Living the dream abroad feels magical at first, until reality sets in.
Why is it that the things we once wanted most often slip quietly into the background?
Last week, after a long-awaited vacation in my home country, I returned to my “new” home abroad. As the taxi hauled my suitcase through the city, something felt different. The city lights that once dazzled me seemed duller. The glamour, the shine – gone. Instead, every small irritation leapt out at me, every cultural difference under a microscope. The dream I’d worked so hard for suddenly looked less like a dream and more like reality, flaws and all. That’s when it hit me: the glow of a dream-come-true fades faster than we’d like to admit.
Working here was something I fought for, something I once couldn’t wait to experience. Maybe it was the looming return to work after vacation. Maybe it was the thought of months stretching ahead before another break. Whatever it was, the feeling cut deep. Homesickness is part of the expat package, but this felt heavier than that. And I asked myself, is it possible that the excitement of living abroad comes with an expiration date?
The truth is, when you’re a foreigner, to some degree you always feel like the other. You can learn the language, navigate the culture, even build a life here – but you never stop noticing the differences. And sometimes, that awareness is exhausting. Expat life comes with an unspoken expectation of constant gratitude, of brushing off complaints because “you’re lucky to be here.” But the reality is simpler: living abroad is hard, and pretending it isn’t only makes it harder.
So I reached for the lifeline I knew would help: I called a friend. Through tears and laughter, we finally got to the point. How do you make homesickness disappear? Google will tell you to eat familiar snacks or listen to music from home. But in truth, it’s less about quick fixes and more about perspective.
I can romanticize the ease of life back home, but I can also name the exact reasons I left. I can list every frustration about my adopted country, but I can also accept them as part of the deal. Both truths can exist at once.
And maybe that’s the lesson: true luxury isn’t found in a new city, a new job, or a new wardrobe – it’s in the comfort of feeling at home in the life you’ve built. When we shift our focus to what’s working and let go of what we can’t control, life feels less heavy. It’s natural to pause, to feel sad, to process the hard parts, but staying there too long only keeps us stuck.
So I have to ask – are we ever really craving something new, or simply a fresh way to see the lives we already have?