of histories, cultures, and traditions broadens, our values and perspectives mature, and our consciousness expands. I like to think that relocating can nudge us towards a wiser, more humble, friendlier way of seeing the world. And perhaps ourselves.
The Relativity of Time
Unlike the earlier stages of the Relocurious Arc, getting to belonging can take a long, long time. Perhaps for some of us, this stage never really ends. We may never belong the same way that our neighbours who had grown up here do. Not getting some of the childhood jokes, having no clue about some decades-old TV show, or not having a direct experience of an important moment in the nation’s history — any of these will give away the fact that your history with a place is way shorter than your neighbours’. Does it mean you belong less? Perhaps not, but it may cross your mind once in a while.
At the same time, as our flight was landing in Porto following a family visit just a few months after our move to Portugal, this place felt like home. Perhaps it was the sense of awe of actually making the move, becoming residents, and so much of the city becoming familiar: the streets, the people, the way things work … We were delighted to notice that we felt that way. Even though we had come to love our home and neighbourhood back in Canada, we were quickly growing attached to Porto.
We are fully expecting the new and exciting to become ordinary and mundane over time, yet two and a half years in, we are still overjoyed whenever we walk around our new neighbourhood, walk on the riverfront, or take in the ocean breeze and the sound of the waves. As we watch tourists navigate GPSs around this town, and take hop-on, hop-off bus tours to popular sites, we feel privileged to be making friends at quiet local cafés, and enjoying new favourites like a €4 bifana+fino combo. That, too, is a part of belonging, I think. Getting familiar with places, and finding your comfy rituals.
Belonging … But According to Whom?
Now, you (like us) may think and feel like you have arrived. You like the place, people are nice, you are excited about your new apartment, your new home country gives you everything you had dreamt about. You now belong. At least in your mind. But, is there another perspective to consider? Do your neighbours seem to think you belong? What about the cashier at the grocery store? The clerk at the local health unit? In our two and a half years in Porto, we only have had two people roll their eyes at our confession that our Portuguese was not yet good enough to answer their questions. Both worked in public health units. We do not know what thoughts or assumptions prompted their behaviour, but in those moments, we could not honestly say we felt like we belonged.
On every other occasion, our interactions with people (including when we have used elementary Portuguese) have felt welcoming, friendly, and supportive. It certainly feels good when a store owner invites you into a conversation about more than just what you are buying. And it was a special treat for a doctor at the blood clinic where we donate every few months to share her sentiment that Portugal needs more people like us. Little moments like this mean so much, and they certainly encourage us to keep learning the language, have patience with systems we don’t understand, and connect with people in our new community more deeply when we can.
Self-compassion and patience can go a long way in building connections. Our podcast guest Sarah shared how despite being born to a Portuguese mother, the vibes she had been getting from people around her are that she doesn’t belong in Madeira, simply because she had not grown up there. Sarah’s neighbours may warm up to her over time — but expect thoughts about ‘being from here’ to stay with you for a while. Does it matter? In our conversation with Sarah, it sounded like it did to her. Her experience surprised and saddened her, yet she presses on with doing her part to belong.
The Place and Distance
The distance from the ‘before place’, whether geographic or emotional, may take a toll on you. You may have second thoughts about the move, because a hiccup occurs in your plan, or because a warm memory pops up, or because of a little rain. These all are OK; we have different triggers and thresholds for the things that throw us off.
And yet, the sense of ‘I have arrived’, and being increasingly comfortable and familiar in the new place, can clash with changes within the place itself. Since our arrival two and a half years ago, we have witnessed loud new construction projects on our street, notable price increases at the grocery store, a neighbour passing and another being born, a car rental company conveniently opening an office nearby, graffiti appearing on nearby walls … The place itself changes, which somehow we had not thought about when we were moving here. And I am sure we are changing along with the place.
These days, you may notice the political climate or people’s moods changing. One of the reasons we had picked Portugal for our new home were its people: warm, caring, friendly towards foreigners. And like in other countries, that sentiment is starting to change. With power shifts to the right, Porto today is not quite the same as Porto on our arrival day. And surely it will continue to evolve and occasionally surprise us. Yet when friends ask if we have another destination planned after Portugal, we don’t. We like to think that we — all of us — bring the weather. We are excited about living here, and we are keen on doing our part to feel like we belong, and be seen that way.
A Touch of Psychology
If you are our regular reader, you may have come to expect a touch of psychology in our posts. So, to dive deeper into the exploration of how developing the sense of belonging may unfold, here are a few relevant concepts and frameworks:
Erik Erikson’s work on identity development hints that our sense of self never stops evolving, it changes with every new context, relationship, and responsibility. Relocating can cause our sense of self to shift dramatically, sometimes in ways we had not imagined. Try to work with these shifts, rather than against them.
Social identity theory ties our sense of self to the groups we belong to. A big move may bring us to new communities (that share their own language, traditions, line of work). Any such change may leave us reflecting on where we fit and where we stand apart, often prompting a sense of pride, or of unease and tension. Be kind to yourself as you find and meet new people and ‘sample’ new social groups.
Psychologist John Berry describes the ways we may adapt to a new culture as assimilating, separating, marginalizing, and integrating (acculturation theory). The journey towards belonging involves balancing the rewards of who we were and opening to who we are becoming. Along the way, take the time to explore the different ways of adapting before you settle into the one that is most like you.
Some of us get more attached to places than others. But the streets we walk, the markets where we shop, the landscapes around us help shape our new identity. The place we have moved to becomes part of who we are (place attachment / place identity). Find places that resonate with you, and visit them often.
Anthropologists talk about liminality — an in-between state where the old is gone but the new is not yet fully here. You may know the feeling: You are no longer ‘of the old country’, but not at home in the new either. Getting to belonging takes time and mindful presence. Make the most of your walk across this imaginary bridge, as you create your new life and attract the rewards of belonging.
Questions to Ponder
What gives you a sense of belonging now?
In what ways has your identity shifted since moving?
What is still unresolved, and how do you engage with that tension?
How do you balance connection to the place you left with life in the place you’ve chosen?
I am thinking of belonging not as a moment in time or place, but as a horizon we keep approaching. In this stage of relocation, our journey may begin to feel less like moving and more like finding ourselves and thoughtfully living, even though questions remain and there is more to sort through, discover, and arrive at.
How has your experience of belonging been? We would love to hear from you! You are welcome to email us, or share a bit about yourself by completing this form.