Moving to a foreign country is a lot like writing a book. It’s something 80% of people would like to do but most never will. It’s challenging, inspiring, scary as hell, and requires the loyal grit and determination of a cat chasing a laser beam.
You can be the most beautiful, emotive writer, spinning streams of golden prose that dance gracefully across a page – and yet, in the same moment, be a terrible storyteller with no sense of character development, plot, or narrative structure. Then, there are born storytellers. People gifted at crafting tales that intoxicate readers with just the right amount of complexity, soul, and intrigue. A twist here, a turn there. Literary origami. More often than not, these people are not great writers.
Then, there are the experts – we cannot forget factual accuracy. So many specialists, historians, sci-fi nerds, and PHD’s attempt to write books leaning on the near-religious grasp they have of a subject matter—but again, gripping facts and accurate situational dialogue do not, alone, make a good book. It’s incredibly rare to find that all the qualities of true authorship embodied by a single person. What being an expat has taught me is, it’s a game of playing your strengths.
Many people, myself included, dream of writing a book. Like living abroad, where does one even begin to prepare? What does it even mean to be prepared? What if I don’t have the tools I need to do this right? The key is, don’t think—just do. In the expat life, this mentality has led me through painful challenges, up volcanoes, across deserts, and through a tempest of soul-quaking adventures. Why should life goals be any different? Only creative expression can transport you from the passive condition of thought to the active condition of sensation and there is nothing more creatively inspiring than experiencing another culture.
The expatriate life has given me freedom to know what I want, and the visceral stimulation to deliver it into reality.