Expatriating Within the Bounds of Reality

I'm echoing this posting, but expressing it better and more leanly, and adding an expansive footnote:


I've chatted with umpteen Americans who viewed some YouTube video where some preternaturally well couple hoisted goblets of wine toward the camera, inviting them to join them in The Portuguese Lifestyle™ and thought "Yes! I want that!"

"Why not me? Why can't I be the one hoisting my goblet from the golden embrace of Mother Portugal, smiling vibrantly for the envious rabble?'

Entire Facebook groups are devoted to "We're here!" photos of random American couples ebulliently emerging from customs in Lisbon Airport with loads of luggage. It's a big moment for all of us, naturally. They actually call Portugal their "Forever Home", like fairytale princes and princesses set to live happily ever after in a magic kingdom.

If I need to tell you that it will not go well for them, then this essay won't go well for you. But enough seek out my advice that I've honed my thoughts to a very sharp edge. Obviously, it extends well beyond Portugal. But here goes:

Portugal does not give a fuck about you. Portugal will never give a fuck about you. This is not a resort where you will be welcomed and congratulated. No. No one gives a fuck. No one.

At this point, if they're still listening and haven't thrown their coffee in my face and run off down the street to get away from the bad man, we can have a conversation.

If you treat Portugal as a fresh backdrop for you to be who you already are and do what you already do, without expectation of anointment, then ok. That works. If so, there are two approaches:

1. You can preen in front of the backdrop, extending wine goblet toward camera with a glorious smile, flaunting your golden awesomeness.

You'd better be that person to begin with, because you won't transform into that via the power of make-believe.

2. Or you can lightly enjoy the fresh backdrop, generally keeping up your normal activities, no big deal.

Me, I didn't come here to preen, nor to be transformed into a preener, nor expecting welcome, support, or congratulations. I write, I play music, I cook, I eat, I watch movies, I walk, I ponder. Just like back home, only with great food and weather, low expenses, non-existent crime, and low narcissism (if I avoid American expats). I like the sound of Portuguese and share their sense of humor. I'm not able to gab full spiel, but enough to seem like part of the backdrop, and not some dropped-in astronaut bobbing languorously in zero G. And that's about it. It's not a vacation wonderland, it's just where I live.

No activities director is tasked with stoking my glee. It's more akin to, well, to actual life. It's what you make of it. You've enjoyed a minor refresh, not a systematic reset. Humans don't reset, sorry.

There are other ways to modestly swap in a new backdrop. You might be raising a family, or trying to start an online business, or drinking yourself to death. Just don't expect to become some new you because you're standing in front of a new backdrop. If you are the type who can utter the words "it's like home, but with a new backdrop" without your face falling in aggrieved disappointment, then it might work. If you can say it with amiable perkiness, then you'll be just fine.

Happiness is a simple flip of perspective: Say "This is as good as it gets" without gnashing your teeth or throwing a tantrum or retreating under the covers. Say it with sighing relief and blithe surrender to the moment—which is always lovely if you don't tell yourself stories about it (e.g. deliberately ballasting your happiness via a gratuitous recollection of your late lamented hamster Freddy).

If you can do that and then swap in a nice new backdrop like Portugal, it's pure delight. If you're ok as you are and where you are, you can drop in a fun new backdrop without demanding that it slake your neurotic thirsts. Being real is always an option. And even in the year of our lord 2026, reality has its rewards.