The expat's angst
I spent time with a group of American newcomers to Montréal recently; all were women, most in their early thirties. The coffee klatch turned out to be a session of unmitigated complaint.
That's a common expat sentiment anywhere: things are worse than at home. The bureaucracy is designed to obstruct! The brownies at the café are too expensive! No one wants to hire us here, the roads are a mess, and does it ever warm up?
As I write, I'm anticipating the agreement of those who dislike Québec. You're entitled to your opinion, but that is not my point.
My point is that expats bitch; missing home, they compare everything, usually unfavourably. A French friend here got so sick of his copains carping that he avoids them. "And how long have you been here?" he likes to ask. "Oh, eighteen years" is a typical reply.
When I lived in Toronto, I hung with a raucous batch of Brits who whinged incessantly. A Mancunian friend always suggested they "take 'The $800 Cure'", which was a plane ticket home for two weeks' stay.
Even sophisticated world citizen (and native Montréaler) Adam Gopnik has written of his nightmarish attempts to get a home phone line and chequing account in Paris.
These women had accompanied partners here for work or education. They were legitimately frustrated because most of them could not work yet, partially due to the lengthy immigration process (federal government) but primarily because Québec's language law (provincial government) necessitates proficiency in French for many jobs. Joblessness and attendant money woes exacerbated their dissatisfaction. They had valid issues with various institutions' service levels.
And, they also complained that here, you have to pay the post office to hold your mail when you are on vacation. I have to cross the border to get to a Target; yes, one is opening here next fall–of course it's taken forever because they have to redo all the packaging to include French.
Everything is so expensive!, one woman moaned. (I later used a terrific tool, Expatistan's Cost of Living Index, to compare cost of living between Montréal and her former city; according to that site, her former city is 29% more expensive.)
The chorus of complaint was delivered 60 decibels louder than a sober Canadian would use in either official language; anyone within a twelve-foot radius of our communal table could hear every word.
When you're not a citizen, you're a guest of the host country, and these guests were fractious. I squirmed with discomfort; was I imagining several patron's stares? And wondered, Just how American am I, still?
I wanted to ask if there was anything they liked; but every time I thought of it, a fresh gripe generated more loud assent. Bitterness has a way of multiplying, like monster dough in the back of a fridge. It's easy to edge toward xenophobia.
I fled after an hour, sympathetic to the frustrations but at the same time, distressed by their public airing. It's not that I agree with Québec's majority party's politics or am blind to the city's flaws but, just like with a partner, if you look exclusively at those, sooner or later you'll fall out of love, and I do love living here.
They too had come for love, but not of place. They missed their home towns, friends, family and that great drycleaner. How many, I wondered, will stay?
Walking home, I thought of my own expat days. I came to Canada in 1971, before they were born. I recalled my initial dislocation and gradual acculturation: switching to the metric system, understanding how a parliamentary government works, learning how to invite people over (state a specific date and time.) I didn't have to master a new language in order to work in my field.
If these younger compatriots can resolve some discontents, they will benefit from the richness of living here, whether for a year or life. (Canada and the US permit dual citizenship, a unique privilege and one for which I continue to be grateful– though perhaps it makes assimilating to the new country harder.)
If it is only a partner that brought them here, and the craziness, contradictions and constraints prove too much to bear, the outlook for their futures will be like our spring weather: cloudy, with a high probability of rain.
That's a common expat sentiment anywhere: things are worse than at home. The bureaucracy is designed to obstruct! The brownies at the café are too expensive! No one wants to hire us here, the roads are a mess, and does it ever warm up?As I write, I'm anticipating the agreement of those who dislike Québec. You're entitled to your opinion, but that is not my point.
My point is that expats bitch; missing home, they compare everything, usually unfavourably. A French friend here got so sick of his copains carping that he avoids them. "And how long have you been here?" he likes to ask. "Oh, eighteen years" is a typical reply.
When I lived in Toronto, I hung with a raucous batch of Brits who whinged incessantly. A Mancunian friend always suggested they "take 'The $800 Cure'", which was a plane ticket home for two weeks' stay.
Even sophisticated world citizen (and native Montréaler) Adam Gopnik has written of his nightmarish attempts to get a home phone line and chequing account in Paris.
These women had accompanied partners here for work or education. They were legitimately frustrated because most of them could not work yet, partially due to the lengthy immigration process (federal government) but primarily because Québec's language law (provincial government) necessitates proficiency in French for many jobs. Joblessness and attendant money woes exacerbated their dissatisfaction. They had valid issues with various institutions' service levels.
And, they also complained that here, you have to pay the post office to hold your mail when you are on vacation. I have to cross the border to get to a Target; yes, one is opening here next fall–of course it's taken forever because they have to redo all the packaging to include French.
Everything is so expensive!, one woman moaned. (I later used a terrific tool, Expatistan's Cost of Living Index, to compare cost of living between Montréal and her former city; according to that site, her former city is 29% more expensive.)
The chorus of complaint was delivered 60 decibels louder than a sober Canadian would use in either official language; anyone within a twelve-foot radius of our communal table could hear every word. When you're not a citizen, you're a guest of the host country, and these guests were fractious. I squirmed with discomfort; was I imagining several patron's stares? And wondered, Just how American am I, still?
I wanted to ask if there was anything they liked; but every time I thought of it, a fresh gripe generated more loud assent. Bitterness has a way of multiplying, like monster dough in the back of a fridge. It's easy to edge toward xenophobia.
I fled after an hour, sympathetic to the frustrations but at the same time, distressed by their public airing. It's not that I agree with Québec's majority party's politics or am blind to the city's flaws but, just like with a partner, if you look exclusively at those, sooner or later you'll fall out of love, and I do love living here.
They too had come for love, but not of place. They missed their home towns, friends, family and that great drycleaner. How many, I wondered, will stay?
Walking home, I thought of my own expat days. I came to Canada in 1971, before they were born. I recalled my initial dislocation and gradual acculturation: switching to the metric system, understanding how a parliamentary government works, learning how to invite people over (state a specific date and time.) I didn't have to master a new language in order to work in my field.
If these younger compatriots can resolve some discontents, they will benefit from the richness of living here, whether for a year or life. (Canada and the US permit dual citizenship, a unique privilege and one for which I continue to be grateful– though perhaps it makes assimilating to the new country harder.)If it is only a partner that brought them here, and the craziness, contradictions and constraints prove too much to bear, the outlook for their futures will be like our spring weather: cloudy, with a high probability of rain.
Comments
If they are from New York or another very large US city, they are failing to factor in rent or mortgage costs. From anywhere in the US, they are failing to factor in the cost of private health coverage. A freelancer friend in NYC bears a huge tab.
Pseu: A little complaining I can bear, but nonstop carping wears on me pretty fast. I left that meeting thinking almost your exact words.
lagatta: When I mentioned your point about healthcare to one woman, she said, "Well the company pays for that" (in the US). She did not need subsidized daycare, another of our benefits.
Several of them were enrolled in subsidized French classes but seemed to view it as meeting a requirement, not personal choice.
Murphy: Older folks do emigrate, it's not impossible :) If in Montreal, let's have coffee!
New places are full of things to do and explore. I say carpe diem...
I would welcome the opportunity to get to know a new city.
Hope that you were able to share some of your knowledge and wisdom with the newcomers.
C.
I am a big complainer--a legacy from my family. I have been working on it for years. I married a non-complainer from a non-complaining family.
Sometimes complainers just want some empathy. My husband learned that from one of Deborah Tannen's books. So empathize and maybe they'll stop.
hostess: I tried, but was met with blank stares. When I told a woman who was considering a move to Toronto that it is in fact more expensive there, she said "Oh NO!"
C. I was sad that their mourning for their old locales had obscured enjoying where they are. Maybe the women happy with Mtl were not there that day- which seemed to prove the adage that misery loves company.
frugal: One of my all-time favourite little books of wisdom is "A Complaint-Free World" by Will Bowen. He (compassionately) lists all the things we 'get' from complaining and suggests how to shift. Individuals, families and even workplaces can get locked into a pattern of complaint; it's so draining.
Empathy is a valuable first step- "empathy before education", as one of my teachers always said.
That said, I know that major transitions can be challenging, and one can feel unmoored for a long time. And some people, quite honestly, have limited bandwidth for being an explorer or pioneer.
I've joked that, when our people emigrated from Scotland et al, my husband would have been first in line, and I would have been second or third. My brothers, however, probably would have missed the boat....
Moving to a new city 2 yrs ago (though same country, definitely different from where I'd lived for 30 years) caused me to examine my own flexibility in this respect.
Though I know I'm over-simplifying, I think we're both happy where we are because we're from a "mustn't grumble" family -- we tend to focus on what we've got, not on what's missing.
Though I know a couple of kvetch-addicts and how wearing they can be.
Today is utterly beautiful here - I wonder if Duchesse's anguished expats are complaining that it is too hot?
Also, as a native Torontonian, I've always been jealous of you Montrealers :)
As for contentment, I've been reading over work and Renzo, my 17-year-old black cat, is lolling in a ray of sunshine on the hardwood floor and purring. (He does complain, though; he is half-Siamese)...
I hope Duchesse et Duc are out at a nearby café-terrasse...
Rachel: I lived in Toronto for 30 years (though was not born there); I enjoyed it greatly.
Grace: I too have had the "go home" thought but sometimes it is not possible in the immediate term. And some of the expats I've known, in various cities, do go home. The "new place" was idealized or the downsides ignored.
I think a place is what you make of it. There are always annoying things, but comparing them to back home doesn't make them go away. You just have to make the best of your situation.
The group was founded by a woman who sincerely wants to welcome expat women to the city and share its many appealing aspects. She was not present that day. I think thst if she had been, she might well have gently nudged the session toward the "glass half full" perspective.
Indeed, I have a friend from France who is a champion râleuse, and she has been here for quite a while. People here are "trop mou", they don't care about how animals are treated, etc, etc. Sadder still are some political refugees, who, after the honeymoon of freedom and not feeling death or torture, see people here as utterly insignificant. But when they return, their home countries have utterly changed...
Fortunately there are many counter-examples too...
Mme: Wonder if your openness (and that of many other commenters) is because we are older? Most were in their late 20s to early 30s. I kept asking myself if they'd have more flexibility if older. Not sure!
birdybegins: Thank you for representing the other side of the coin: an appreciation of a place or life that locals sometimes take for granted.