From Down Under to Down South

Category: Essays

  • Starting Over at 49 Was Harder Than I Expected

    Starting Over at 49 Was Harder Than I Expected

    In the past three years, I’ve applied for more than 2500 jobs.

    That number sounds made up.

    Honestly, if somebody had told me a few years ago that a former regional banking manager with 24 years of experience would end up applying for Amazon warehouse jobs, driving for Uber, uploading résumés at midnight and getting rejected from roles he could probably do blindfolded… I would’ve assumed they’d taken a wrong turn somewhere.

    But here we are.

    And somewhere between application number 700 and application number 1800, I realised modern job searching has become its own form of psychological warfare.

    Upload your résumé.

    Now manually type your résumé back into smaller boxes.

    Write a cover letter.

    Now answer personality questions designed to determine whether you’re passionate enough about moving cardboard boxes.

    Then hear absolutely nothing ever again.

    I suspect I may now hold the unofficial world record for hearing nothing from HR departments.

    The strange part is… I wasn’t always “starting over.”

    I’ve actually done this before.

    Apparently I Have a Habit of Reinventing Myself

    When I left high school in Australia, I completed a four-year chef’s apprenticeship.

    Young Australian chef early in his hospitality career before later transitioning into banking and eventually media and storytelling.
    Before banking, there was hospitality, kitchens, Samoa, and another life altogether.

    I eventually became a sous chef and then landed an executive chef role in Samoa. Later I moved into hotel management in Fiji.

    Then I came back to Australia and realised something uncomfortable:

    I didn’t want to do it anymore.

    So I started again.

    I got a job as a bank teller.

    That somehow turned into a 24-year banking career.

    Over time I worked my way up through management until eventually I became a regional banking manager.

    Australian regional banking manager during his corporate career before leaving banking and later rebuilding his life in Tennessee.
    On paper, this probably looked like success. In many ways, it was.

    On paper, it probably looked like success.

    And financially, in many ways, it was.

    But toward the end, my life had quietly narrowed into work.

    I was commuting three hours a day.

    Working six days a week.

    Seventy-hour weeks had become normal.

    My youngest daughter was three and barely knew me.

    I’d become one of those blokes who spends his entire life providing for his family while somehow barely getting to participate in it.

    Then came the moment that broke me.

    In July 2023, after finally securing a transfer closer to home, my boss had me fire my second-in-charge before I even started. I’d have no backup which meant even longer hours.

    Then I was informed my office was being removed.

    No desk.

    No office.

    After 24 years.

    I quit on the spot.

    No backup plan.

    No next job.

    Nothing.

    At the time, I thought I was escaping burnout.

    In hindsight, I think I was also escaping a version of myself.

    The Part Nobody Talks About

    When most people picture unemployment, they imagine somebody sitting around not wanting to work.

    That wasn’t my reality at all.

    I wanted to work.

    I just didn’t want my entire identity consumed by corporate life anymore.

    When I first moved to America, I actually hoped I could transition into something more meaningful.

    Fraud or Investigations.

    Just wanting to help people without chasing targets and goals.

    Something where experience mattered.

    Instead, after four or five months, I ended up back in retail banking managing a downtown branch.

    And somehow, years later, I found myself sitting in front of LinkedIn at midnight applying for literally everything.

    Insurance roles.

    Fraud teams.

    Case management.

    911 dispatcher positions.

    Local police departments.

    Sheriff’s offices.

    Warehouse jobs.

    At one point I think I applied for enough positions to qualify as a full-time applicant.

    Laptop displaying online job applications late at night during a prolonged period of unemployment and career rebuilding.
    Somewhere along the way, job searching became its own full-time job.

    The strangest part was being simultaneously “overqualified” and unemployable.

    In the very few interviews I actually got, people would ask me why I wanted such “basic” jobs.

    Which is a very polite way of saying:

    “Why is somebody with your background here?”

    The truth?

    Because bills still arrive and kids still need dance lessons.

    Because groceries still cost money and pride doesn’t pay the electricity bill.

    And because somewhere along the way, I realised I no longer cared about status nearly as much as I cared about having a life.

    The Job I Thought Changed Everything

    There was one role that nearly broke me emotionally.

    A position with the Department of Community Services.

    It genuinely felt like the first job I’d ever applied for that aligned with who I actually was.

    I would’ve been working with victims of human trafficking and child abuse. Things I had experience in as a Bank Manager.

    Helping people.

    Something meaningful.

    I had a phone interview.

    Then a panel interview.

    Then I got the call.

    I got the job.

    I accepted it.

    Long government building hallway symbolizing the emotional weight and disappointment of losing a meaningful job opportunity later in life.
    For a little while, I thought I’d finally found something meaningful.

    I remember feeling absolutely ecstatic. Telling people excitedly.

    Honestly, I thought maybe my entire career had been leading toward this.

    Then it disappeared.

    Background checks revealed I didn’t have a university degree.

    Nobody had mentioned one was required.

    I had 24 years of banking leadership experience.

    International experience.

    Extensive management experience.

    The Chief Justice of the Tennessee Supreme Court as one of my references.

    Didn’t matter.

    No degree.

    No job.

    That one flattened me.

    I think that was the moment job searching stopped feeling frustrating and started feeling personal.

    After that, even the thought of another application made me physically recoil.

    The Quiet Shame of Starting Over Later in Life

    I’m 52 now.

    And while nobody will openly say it, I do believe age plays a role.

    Maybe it was age, or maybe it was being Australian.

    Maybe it was experience or that employers saw somebody who’d managed large teams and assumed I’d leave.

    Or maybe they preferred younger graduates, maybe all of it.

    I’ll never know.

    But I do know this:

    At some point, repeated rejection stops feeling professional and starts feeling existential.

    You stop wondering:

    “Why didn’t I get the job?”

    And start wondering:

    “Has the world quietly decided I’m past my use-by date?”

    That’s a hard feeling to explain to people.

    Especially as a man who spent most of his adult life being the provider.

    For years my role was simple:

    Work.

    Provide.

    Keep moving.

    And to be fair, I did that.

    But I also burned myself out doing it. Multiple times.

    I missed huge parts of life while climbing ladders that, in hindsight, weren’t attached to anything meaningful.

    Losing my Mum a few years ago changed something in me too.

    It made me realise life is a lot more fragile than corporations would like us to believe.

    One day you’re working 70-hour weeks.

    The next day the people you spoke to every day disappear.

    That was another strange lesson.

    People you think are your friends at work often aren’t.

    The moment you leave the system, the system moves on.

    Very quickly.

    The Unexpected Part

    Here’s the part I didn’t expect.

    Somewhere inside all this uncertainty, I accidentally found parts of myself again.

    Australian ballroom dancer practicing in Tennessee after rediscovering creativity, movement and identity beyond corporate life.
    Somewhere during all of this, I found my way back onto a dance floor too.

    I rediscovered dance.

    Built a media brand from scratch.

    I taught myself podcasting.

    Audio editing.

    Video editing.

    Writing.

    Graphics.

    Storytelling.

    I spend over 40 hours a week building it now. I’m sitting here at midnight writing this.

    Australian creator and podcaster building a media brand from home in Tennessee after leaving a long corporate banking career.
    Building the brand didn’t just give me work. It gave me a creative life again.

    And the funny part is… it doesn’t feel like work.

    Not because it isn’t real work.

    It absolutely is.

    But because for the first time in a very long time, it actually feels like me.

    Ironically, people often don’t see content creation as a “real job.”

    So these days when somebody asks what I do, I usually say:

    “I’m a writer.”

    That tends to confuse people less than saying:

    “I’m an Australian YouTuber and podcaster living in Tennessee trying to explain American goodbyes to the internet.”

    But while the financial side has been difficult, this period also gave me something banking never could.

    Time.

    I’ve been able to drive my daughters Georgia and Brianna to school.

    Take them to dance.

    Australian father with his daughters in Tennessee after leaving corporate banking and rebuilding a more present family life.
    For years I provided for my family. This period finally let me participate in it.

    Music lessons.

    Do the groceries.

    Be present.

    And honestly?

    I’ve loved it.

    I think somewhere along the way, I realised the version of success I’d spent decades chasing may not actually have been mine.

    So Where Does That Leave Me?

    Recently, after nearly three years of applications and rejection, I was offered a part-time job in a completely unrelated field.

    The interview was quick.

    Simple.

    Human.

    And the next day they offered me the role.

    No endless personality tests, or corporate theatre.

    No twenty-stage recruitment process requiring the emotional resilience of a Navy SEAL.

    Just:

    “You seem capable. We’d like to hire you.”

    Honestly, I felt everything at once.

    Relief.

    Exhaustion.

    Sadness.

    Gratitude.

    Maybe even grief.

    Because part of me wanted the media brand to become fully sustainable before I ever had to go back to regular employment.

    But another part of me knows something important now:

    I don’t actually want my old life back.

    Australian creator in Tennessee rediscovering humour and everyday joy after leaving a long corporate banking career.
    Turns out happiness sometimes looks less like a boardroom and more like bothering skeletons at a Spirit Halloween store.

    Financially?

    Sure.

    There are parts of it I miss.

    But the version of me who only existed to work?

    No.

    I’ve already done that.

    Twice, apparently.

    And maybe that’s the strangest lesson in all of this.

    Careers are chapters.

    Not identities.

    At 18, I thought I was a chef.

    Then at 30, I thought I was a banker.

    At 52, I’m honestly not completely sure what I am yet.

    But I know this:

    I’m bigger than my job title.

    And if this whole experience has taught me anything, it’s that starting over can happen to anyone.

    Even the people who looked successful from the outside.

    Life After Corporate Work

    There were nights during all of this where I’d finish another application, close the laptop, and wonder whether I’d somehow become invisible.

    That was part of the reason I started writing more honestly about identity, migration and life between cultures here on the website. Articles like What America Gets Right, After Living Here for 8 Years and When the Show Becomes the Focus came directly out of this period of my life.

    I think when your career identity starts falling apart a bit, you begin trying to make sense of yourself in other ways.

    For me, that became storytelling.

    Podcasting.

    Writing.

    And weirdly enough… ballroom dancing.

    Going back to dance after all these years genuinely helped my mental health more than I expected. There’s something strangely grounding about having to focus on timing, movement and not tripping over your own feet for ninety minutes.

    Honestly, this whole brand exists because I finally stopped pretending work was the only meaningful thing about me.

    If you’ve found yourself in that strange middle ground too — between careers, identities, countries, expectations, or versions of yourself — you might also connect with some of the other stories I’ve written:

    And if you prefer listening while driving, walking or pretending to exercise like I do, the podcast lives here too:

    From Down Under to Down South Podcast

    You’ll also find it on iTunes and Spotify or wherever you listen to podcasts.

    These days I’m still building.

    Still figuring things out.

    Still trying to create something sustainable.

    But for the first time in a very long time, I actually feel connected to the life I’m living while I’m living it.

    And that feels worth something.

    If you’d like to support the brand while I continue building all this from Tennessee, you can also shout an Aussie creator a coffee here:

    Hoo roo maties.

  • The Small Things Australians Miss After Moving to America

    The Small Things Australians Miss After Moving to America

    You think the big things will be what you miss when you move overseas.

    Family. Friends. Familiar places.

    And you do miss those things.

    But honestly… some of the strongest homesickness hits come from standing in an American supermarket looking for chicken salt.

    Or opening a packet of “Australian-style” lollies and realising they just don’t taste right.

    I’ve lived in America for around eight years now, and over time I’ve realised that home slowly becomes a collection of tiny things.

    Little routines. Familiar foods. Smells. Phrases.

    Small comforts that quietly remind you who you are.

    Australian food care packages for expat overseas
    A typical care package from Australia never lasts long in our house.

    Vegemite Becomes a Survival Item

    We go through a lot of Vegemite in our house.

    We normally keep four or five jars in the cupboard at any given time.
    I have it most mornings on toast, and both of our girls love it too. Nikki’s mum sends it to us in bulk from Australia, so at any given moment there are usually four or five jars sitting in the cupboard like emergency supplies.

    If we ever got down to one jar, I’d probably start rationing it.

    Americans are fascinated by Vegemite too. Whenever friends come over, it eventually turns into:
    “Alright then… let’s see you try it.”

    The reactions are usually dramatic. But for Australians overseas, Vegemite isn’t really about the taste anymore. It’s familiarity. It’s routine. It’s sitting at the kitchen table in the morning feeling, for a few minutes at least, like you’re back home again.

    I talked more about the strange experience of keeping an Australian identity while living overseas in this article:

    Allens snake lollies

    Australian Road Trips Just Feel Different

    One of the things I never expected to miss was Australian road trip culture.

    Growing up, road trips for us usually meant driving from Canberra to the coast, or inland to see Nikki’s family in Griffith. And before every trip, there was always the same ritual.

    Fill up the car.

    Go into the servo.

    Buy a bag of Allen’s snakes, maybe some other lollies, and drinks for the drive.

    There was something oddly comforting about it.

    Now, in America, we’ve replaced that ritual with Buc-ee’s stops.

    And honestly? Buc-ee’s is incredible.

    Australia has absolutely nothing like it.

    But even now, grabbing nuts or lunch at Buc-ee’s still doesn’t quite hit the same emotional note as buying a bag of snakes before heading down the highway in Australia.

    Part of that is because the lollies here just aren’t the same. The snakes are too sweet. Even the Cadbury chocolate tastes different because the version sold here is British Cadbury, not Australian Cadbury. You don’t realise how specific your memories are until you try to recreate them somewhere else.

    Every now and then we’ll order a mixed Australian lolly box online just because we are feeling homesick.

    • I’ve spoken before about how living overseas slowly changes the way you think, sound and even remember home, the below video is a great example of that.

    Care Packages Mean More Than You’d Think

    Care packages from Australia hit differently when you live overseas.

    Nikki’s mum sends boxes over for us and the girls, usually packed with Australian food, little gifts, chocolates, random surprises… and somehow it always feels bigger than just “stuff.”

    australian care package sent to expat overseas

    One year my old workplace in Australia sent us a huge Christmas box filled with Australian snacks, games, soccer balls, all sorts of things.

    It honestly felt like someone had posted a piece of Australia directly to our front door.

    And for the girls, it’s not even necessarily the food they love most.

    It’s knowing that Nanna packed it.

    That connection matters.

    I will admit though that they always beat me to the Caramello Koalas, they barely last a few days.

    Australian Bakeries Overseas Are Usually Disappointing

    This might upset a few people, but Australian bakeries overseas are almost always disappointing.

    We’ve been to Australian bakeries in America — including one in Atlanta that’s pretty good — but it’s still not quite the same.

    There’s also an Australian-owned café near us in Tennessee that sells meat pies and sausage rolls.

    Again… not even close to home.

    The funny thing is, the first thing I want when I land back in Australia isn’t anything fancy.

    It’s a bakery stop.

    A sausage roll.

    A meat pie.

    A vanilla slice.

    And an iced coffee Dare.

    That’s home.

    I make my own sausage rolls here now because sometimes it’s easier than trying to recreate the feeling through substitutes. We buy Jamaican meat pies and chicken pasties occasionally too, and while they’re definitely not Australian pies, they scratch a similar itch. Close enough becomes an important concept when you live overseas.

    Smells Become Emotional Time Machines

    Smell might actually be the strongest trigger of all.

    The bush after rain.

    Gum trees.

    The ocean.

    Jervis Bay National Park Australia

    Sunscreen.

    That hot Australian air right before a storm rolls in.

    Sometimes you’ll randomly smell something in America that takes you straight back to Australia for half a second before reality catches up again.

    It’s strange how powerful that can be. Even thinking about it now makes me a bit homesick.

    Watching Your Kids Grow Up Between Two Cultures

    One of the strangest parts of living overseas long term is watching your kids slowly become a blend of both countries.

    We still celebrate Australia Day at home, although having a barbecue in January is a bit harder when there’s snow outside in Tennessee.

    I try teaching the girls Aussie slang too.

    “How’s it goin’ mate.”
    “Yeah nah.”
    “No worries.”

    And Georgia especially will switch between Australian and American words or accents depending on who she’s talking to.

    It’s fascinating to watch.

    Because in some ways, that’s exactly what living overseas feels like yourself. You slowly become a mix of places.

    The Small Things Matter More Than You Expect

    I think that’s the biggest surprise about moving overseas.

    Home stops being one giant thing.

    It becomes little things.

    A jar of Vegemite in the cupboard.

    A care package from family.

    A bag of snakes before a road trip.

    A bakery stop after a long flight.

    A phrase your kids still say with an Australian accent.

    Tiny things that remind you who you were before life got complicated.

    And maybe that’s why Australians overseas hold onto those small comforts so tightly. Because sometimes the smallest things are the ones that make a place feel like home again.

    If you enjoy these Australia vs America reflections, I also talk about them regularly over on the podcast and YouTube channel:

  • Australians Have Bogans. Americans Have Rednecks. Here’s The Difference.

    Australians Have Bogans. Americans Have Rednecks. Here’s The Difference.

    If you ask an Australian what a bogan is, there’s a good chance they’ll immediately say:

    “Basically Australia’s version of a redneck.”

    And honestly… that’s not completely wrong.

    A bogan is usually someone seen as rough around the edges, loud, proudly uncultured, and deeply committed to their own style regardless of what society thinks about it.

    But like most Australian things, it’s a bit more complicated than that.

    Because in Australia, “bogan” can be:

    • an insult
    • a joke
    • a personality type
    • or something people weirdly become proud of once they hit their 30s.

    Especially once winter arrives and half the country suddenly looks like it’s preparing for a camping trip to Bunnings.

    So… What Actually Is a Bogan?

    The easiest way to explain a bogan to Americans is this:

    Imagine someone who:

    • drinks energy drinks like water
    • owns at least one pair of thongs specifically for the servo
    • thinks a loud exhaust adds horsepower
    • and has definitely said “yeah nah” during a serious conversation.

    That’s roughly the territory we’re working with.

    There’s also a decent chance they:

    • own a Holden Commodore
    • wear a flanno year-round
    • have strong opinions about meat pies
    • and know someone named “Dazza.”

    And before Australians start yelling at me…

    Yes, women can absolutely be bogans too.

    Women Can Be Bogans Too

    Important clarification here:
    bogans are not exclusively blokes.

    Australia has produced many female bogans over the years too.

    Usually identified by:

    • oversized sunglasses
    • aggressively highlighted hair
    • iced coffee
    • and the ability to yell across an entire carpark without moving.

    There’s also a strong chance of seeing:

    • fake leopard print somewhere
    • a cigarette being held with deep emotional commitment
    • and at least one sentence beginning with:

    “Listen here, hun…”

    Growing Up Around Bogans

    I grew up on the south coast of NSW in a town called Nowra, which Australians would politely describe as “a bit bogan.”

    And by “a bit bogan,” I mean there was a decent chance of seeing:

    • someone doing laps of the main street for three straight hours
    • someone arguing outside Centerlink before 9am
    • or half the Bomaderry Pub carpark filled with Commodores held together by stickers and optimism.

    Australian country towns also have a long tradition where young people simply drive up and down the same street repeatedly for entertainment. (I may have done that myself in my yellow Datsun 180b years ago too).

    Which sounds ridiculous now that I say it out loud…

    …but honestly, we all did it.

    But Not Everyone in a Flanno Is a Bogan

    This is where Americans can get confused.

    Because Australia has a lot of overlap in clothing.

    Tradies wear flannos.
    Farmers wear flannos.
    Half of Canberra wears flannos once winter hits.

    Wearing one doesn’t automatically make you a bogan.

    Otherwise half the country would qualify by July.

    My wife loves calling me a bogan because I wear flannos around the house, but honestly, if you’ve spent a winter in Canberra you realise the entire city starts looking like a camping catalogue.

    UGG boots everywhere.
    Flannos everywhere.
    People scraping ice off their windscreen holding servo coffees the size of paint tins.

    Canberra might be Australia’s capital…

    …but there’s a strong argument it’s also the flanno capital.

    And regional Australia is different again.

    You’ll see plenty of farmers in old flannos and muddy boots, but that doesn’t make them bogans. That’s just practical country Australia.

    A farmer with an Akubra and an old ute is not the same thing as a bloke doing burnouts outside a kebab shop at midnight while blasting AC/DC through a cracked Bluetooth speaker.

    There are levels to this.

    Bogans Exist in New Zealand Too

    Australians don’t fully own bogan culture either.

    New Zealand absolutely has bogans too.

    Slightly different flavour…
    same overall energy.

    More likely to involve:

    • rugby
    • old Falcons
    • stubbies
    • and someone named “Gazza” yelling across a backyard.

    Australians and New Zealanders may disagree on many things…

    …but both countries can instantly recognise a bloke wearing a flanno carrying a box of beer like it’s an Olympic event.

    Bogans and Eshays Are Also Different

    Now before Australians start another argument in the comments…

    Eshays are a completely different category again.

    Different haircut.
    Different posture.
    Different soundtrack.

    Usually found travelling in packs near train stations while wearing enough Nike gear to qualify as sponsored athletes.

    A bogan might own a Holden Commodore on purpose.

    An eshay is more likely to ask if you’ve got a spare vape.

    Australians know these are completely different subcultures, even if they occasionally overlap in the wild.

    Famous Australian Bogans on TV

    If Americans want a rough cultural reference point, Kath & Kim is probably the best introduction to suburban Australian bogan energy.

    Not every bogan looks like Kim Craig…

    …but every Australian knows someone who reminds them of her.

    Housos is what happens when you turn the dial all the way to maximum.

    Australia’s greatest cultural achievement might honestly be our ability to create entire TV shows based around people yelling in thongs outside a servo.

    So… Are Bogans Australia’s Version of Rednecks?

    Kind of.

    But Australian bogans usually feel a bit more suburban than rural.

    Less camouflage.
    More flanno.
    Less pickup truck.
    More Holden Commodore with one mismatched door.

    And unlike America, Australians tend to joke about bogans constantly — including themselves.

    That’s probably the biggest difference.

    Deep down, most Australians know they’ve got at least a tiny bit of bogan in them somewhere.

    Usually it appears:

    • at Bunnings
    • during summer cricket
    • or while wearing UGG boots to the shops pretending it’s acceptable.

    Which, to be fair…

    it absolutely is.

  • This Week in America — A Kentucky Weekend: Dance, Derby & the Moments You Don’t Plan

    This Week in America — A Kentucky Weekend: Dance, Derby & the Moments You Don’t Plan

    We travelled to Louisville this week for a dance competition.

    That was the plan, at least.

    But I’ve noticed something about these weekends.

    They rarely stay as simple as the reason you go.

    The Drive In — When a City Takes Over

    We arrived just before the lead-up to the Kentucky Derby.

    And the city already felt like it was gearing up.

    Traffic backed up everywhere.
    Police on the roads.
    That quiet sense that something big was about to happen.

    We were still twenty minutes out and:

    • the GPS kept changing
    • the girls were asking how much longer every six minutes
    • Nikki had moved into that calm voice that means she’s not calm
    • and I was confidently choosing alternate routes despite having no idea where I was going

    Which, as a husband and father, is one of the more pointless confidence moves available.

    When a Place Has Its Own Identity

    We were there for dance.

    Louisville was there for Louisville.

    And I liked that.

    America does this well.

    When something matters locally, it doesn’t stay contained.
    It spills into the streets.

    You feel it—even if you’re not part of it.

    The Fort Knox Moment

    Driving through, we saw signs for Fort Knox.

    For most people here, that’s just another exit.

    For me growing up in Australia, it was one of those names that felt almost mythical—
    like Hollywood or Wall Street.

    Seeing it casually written on a highway sign made me laugh.

    Only in America does a dance weekend casually involve Fort Knox.

    A City with Weight

    Then there were the bridges over the Ohio River.

    I’ve always liked bridges.

    They make a place feel like it matters.

    Louisville has that solid feel to it—
    river, steel, history.

    It feels like a place shaped by doing things, not just talking about them.

    Owning Greatness

    The Muhammad Ali murals stood out straight away.

    Louisville doesn’t hide who came from there.

    It claims him.

    And I respect that.

    Australia can be a bit different—we admire people, but we also like bringing them back down to earth.

    America seems more comfortable simply saying:

    “This person was great.”

    There’s something refreshing in that.

    A Side Trip with Brianna

    While Georgia was tied up with competition, Brianna and I explored downtown.

    Those little side moments with your kids matter more as you get older.

    Less about where you are.
    More about being there together.

    Turning Culture Into Experience

    We stopped at the Louisville Slugger Museum & Factory.

    And it’s a very American idea.

    Take something simple—like a baseball bat—
    and turn it into something you can walk through.

    Even without growing up with baseball, I enjoyed it.

    College Sport — Still Hard to Process

    The scale of college sport still surprises me.

    Massive stadiums.
    Serious infrastructure.

    Back home, it exists.

    Here, in some places, it feels like something much bigger.

    Bourbon and Unexpected Conversations

    That night, I ended up at the hotel bar with another dance dad.

    And got an unexpected introduction to Kentucky bourbon.

    Not casually.

    Properly.

    I nodded through most of it, adding expert commentary like:

    “Yeah… that’s smooth.”

    Completely useless.

    Still appreciated.

    What I Noticed About People

    People here are generous with what they love.

    No gatekeeping.

    Just:

    “Here, try this.”
    “Let me tell you why this one matters.”

    That stays with you.

    The Moment That Actually Mattered

    But the real highlight was Georgia.

    She danced her best solo of the year.

    And placed seventh out of twenty.

    Parents see what sits behind a performance.

    The practice.
    The frustration.
    The doubt.

    And then one day, it clicks.

    Fifteen seconds in, I knew.

    She looked calm.
    Settled.
    Like herself.

    That’s the moment.

    Dance Competitions in America

    Not Trying to Be Someone Else

    Georgia dances lyrical.

    Slower. More controlled. More expressive.

    Often up against louder, faster routines.

    So placing felt even better.

    She wasn’t trying to be someone else.

    Cracker Barrel and a Strange Thought

    On the way home, we stopped at Cracker Barrel.

    Sitting on the porch, something crossed my mind.

    This feels like home.

    Which is a strange thought for someone born in Australia.

    But maybe home changes.

    Maybe it grows.

    Of Course We Stopped at Buc-ee’s

    And naturally, we stopped at Buc-ee’s.

    Because no road trip here feels complete without it.

    You can fuel the car, buy snacks, grab merchandise…

    …and somehow leave with more than you planned.

    Every time.

    Closing Reflection

    We went for dance.

    But we came home with more.

    That’s something I keep noticing about life here.

    You head somewhere for one reason…

    …and the place adds its own chapters.

    A conversation.
    A moment.
    A feeling you didn’t expect.

    That’s usually how the best weekends happen.

    Not through grand plans.

    Just ordinary things unfolding well.

    For more reflections like this, tune in to the weekly podcast.

    🔗 Internal Links (END BLOCK)

    You might also enjoy:

  • What Americans Always Ask Australians (And What They’re Really Getting At)

    What Americans Always Ask Australians (And What They’re Really Getting At)

    There’s a moment that happens pretty quickly when you move overseas.

    Someone hears your accent…
    pauses for half a second…
    and then decides to ask something.

    Not always the same thing.

    But close enough.

    After a while, you start to recognise the pattern —
    and not just the questions themselves,
    but it’s what’s sitting underneath them.

    Because it’s not really curiosity about Australia.

    It’s someone trying to work out…
    who you are.

    Where you fit.

    What’s different.
    What’s familiar.

    And I’ve realised over time —
    I’ve done exactly the same thing in reverse.

    The animal question always comes first

    It usually opens with some version of:

    “Doesn’t everything in Australia want to kill you?”

    Spiders. Snakes. Sharks.

    Sometimes all three in the same sentence.

    And the answer is… not really.

    We’re not navigating daily life like it’s a survival show.

    But there are small habits that probably sound strange if you didn’t grow up with them.

    Like checking your shoes before putting them on.

    Quick shake. Done.

    It’s not fear.
    It’s just… normal.

    What surprised me later was realising how relative that is.

    The first time I saw a bear here in Tennessee, I stopped and stared like it was something out of a documentary.

    Meanwhile, everyone else just… kept moving.

    The moment your accent stops working

    There’s a second phase that comes after the animal question.

    It’s quieter.

    Usually just one word:

    “Huh?”

    Drive-throughs are where it shows up the most.

    Something about the speaker, the speed, the expectation — it just doesn’t line up.

    You repeat yourself. Slow it down. Try again.

    Sometimes it clicks.

    Sometimes it doesn’t.

    And occasionally… it’s easier to change restaurants than change your accent.

    It’s not frustration, really.

    More like a reminder that language isn’t just words — it’s rhythm, tone, familiarity.

    Then come the questions that reveal assumptions

    Some questions aren’t really about information.

    They’re about what people have already been told.

    “Do you celebrate Thanksgiving?”

    We don’t have anything like it in Australia.

    But it’s become one of my favourite parts of living here.

    There’s something about the simplicity of it.

    No presents. No expectations.

    Just food, time, and people staying a little longer than usual.

    The conversations tend to drift a bit deeper.

    The pace softens.

    It feels… intentional.

    It’s one of those things you don’t realise you’re missing until you experience it.

    👉Read more: Is American Friendliness Real or Fake?

    👉 The Ultimate Thanksgiving Cookbook

    “Does the water spin the other way?”

    This one sits somewhere between science and myth.

    And for a moment, it actually made me question my own memory.

    Like… have I just never noticed this?

    But no.

    Water just goes down the drain.

    Same as everywhere else.

    I’ve found the easiest way to handle it is confidence.

    “It’s the Coriolis effect.”

    No explanation.

    Just enough certainty to move things along.

    “Do you speak English in Australia?”

    I usually say:

    “Nah, picked it up when I got here.”

    There’s always a brief pause while that lands.

    And then the realisation.

    But in fairness — it goes both ways.

    There are accents here I still struggle with.

    Moments where I’ve had to stop and think:

    “…that’s English, is it?”

    It’s not about intelligence.

    It’s just exposure.

    The question that’s really about you

    At some point, the tone shifts slightly.

    The question becomes more personal.

    “Why would you move here from Australia?”

    Sometimes I joke about the emu war.

    Sometimes I don’t.

    Because the real answer isn’t dramatic.

    I just wanted to experience something different.

    But living somewhere else does something you don’t expect.

    It makes you notice things you never paid attention to before.

    About the place you moved to.

    And about the place you came from.

    👉 Read more: This Week in America: Warmth, Friendship & Cultural Differences

    The version of Australia people carry in their head

    A lot of the questions come from a very specific picture of Australia.

    Hot. Flat. Beaches. Outback.

    So when you mention snow… it throws people.

    But it does snow.

    Not everywhere. Not often.

    But enough to shift that image slightly.

    Australia isn’t one thing.

    It’s just the version people have seen is usually the simplest one.

    And then there are the lines that never quite go away

    “Put a shrimp on the barbie.”

    It still comes up.

    Usually with a smile.

    And to be fair… I get it.

    Every country has those phrases that travel further than reality.

    I’ll normally just say:

    “We call them prawns.”

    And that’s usually enough.

    What I’ve come to realise

    After a while, the questions matter less.

    You stop hearing them as literal.

    And start hearing what they’re really about.

    Someone noticing something unfamiliar…
    and trying to make sense of it.

    The same way I’ve done here.

    Just in reverse.

    🎬 If you prefer watching this instead

    A quieter reflection

    If you enjoy these small moments — the things you don’t notice until you do —
    I talk about them more in my weekly podcast:

    👉 This Week in America

    It’s a bit looser.
    More like a conversation than a video.

    Final thought

    Living overseas doesn’t change who you are.

    It just removes the shortcuts.

    And suddenly, things you never questioned before…
    become visible.

    Thanks for reading. Hoo roo maties.

  • Representing Australia in Tennessee Felt Like Home

    Representing Australia in Tennessee Felt Like Home

    Some weeks don’t arrive with one big headline.

    They come as a collection of smaller moments. Things that seem ordinary while they’re happening, then linger afterward. A conversation here. A surprise there. Something familiar appearing in an unexpected place.

    That was this week for me.

    Not dramatic. Not life-changing.

    Just quietly revealing what it actually feels like to live in America as an Australian.

    The School Night That Brought Australia to Tennessee

    Recently, Georgia and I took part in her school’s very first international night.

    Around fifteen countries were represented. Booths from places like Uzbekistan, Samoa, Guatemala, India… and there we were for Australia.

    It felt a little surreal standing in a Tennessee school gym representing home.

    What We Brought to the Australian Booth

    We tried to keep it properly Australian:

    • Sausage rolls
    • Vegemite sandwiches
    • Fairy bread
    • Tim Tams
    • Violet Crumble

    Amazon has a great assortment of Aussie items these days in the US:

    Each child had a small passport and moved from country to country collecting stamps.

    It was a simple idea, but a brilliant one.

    They were learning about the world without it feeling like learning.

    That’s usually when education works best.

    Tim Tams Were the Stars of the Night

    The hall started off quiet.

    Then, almost without warning, it filled up.

    Families everywhere. Kids racing around with passports. Parents chatting. Music and movement in every direction.

    We ran out of food halfway through, which I took as a fairly strong sign we’d done alright.

    And yes — the Tim Tams disappeared at alarming speed.

    I may need to contact Arnott’s next year regarding sponsorship opportunities.

    Talking About Australia in the Middle of Tennessee

    What I enjoyed most wasn’t the food.

    It was simply standing there and talking about Australia.

    Some people had visited.
    Many wanted to go.
    Some wanted to discuss cricket.

    And that always catches me off guard a bit.

    You don’t expect to be having a cricket conversation in Tennessee.

    Yet there I was.

    That’s one of the lovely things about living overseas — home appears in strange places.

    The Unexpected Samoan Moment

    At one point I ended up speaking some Samoan with the neighbouring booth.

    That took me back instantly to the years I lived there.

    Funny how language works like that.

    You can go years without using something… then suddenly it returns as if it had only been waiting quietly in the corner.

    They were so excited they called their father over because there was “this guy here” who had lived there and could speak the language.

    For a moment, Tennessee disappeared.

    I was somewhere else entirely.

    Identity Carries Weight

    Our booth sat next to Belgium.

    The couple running it weren’t actually Belgian.

    She was from Belarus, but with everything happening in the world, she didn’t feel comfortable representing that nationality publicly right now.

    So they chose Belgium.

    That stayed with me.

    Because where you’re from can carry more emotional weight than people realise. Sometimes pride. Sometimes pain. Even complexity.

    Identity isn’t always simple.

    Bluey, Bingo and Vegemite Reactions

    Georgia disappeared quickly once her friends arrived, which felt extremely on-brand for a child whose father was left doing passport duties for hundreds of children.

    We also had Bluey and Bingo there.

    That may have been the most popular part of the entire booth.

    And surprisingly, plenty of people liked the Vegemite.

    Though not everyone.

    There were still a few faces that suggested immediate regret, followed by a quiet search for the nearest bin.

    What It Felt Like

    I walked away thinking how much I enjoyed representing Australia.

    Not just missing it.

    Not just talking about it.

    But sharing it.

    There’s something grounding about that when you live overseas.

    Georgia’s Sleepover and a New Normal

    Not long after that, Georgia had a sleepover.

    There was:

    • an American girl
    • a Polish girl
    • a Spanish girl
    • and our Aussie girl

    All just hanging out together as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

    Because to them, it is.

    No labels. No special meaning.

    Just friends.

    When I was growing up in Australia, you noticed where people were from more. Not negatively — it was simply more visible.

    For this generation, diversity often isn’t something they comment on.

    They’re just growing up inside it.

    And there’s something genuinely beautiful about that.

    Easter in America Still Feels Different

    Another reminder of cultural difference came through Easter.

    Back home in Australia, Easter often feels like the country collectively slows down.

    Good Friday. Easter Monday. Shops closed. A pause in rhythm.

    Here in America, much of life keeps moving.

    Banks open. Businesses open. Things rolling on.

    For a place where faith can be very visible publicly, that contrast still feels interesting to me.

    Sometimes what stands out most in another country is what doesn’t happen.

    The Ice-in-Drinks Theory

    A podcast listener messaged me after I mentioned how much ice Americans use in drinks.

    They said:

    “It’s basically a scam.”

    And once that idea enters your mind, it’s hard to ignore.

    You take a few sips. Look down.

    And realise you’re mostly holding frozen optimism.

    The America You See vs The America You Live

    People back home sometimes ask how we can live here.

    Because the America shown in the news can feel intense, loud and relentless.

    But day-to-day life is mostly school runs, groceries, dance classes, errands, dinner, routines.

    Normal life.

    That’s probably the hardest thing to explain from a distance.

    Not that difficult things never happen.

    Just that everyday life rarely looks like headlines.

    Final Thought

    Living overseas has taught me that countries are never fully understood through headlines, stereotypes, or internet arguments.

    They’re understood through ordinary moments.

    School nights. Snack tables. Children laughing. Unexpected conversations. Shared routines.

    Quiet things.

    And often, those quiet things mean the most.

    Related Reads

    Why Are Americans So Polite? An Australian Explains the Cultural Difference
    Why American Goodbyes Feel Faster Than Australian Goodbyes

    Thanks for reading. Hoo roo maties.

  • What Is Australian Chicken Salt? (And Why Aussies Put It On Everything)

    What Is Australian Chicken Salt? (And Why Aussies Put It On Everything)

    There are certain things you don’t realise are uniquely Australian… until you leave.

    Chicken salt is one of them.

    It’s not something you think about growing up. It just exists — on hot chips at the local takeaway, shaken over a roast chook from the supermarket, sitting quietly next to the vinegar bottle like it’s always been there.

    Then you move overseas… and suddenly it’s gone.

    You can find just about anything in the US if you look hard enough — but chicken salt isn’t one of them. Not really. Not the way we know it.

    And it’s strange how something so small ends up carrying a bit of home with it.

    What Is Chicken Salt?

    Chicken salt is a seasoned salt blend that’s become a staple across Australia — especially on hot chips.

    Despite the name, it’s not always about chicken. It’s about flavour.

    Salty, savoury, slightly smoky… and just enough depth that plain chips suddenly feel like something more.

    Every shop does it slightly differently. Every Aussie has a version they swear by.

    This is a simple, classic blend — the kind that gets you close to what you remember.

    If you’re after that classic takeaway flavour, this Red Rooster–style chicken seasoning is a good companion to this.

    Simple Chicken Salt Recipe

    Ingredients

    Instructions

    1. Add all ingredients to a bowl.
    2. Mix thoroughly until evenly combined.
    3. Store in an airtight container or spice jar.

    That’s it.

    No fuss. No complicated steps. Just a blend that works.

    How to Use Chicken Salt

    This is where it really earns its place.

    • Hot chips (of course — this is non-negotiable)
    • Roast potatoes
    • Grilled chicken
    • Popcorn (quietly underrated)
    • Even over eggs if you’re feeling adventurous

    It’s one of those things that doesn’t need explaining once you’ve tried it.

    Why Chicken Salt Matters More Than It Should

    It’s funny — chicken salt isn’t something Australians talk about much.

    But take it away, you notice.

    It’s tied to small moments:

    • standing at the counter while your order’s wrapped in paper
    • the smell of hot chips in the car on the way home
    • the quiet assumption that of course they’ll ask, “chicken salt?”

    Living overseas, you start to realise how many of those little things make up what feels normal.

    Chicken salt isn’t just seasoning.

    It’s familiarity.

    And sometimes, that’s what you miss more than anything else.

    A Quick Tip

    If you want to adjust it:

    • Add a bit more paprika for colour and mild sweetness
    • Increase the pepper for a sharper finish
    • Or dial back the salt slightly if your stock powder is already quite salty

    There’s no single “correct” version — just the one that tastes right to you.

    Bringing It All Together

    If you’ve been missing that proper Aussie take away flavour, this gets you pretty close.

    And if you’ve never had it before… this might be one of those small things that suddenly makes a lot more sense.

    Hoo roo maties!

  • What It’s Like Living in America (Tornado Warnings, NASA & Daily Life)

    What It’s Like Living in America (Tornado Warnings, NASA & Daily Life)

    Living in America as an Australian comes with moments you don’t expect — from tornado warnings to standing under a NASA rocket.

    This week had two of them.

    One where we were standing underneath a rocket that took people to the Moon…
    …and another where we were sitting downstairs close to midnight, waiting out a tornado warning.

    And somehow… both of them felt normal.

    That’s probably the part I wouldn’t have expected when I first moved here.

    The Quiet Shift You Don’t Notice

    When you first arrive somewhere new, everything stands out.

    The way people speak.
    How things are done.
    The way everyday interactions happen.

    You notice all of it.

    You’re constantly comparing it to what you’re used to.

    And in those early months, you feel very aware that you’re somewhere different.

    But over time… that awareness softens.

    Not all at once. Just gradually.

    You stop questioning as much.
    Things that once felt unusual start to feel expected.
    And you don’t really notice the shift happening.

    It just sort of… creeps in.

    Until you get a week like this—where a few moments line up—and you suddenly see it again from the outside.

    Waiting Out a Tornado (Like It’s Just Part of the Week)

    We had our first tornado warning of the season the other night.

    Late. Around midnight.

    There’s something about that time of night that changes everything.

    The house is quiet.
    The day’s done.
    Kids are asleep.

    And then suddenly… you’re waking them up.

    Not in a panic—but not casually either.

    There’s a tone to it.

    “Alright… let’s head downstairs.”

    We’ve done it before. The girls know what’s going on. They know where to go.

    And that’s the part that would’ve surprised me the most years ago—how quickly something like that becomes familiar.

    We went down into the safe room.
    Turned on the live coverage.

    And that’s another thing about storms here…

    You don’t just hear about them—you watch them.

    In real time.

    You see the storm moving across the map.
    You hear street names.
    Nearby towns.
    You listen for anything close to you.

    And you just… wait.

    Not panicking.
    But not relaxed either.

    Just aware.

    Even our cat, Bluey, came down with us—walking between the girls like he was checking on everyone.

    That moment… sitting together… waiting…

    It slows everything down.

    And then it’s over.

    Back upstairs.
    Back into bed.
    House quiet again.

    Just another part of life here.

    Tennessee Weather Has No Interest in Easing You In

    What made it even stranger…

    Two days earlier, I was in shorts.

    Sunday — warm.
    Sunday night — tornado warning.
    Monday — snow and ice.

    And no one really reacts like it’s dramatic.

    It’s just… the weather.

    Tennessee doesn’t ease you into anything.
    It just changes its mind.

    And people here just adjust.

    The Word “Reckon” (And the Things That Quietly Overlap)

    Someone mentioned in the comments recently that the word “reckon” gets used a lot here in the South.

    That made me pause.

    Because back home in Australia, it’s just… normal.

    “I reckon…”

    You don’t think about it.

    And then hearing it here—in a completely different part of the world—used in a similar way…

    It’s one of those small moments where things unexpectedly line up.

    Where you realise…

    Not everything is as different as it first seemed.

    Standing Under a Rocket That Went to the Moon

    A few days earlier, we’d taken a trip down to Huntsville, Alabama.

    To visit the U.S. Space & Rocket Center.

    You walk in… and there it is.

    A Saturn V rocket.

    And it’s hard to explain the scale of it until you’re standing underneath.

    It just keeps going.

    Section after section.
    Stage after stage.

    And you realise…

    This is what took people to the Moon.

    And around you?

    Families walking past.
    Kids running around.
    People stopping for photos.

    It’s not treated like something distant or untouchable.

    It’s just… there.

    Part of where you are.

    That’s something I’ve noticed living here—you don’t just learn about history…

    You live around it.

    Of Course There Was a Buc-ee’s Stop

    On the way home, we stopped at Buc-ee’s.

    Because you don’t not stop at Buc-ee’s.

    Teriyaki jerky again.

    Every time.

    If you want to try this, you can buy it from Amazon, you’ll also need some of their famous Beaver Nuggets to go with it.

    When Costco Flips on You

    We were in Costco the other day.

    And I realised something had flipped.

    Back in Canberra, we’d get excited about American products.

    Different brands.
    Different packaging.
    Things we didn’t normally see.

    Now?

    We’re in Tennessee…

    And it’s the Australian lamb that stands out.

    That’s what catches my eye.

    That’s what feels different.

    Watching Australia From the Other Side of the World

    Australia played Japan in the Women’s Asian Cup Final recently.

    6am start here in Nashville.

    And just trying to watch it…

    Subscriptions. Platforms. Apps.

    Back home, it would’ve just been on.

    No thought required.

    But I was up for it.

    Because those moments…

    They don’t change.

    The anthem.
    The teams walking out.

    It still hits the same.

    Maybe even more.

    What Changes… and What Doesn’t

    Living here changes a lot of things.

    What feels normal.
    What stands out.
    Things that feel familiar.

    But something I’ve noticed over time…

    The people I tend to connect with most here…

    Often aren’t from here either.

    Different countries. Different backgrounds.

    But there’s a shared understanding.

    They’ve had to learn a place… not just grow up inside it.

    And maybe that’s part of it.

    Because even as things shift…

    There are moments where you realise:

    That part of you hasn’t gone anywhere.

    It just shows up a bit differently now.

    Why American Goodbyes Feel Faster Than Australian Goodbyes

    Why Americans Say “You’re Welcome” So Often

    Final Thought

    What becomes normal… isn’t always what you expect.

    Sometimes it’s tornado warnings at midnight.

    Sometimes it’s standing under a rocket that went to the Moon.

    And sometimes…

    It’s just realising you didn’t notice the change happening at all.

    That was this week in America.

  • When School Starts to Feel Like HR (An Aussie Perspective)

    When School Starts to Feel Like HR (An Aussie Perspective)

    This week, something happened that made me pause.

    Not because it was dramatic.
    And not because anyone had done anything wrong.

    It was just… one of those moments where two different systems quietly collided.

    The Email

    Earlier this week, I received an email from Georgia’s school.

    The subject line was about attendance.

    Apparently, she’s had five unexcused absences this year—and because of that, I now have to attend a meeting with the principal and the school counsellor.

    The interesting part is… I don’t actually know what the five absences are yet.

    That comes later. In a letter. From the state.

    The email itself didn’t explain anything. It just said we’d crossed a threshold—and now a conversation needs to happen.

    And when I read it, my first reaction wasn’t confusion.

    It was recognition.

    I Knew This System Immediately

    I spent 25 years working in banking.

    And almost instantly, I knew exactly what I was looking at.

    This wasn’t really a school system.

    It was an HR system.

    Track the events.
    Log them.
    Wait for the threshold.

    Then trigger the process.

    • Informal conversation
    • Formal conversation
    • Documentation

    Except this time… the “employee” is ten years old.

    And if you’ve ever worked inside structured systems like that, you’ll recognise the feeling straight away — that moment where you stop and go, ah… I know exactly how this is going to play out.

    This Is Something I’ve Noticed More Over Time

    This wasn’t the first time I’d had that feeling.

    It’s something I’ve noticed more and more the longer I’ve lived in America — the way everyday situations are quietly shaped by systems underneath.

    Because it’s the same underlying pattern — structure first, human interpretation second.

    If you’ve seen that video, you’ll recognise it here too.

    What Actually Counts as “Absent”?

    Now I do know a couple of the days they’re probably referring to.

    One of them was when I picked Georgia up early so we could drive five hours to a dance competition.

    If you’re a dance parent, you’ll recognise that rhythm immediately.

    Long drives. Early starts. Costumes packed the night before.

    If you’re in that world, this is actually one of the best things we’ve ended up relying on for comp weekends:

    Because none of that fits neatly into a school system.

    But the system doesn’t see any of that.

    That absence wasn’t excused.

    The Five-Minute Absence

    Another one?

    She arrived about five minutes late one morning.

    At her school, if you’re late, you don’t just walk into class—you check in through the front office.

    And once that happens…

    It’s logged.

    Now that five-minute delay sits in the same column as a full-day absence.

    Not because it’s the same thing.

    But because the system records entries—not meaning.

    Where It Starts to Feel… Mechanical

    And this is the part that stood out.

    The system isn’t designed to interpret context.

    It’s designed to record events.

    • Late arrival → logged
    • Early departure → logged
    • Absence → logged

    Once the number hits a certain point…

    The process activates.

    That’s when the email arrives.

    That’s when the meeting gets scheduled.

    And suddenly something that feels like normal life…

    Feels procedural.

    I’ve Seen This Before — In a Completely Different Way

    Earlier this year, I applied for a role with Child Protective Services.

    It was something I genuinely felt drawn to.

    After years in banking — dealing with fraud, scams, and vulnerable customers — it felt like a natural extension of that work.

    The idea of helping protect children felt meaningful.

    I went through the process.

    And I was offered the job.

    But there was one problem.

    I don’t have a university degree.

    When Systems Ask a Different Question

    It didn’t matter what I’d done.

    It didn’t matter the experience.

    Because the system wasn’t asking:

    “What has he done?”

    It was asking:

    “What box does he tick?”

    And once again…

    I recognised the structure immediately.

    This Is What Living Between Systems Feels Like

    This is something that becomes clearer the longer you live between countries.

    Not the obvious differences.

    The subtle ones.

    Because this is exactly what that feels like.

    Not big cultural shocks.

    Just small, revealing moments.

    It’s Not About Right or Wrong

    To be fair—these systems exist for good reasons.

    Schools need to track attendance.

    There are real situations where children are missing school for serious reasons.

    Structure helps identify those situations.

    The same way hiring requirements create consistency.

    It’s not broken.

    It’s just… structured.

    But It Creates These Moments

    Because every now and then…

    The system and real life don’t quite line up.

    A five-hour drive to a dance competition becomes an attendance issue.

    A five-minute delay becomes an absence.

    And normal life starts to feel like it’s being processed.

    If You’ve Noticed This Too

    This is one of those patterns that keeps showing up in different ways.

    👉 You’ll see the same idea here:
    American Goodbyes

    👉 And here:
    American Politness

    Different situations.

    Same underlying structure.

    A Quick Note

    If you enjoy these kinds of reflections — the small, in-between moments that don’t usually get talked about —

    you can support the channel here:

    👉 https://buymeacoffee.com/fromdownundertodownsouth

    One of Those “Ah… I See” Moments

    Nothing dramatic happened this week.

    No one got in trouble.

    It was just the system…

    Doing exactly what it was designed to do.

    Recording events.
    Triggering processes.
    Asking for a conversation.

    And every now and then—

    You see that system clearly enough…

    That it makes you stop.

    And think.

    👉 If you prefer listening instead of reading, the full podcast lives here:
    https://fromdownundertodownsouth.com/listen/


  • Is American Friendliness Real or Fake?

    Is American Friendliness Real or Fake?

    If you’ve ever wondered why Americans seem so polite, you’re not alone.

    It’s one of the first things you notice… and one of the hardest things to figure out.

    I remember a moment early on that really threw me.

    We’d have women come over to the house to see my wife Nikki.
    They’d be warm, chatty, asking questions, including me in the conversation like we’d known each other for years.

    And then the next time we’d see them… usually with their husbands…
    they’d barely speak to me.

    Same people. Same setting. Completely different energy.

    I remember thinking,
    hang on… was that real?

    At the time, I genuinely didn’t know what to make of it.

    I remember thinking…
    maybe there’s some kind of unspoken American rule here.
    Like wives don’t really talk to other husbands once their own partner is around.

    It sounds ridiculous now, but in the moment, it honestly threw me.

    Because the warmth I’d experienced the first time felt completely genuine.
    There was nothing fake about it.

    And then suddenly… it just wasn’t there anymore.

    I couldn’t quite reconcile the two.

    And that wasn’t the only time.

    Over the first couple of years, I kept running into moments like that.
    People being incredibly open… and then just as quickly, distant again.

    Not rude.
    Not cold.
    Just… different.

    And to be honest… I’m not even sure I fully understand it now.

    Over time, I realised it wasn’t everyone.

    There are plenty of situations where that warmth carries through.

    The some of the dance mums I see at competitions, for example, are usually really chatty.
    Easy to talk to. Inclusive. Just… normal.

    (Well… most of them.)

    And in those environments, it feels natural.
    Consistent.

    Which is what makes the other experiences stand out even more.

    I’ll be honest… there are moments where it does feel a little bit fake.

    Not in a deliberate way.
    Not like people are trying to deceive you.

    But there’s definitely a situational quality to it.

    I’ve had people I genuinely thought were good friends…
    people we spent time with, had conversations with, felt connected to…

    and then when our situation changed—when we moved, or the context shifted—

    it became clear the relationship was more tied to that situation than I realised.

    In one case, it turned out what I thought was a friendship…
    was really more of a business relationship.

    That was a strange one to process.

    What I’ve started to notice is that friendships here can feel more… compartmentalised.

    You’ve got:

    • work friends
    • school friends
    • dance friends
    • church friends
    • hobby groups

    And those worlds don’t always overlap.

    You can be very friendly with someone…
    but only within that specific environment.

    This ties into something I noticed about everyday interactions as well →
    Why Americans Say “You’re Welcome” So Often

    Whereas back in Australia…
    it often felt more fluid.

    You’d meet someone in one context…
    and over time they’d just become a mate.

    They’d move across different parts of your life with you.

    Barbecues. Birthdays. Random catch-ups.
    It all blurred together.

    Here, it feels more defined.

    Not worse… just different.

    And then there were moments that made it even harder to read.

    When we first moved here, we were invited to all sorts of things.

    Church events mostly.
    Trunk or treat. Fall festivals. Christmas gatherings.

    There was always something on.

    And at the time, it felt incredibly welcoming.

    People were warm.
    Inclusive.
    Eager to have us there.

    We thought… this is amazing.

    But over time, we started to realise something else was going on as well.

    A lot of those invitations weren’t just about connection.
    They were also about bringing people into something.

    Church communities. Groups. Networks.

    And once you saw that…
    it didn’t make it fake.

    But it did change how it felt.

    Because the friendliness wasn’t always just about you.
    It was also about something bigger.

    Seasonal events like this are a big part of American life — decorations, themed setups, the whole thing.
    If you’ve never seen it, this is the kind of thing people go all out for → Amazon Trunk or Treat Decorations

    I think that’s where the confusion comes from.

    American friendliness often feels very real in the moment.
    Because it is.

    People are open.
    They’re expressive.
    They include you quickly.

    It’s similar to something I noticed with goodbyes as well →
    Why American Goodbyes Feel Faster Than Australian Goodbyes

    But at the same time…
    it can also be situational.

    Tied to:

    • the environment
    • the purpose
    • the group

    And when that situation changes…
    sometimes the relationship changes with it.

    That’s probably the biggest shift for me.

    Back home, friendliness often felt like the beginning of something.

    Here… it can sometimes feel like part of the moment itself.

    And if you expect it to mean the same thing…
    that’s where it gets confusing.

    And then there are people who cut straight through all of that.

    One of the people we’re closest to now lives just a couple of doors down from us.

    She’s American… but she spent 14 years living in Australia.

    Sometimes you even hear a slight accent come through.

    And with her, everything just feels… familiar.

    Easy to talk to.
    Consistent.
    Natural.

    Relatable.

    I don’t think American friendliness is fake.

    But I do think it works differently.

    It’s more immediate.
    More expressive.
    More tied to the moment you’re in.

    And if you try to measure it by Australian standards…
    it can feel inconsistent.

    Even a bit confusing.

    But once you start to see it on its own terms…

    it makes a bit more sense.

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