From Down Under to Down South

Tag: American culture

  • This Week in America: Ice, Cookies & Participation

    This Week in America: Ice, Cookies & Participation

    Some weeks pass quietly.
    Others seem to arrive with a bit more drama.

    This week in America was one of the dramatic ones.

    Not YouTube dramatic.

    Actually dramatic.

    An ice storm rolled through Tennessee. Schools closed. Power went out for thousands of people — some for more than a week. It even made the news back home in Australia.

    But living through something like that and watching it on television are two completely different experiences.

    Because when I think about the week now, it’s not really the headlines that stay with me.

    It’s my youngest daughter selling Girl Scout cookies outside Kroger.

    Sitting in front of the fire when the power went out.

    It’s filling out job applications late at night.

    That’s what the week actually felt like.

    ✈️ Planning travel between Australia & the US?
    :I usually compare flights and accommodation here with Expedia:

    Girl Scout Cookies Outside Kroger

    On Saturday, my youngest — Brianna — stood outside Kroger in full Girl Scout uniform trying to sell cookies to strangers.

    Thin Mints.
    Samoas.
    Tagalongs.

    There’s a folding table.
    A small square card reader.
    A roster system run by mums who sound a bit like army sergeants.

    Everyone has allocated supermarket time slots. Everything is scheduled and organised.

    And the interesting thing is — people just know what to do.

    No one looks confused.
    No one wonders why a kid is selling biscuits outside the supermarket.

    They’ve grown up with it.

    Some people buy two boxes without slowing down.
    Some stop and chat for a minute.
    You’ll hear “Good luck sweetheart,” as they tap their card, and keep walking.

    It’s a very American kind of scene.

    There’s an idea here that confidence is something you practise publicly.

    You walk up to strangers.
    Speak clearly.
    You handle rejection.
    Keep smiling.

    In Australia we did fundraisers too, of course.

    But we weren’t running what felt like a small retail operation outside Woolworths in full uniform.

    There’s something impressive about it.

    It’s community — but structured.

    Standing there with my accent, feeling slightly out of place but also very proud, I realised something.

    For Bri, this isn’t cultural.

    It’s just normal.

    She was born here. This is her country.

    She won’t remember it as “a very American experience.”

    She’ll just remember standing there and being brave.

    When the Ice Storm Hit

    Then the ice arrived.

    If you’ve never lived through an ice storm, it’s difficult to explain properly.

    Rain falls.

    But the moment it touches anything — trees, roads, power lines — it freezes instantly.

    Branches turn into glass sculptures.

    Honestly, it’s beautiful at first.

    The whole neighbourhood looks like it’s been coated in crystal.

    And then the trees start snapping.

    That’s the sound that stays with you.

    Sharp cracks in the night — like something under pressure finally giving way.

    You lie there half awake waiting for the next one, hoping none of the trees in the backyard end up on the roof.

    Then the snow arrived.

    Fresh snow always looks beautiful.

    White rooftops.
    Silent streets.
    Everything softened.

    The deer came back through the neighbourhood too, trotting down the middle of the road like they’d taken the place over again.

    Which, to be fair, they probably had.

    No cars.
    No engines.
    Just deer walking down suburban streets.

    Suburban Skiing

    At one point people were actually skiing down our road.

    Skiing. In the suburbs.

    Meanwhile I’m outside reminding the kids not to eat the yellow snow — which I’m fairly certain is universal parenting advice.

    But underneath the strange beauty of it all, the storm was serious.

    Schools closed for seven days.

    Seven.

    Some people lost power for ten days or more.

    Many homes had no heat.

    And sadly, there were deaths too. Not dramatic headline events — just quiet cold-related deaths. Elderly people found alone in freezing homes.

    That part still feels strange to me.

    Because winter in Australia just doesn’t carry that kind of risk.

    You rug up.
    Have a bit of a whinge.
    Put the jug on.
    Make a cuppa.

    Here — especially in the South where we’re not really built for extreme winter — things get exposed quickly.

    Branches snap.
    Power lines sag.
    Roads turn into ice rinks.

    And within about a day, the bread, milk and eggs disappear from the supermarket.

    I’m still not sure what everyone’s baking during these storms, but it must be something extraordinary. Maybe they are trying to replicate my ANZAC biscuits recipe!

    Every time.

    We lost power for two days.

    Two days without power is annoying, but we were lucky.

    We’ve got an open fireplace.

    So we layered up and managed fine.

    At one point I was outside cooking steaks on the barbecue in minus twelve while snow was falling around me.

    I reckon they tasted better for it.

    Maybe that’s just survival bias.

    The girls thought the whole thing was a bit of an adventure.

    But I kept thinking about the families who didn’t have the same setup.

    America often feels incredibly capable.

    Until weather hits.

    And then you see how quickly everything pauses.

    It’s not criticism.

    It’s just… bigger.

    Everything here feels bigger.

    The Quiet Part of the Week

    And then there’s the quieter side of the week.

    The part that doesn’t make headlines at all.

    Filling out job applications.

    Uploading resumes.

    Typing the same information into online portals that don’t talk to each other.

    America talks a lot about opportunity.

    And that’s fair — there is opportunity here.

    But it’s also very structured.

    Masters degrees required for minimum wage roles.
    Specific certifications required.
    Years of experience required.

    If the box isn’t ticked, the system simply keeps moving.

    Even things like being asked to identify your race on job applications stand out when you’re not used to it.

    It’s not cruel.

    It’s just the system.

    And as an immigrant, you notice those systems very quickly.

    Because work here ties into everything.

    Healthcare.
    Stability.
    Long-term plans.

    So you adapt.

    You build slowly.

    You look for another way in.

    It’s not dramatic.

    It’s just part of living here. I explore that more in this video titled When You Live Between Two Countries

    Participation

    Looking back at the week — the cookies, the ice storm, the job applications — they all seem to point to the same idea.

    America asks something of you.

    It asks kids to step forward.

    Families to prepare.

    Adults to compete.

    There is opportunity here.

    But you participate in it.

    Living here hasn’t made me less Australian.

    If anything, it’s made me more aware of the pace I grew up with.

    Things felt smaller.

    Less sharp around the edges.

    Here everything feels turned up a little.

    Not worse.

    Just louder.

    And watching Bri confidently asking strangers outside Kroger if they’d like to buy cookies, I realised something.

    She won’t see any of this as cultural analysis.

    She’ll just see it as life.

    Living Overseas

    Maybe that’s the real thing about living overseas.

    You adjust.

    Grow into it.

    You learn to stand steady when the ice comes.

    That was this week in America.

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  • Why American Goodbyes Feel Faster Than Australian Goodbyes

    Why American Goodbyes Feel Faster Than Australian Goodbyes

    You know what still catches me off guard in America?

    The goodbye.

    Not the words.

    The speed.

    After years living in the United States as an Australian, I’ve realised something subtle but surprisingly consistent:

    American goodbyes end faster than my brain expects.

    And even now, I’m sometimes still mid-sentence when they’re over.

    Why American Goodbyes Feel So Abrupt to Australians

    You can be mid-conversation — genuinely mid-thought — talking about something fairly ordinary:

    The weather.
    The kids.
    Weekend plans.

    And then suddenly:

    “Well, good to see you!”

    And they’re gone.

    Not drifting.
    Not easing out.
    Gone.

    Keys out.
    Car unlocked.
    Emotionally finished.

    Meanwhile I’m still mentally adjusting my stance.

    I once actually said, “Yeah, and another thing—”

    …to no one.

    They were already walking away.

    How Australians Say Goodbye: The Long Runway Approach

    In Australia, a goodbye is rarely a single moment.

    It’s a process.

    You don’t just leave.
    You wind down.

    There’s usually a soft warning:

    “Righto…”
    “Well anyway…”
    “Better let you go…”

    None of those mean you’re leaving.

    They mean you’re thinking about leaving.

    It’s like the aircraft has taxied to the runway — but we’re not taking off yet.

    There’s rounding off.
    Reinforcement.
    A gentle descent.

    Often there’s more than one goodbye:

    At the door.
    At the car.
    Through the window.

    No new information is exchanged.

    It’s ceremonial.

    It confirms that yes — we are still on good terms.

    How Americans End Conversations: Clear, Warm, Efficient

    In the United States, I’ve found the goodbye is often:

    Friendly.
    Warm.
    Direct.

    And then — click — off.

    No runway.

    No slow descent.

    Just a clean exit.

    What took me a while to understand is that it isn’t rude.

    The conversation itself is usually lovely.

    There’s eye contact.
    Genuine interest.
    There’s warmth.

    It’s just that the ending happens at a completely different tempo to what my Australian instincts expect.

    In my head, we’re still in the “rounding off” phase.

    They’re thinking: conversation complete.

    Different clocks.

    Cultural Differences Between Australia and America: Goodbye as Boundary vs Maintenance

    Over time, I’ve come to see that this difference isn’t about friendliness.

    It’s about what the goodbye represents.

    In Australia, the goodbye often functions as relationship maintenance.

    It reinforces connection at the exit point.

    It confirms the steadiness.

    In America, the connection feels assumed.

    The goodbye is simply a boundary.

    Clear.
    Kind.
    Efficient.

    There’s no emotional admin required.

    You don’t have to reassure someone that you enjoyed the chat.

    It’s already understood.

    That, once I noticed it, was actually kind of refreshing.

    Living in America as an Australian: The Timing Mismatch

    Even after years here, my instincts haven’t fully recalibrated.

    I still feel like I owe the conversation a proper landing.

    Like we should both be emotionally ready before it ends.

    Sometimes my body reacts before my mind catches up:

    A half-step forward.
    A delayed nod.
    That awkward moment when you realise you’re about to say something that no longer has a listener.

    It’s like missing the final train announcement.

    You’re still on the platform.

    The train has already left.

    Do Americans Think Australians Drag Out Goodbyes?

    Occasionally I wonder if Americans think Australians are slightly indecisive.

    Like:

    “Why is he still here? We said goodbye.”

    And I’m thinking:

    “Yes, but which goodbye was that?”

    Because back home:

    The first goodbye doesn’t count.
    The second one might.
    The third one is the real one.

    Different systems.

    Same intention.

    What This Says About Communication Styles

    When I zoom out, what I see isn’t better or worse.

    It’s calibration.

    Australia often trusts the steadiness of the relationship and reinforces it at the edges.

    America often assumes the steadiness and ends cleanly.

    Both are warm.
    Polite.
    Both signal goodwill.

    They just do it differently.

    If you’re interested in how these micro-differences show up elsewhere, I explored a similar shift in:

    👉 When Accents Start to Blur After Living Abroad

    It turns out timing changes in more ways than one.

    And if you’ve noticed how politeness patterns differ too, you might enjoy:

    👉 Things Americans Are Weirdly Polite About

    The Tiny Culture Shocks That Stay With You

    When you move countries, people assume the big things will be what stick.

    Politics.
    Healthcare.
    Tipping.

    But often it’s these tiny moments.

    The micro-timing.

    The slight lag in rhythm.

    The feeling that your internal metronome is just a fraction out of sync.

    Even now, when someone says, “Anyway, good to see you,”

    I stop talking.
    Nod.
    Smile.
    I let it end.

    Internally though, I’m still wrapping things up.

    Putting chairs away in my head.

    And sometimes that’s the most interesting part of living overseas —

    Not that things are different.

    Just that your timing is.

    Anyway.

    Good to see you.

    Righto.

    Hoo roo, maties.

    You can catch the full YouTube video of this article 👉Why American Goodbyes Feel So Different