Neither There Nor Here
How your identity, meaningful pursuits, and fitting in may change when you move
In a few earlier posts, we have mentioned liminal space: the in-between reality that many of our podcast guests, and we ourselves, have experienced as part of our move. It’s the space between where we have been — and perhaps once belonged — and where we are not yet fully insiders, or at ease. For whatever reason.
Today, I explore three aspects of this transitional, redefining, finding-yourself-again kind of space: identity, work, and how we — and others — see us fitting in socially.
Identity (Towards Being Treated as a Local)
The ‘you’ in your mind. Even though you have a new address now, in another country, obviously you yourself have not changed — or, have you? You may think of yourself as always being the same, in part because you get acclimatized to any change in yourself slowly. You are in your mind throughout the thinking you do about your move, and you are also a witness to every little step you take. Both towards the relocation itself, and towards becoming the person you are determined to become in the new place.
Who you are to others. You make sure you smile at new neighbours so they know you are the friendly kind. You attempt a few words in your new language to show respect and to indicate you are trying. Almost unavoidably, you create little faux pas moments that cause your neighbours to remember you for all the wrong reasons. All because, quite likely, you are trying hard to be seen a certain way. Or to be that way? I suspect that whatever image you try to portray, people will surprise you with how they see you. Coming from somewhere else, it becomes essential to establish your identity.
How your identity is established: “Are you American?” is what we often hear as soon as it becomes obvious we are not native Portuguese speakers (read: immediately). “Where are you from?” is easier for Kathy to respond to, having been born in Canada and having lived there for most of her life. When I tell people I come from Slovakia, I am comforted to know that they had heard of it (which was not a sure thing in Canada), but I am also instantly doubted on the account of my English fluency. Well, I lived in Canada. OK, identity established. But such conversation can get more involved at hotel check-in when you present a Slovak ID and a Portuguese credit card. One of my most embarrassing hotel encounters involved a receptionist in Brussels switching to fluent Portuguese. Thankfully, the context provided enough clues for me to give confident “Sim” and “Não” answers, so I avoided turning off the friendly receptionist.
Your legal identity: About that ID: A number of years back, I became a permanent resident and later citizen of Canada, and I told the authorities in Slovakia, who took away my Slovak ID. I retained my Slovak citizenship, and I had my Slovak passport to prove it, but I was told I couldn’t keep my Slovak ID. Maybe it’s just me, but I took that personally. In my mind, without the ID, which is officially called citizen card, I felt like the government was telling me I belonged less. That hurt. Coincidentally, on my return to Canada, a Canadian immigration officer greeted me with “Welcome home!,” sealing the notion that I gained a new home … and perhaps lost a bit of the old one. ‘You can only call one place a home, and you have made your choice’, was how I saw it.
How you re-become who you once were: Rules changed a few years later, and it became possible for Slovak citizens to retain their citizen card even if their permanent residence was in another country. I got mine again before we moved to Portugal, and I appreciate having this little “proof” of belonging to my country of origin in my wallet. It is also the most practical thing to have an official EU-country issued identification card both for daily living in Portugal and for travel across Europe. There is also less to explain compared to pulling up your passport every time you deal with government.
Meaningful Pursuits (Sense of Contribution)
Why does meaning matter? Does meaning matter when you choose your pursuits? It does to me. I have always navigated towards things that felt meaningful, and I have often struggled with things that did not. In his recent book, The Meaning of Your Life, Arthur C. Brooks describes meaning as having three parts: coherence, purpose, and significance. In plain language, meaningful work makes sense, points somewhere, and matters. That may be why projects without a clear direction can feel so draining: They rob us of the chance to feel that our effort is adding up to something worthwhile.
Can we change the world? Meaning is what keeps me teaching and consulting. A well-designed (coherent) course about something useful (purpose) that enables students to make a difference in the world (significance) is a meaningful pursuit to me. A program in inclusive leadership can help someone nurture a workplace where people know they belong. An organizational psychology course can build capacity to understand the causes of reactive behaviours on a team, and activate work that is more creative. Developing a growth mindset can help a disenchanted employee see their life as full of opportunity and potential. All of it can help make a positive difference in the world.
Reigniting meaning in others. I was recently invited to lead a closing plenary session at a higher education conference here in Portugal. Imagine a roomful of university professors, librarians, and administrators from three continents energized about imagining — and taking the first steps towards creating — learning and supports that matter. I call that a meaningful pursuit. I am also currently wrapping up a project in Slovakia that is aimed at taking a support program for teams of game-changing scientists, researchers, and innovators to the next level. I see meaning in that work.
Practice patience. It took time for some of these opportunities to start presenting themselves. I am new here, after all. But I am grateful that our big move from Canada, where we were professionally established and well networked, to Portugal, where in many regards we are building many connections from scratch, did not disrupt my ability to continue contributing to the kind of work that, I believe, matters.
Being Connected
Strong and weak ties. Our new connections here in Portugal are of different kinds, ranging in … maybe “closeness” is the word I am looking for. We have made the very best of friends: a couple who moved to Porto around the same time as we did have become the closest thing to family. Then there are “our people” in several circles of writers, photographers, and educators with whom we love hanging out, and who inspire us. And we enjoy being surrounded by a growing number of what sociologist Mark Granovetter calls “weak ties:” people with whom we might have a stimulating conversation when we bump into one another on a hike, and that’s about it.
Finding your people. The realization that we didn’t know anyone in Portugal before we moved here worried my Mom. You have got to have your people. Yet somehow, Kathy and I (neither of us particularly extroverted) were not worried. And things have worked out. We have joked a few times over the past few months that we had never been this social — and it’s not just our many friends from Canada making a stop to visit us in Porto during their vacation travel. It wasn’t instant, but we have been fortunate to find our people here. And while initially, the majority of the people we were meeting were not Portuguese, that has been changing as well.
Language fluency might help, somewhat. The next level, as we imagine it, may gradually present itself as we get more conversant in Portuguese. We have written previously about the challenge of mastering this language (full of grammar rules and even fuller of exceptions to those rules), but we are sensing a cultural element here, too. We see Brazilians hang out with Brazilians, we see immigrants from different countries mingle with other immigrants, and we see Portuguese people with close connections to other Portuguese people. Perhaps that’s the power of a common culture, the humour you grew up around, or shared life experience. Most of the time, we see people connect around values and interests. And we cherish those connections.
Building your circles may take time. Connecting with people is about proximity and opportunity and language and so many other things. You click with some, less so with others. I imagine that’s the same anywhere you go, or move. Not everyone moves at a time when they are ready to widen their circles, and not every place offers connection easily or generously. Sometimes the language gets in the way. Other times, the interests, humour, or social codes do not line up. Or a person arrives tired, guarded, grieving, overwhelmed, or simply unsure how much of themselves they are ready to offer. Until the conditions are right, there can be lonely stretches. Give it time.
Do not replace your circles, expand them. The trick is not to lose your “strong ties” from where you had lived before. This is why we cherish all the apps that help us stay connected with childhood friends and past colleagues, sharing our life adventures, and getting regular glimpses into theirs. Then, when we manage to visit in person over dinner or coffee, it feels like we had never left. For me, more frequent visits to Slovakia helped revive connections that had been “online only” for way too long.
Sometimes, social circles shift. The way Kathy and I see it, our social circles have shifted in good ways with our move. Not simply expanded, though that has happened, too. To me, “shifted” captures it better, as we carry forward many old friendships, we get pleasantly surprised by new ones arising, and we learn to appreciate the social aspect of belonging. Especially as you, as well as your social circles, evolve with time, openness, attention, frequent check-ins, and a joint pursuit of shared interests.
The gift of liminality. Perhaps that is part of the strange gift of being neither “there” fully anymore, nor really “here” yet. Living “in between” helps you notice what still anchors you, what no longer does, and what, often unexpectedly, unfolds over time.
How are you handling the ups and downs of relocating? Tell us about your journey.