Tag: Life in the United States

  • What America Gets Right, After Living Here for 8 Years

    What America Gets Right, After Living Here for 8 Years

    I’ve lived in America for eight years now.
    Long enough to stop reacting.
    Long enough to stop constantly comparing.

    And long enough to admit something Australians don’t always say out loud:

    America does some things extremely well.

    That might sound obvious. But if you’ve ever lived overseas, you’ll know it’s not always where your mind goes first.


    Living Overseas Changes the Way You See Culture

    When you first move to another country, everything feels different.

    You compare constantly.
    Everything gets measured against home.
    You notice what’s missing.
    What feels louder.
    What doesn’t sit quite right.

    And if you’re not careful, that becomes your whole lens.

    Living overseas changes how you see things — not just the place you’re in, but where you came from as well. I wrote more about that shift here. -> An Aussie Expat’s Take on Culture Shock, Identity & Life in America

    You become the person who only sees what’s wrong.

    But over time, something shifts.

    The comparison softens.
    You stop reacting.
    You start observing.

    And when that happens, you begin to notice something else:

    Strength.

    Not surface-level clichés.
    Not patriotic slogans.

    But deeper, structural strengths—
    the kinds of things you only recognise when you’ve lived inside a culture long enough to stop defending your own.

    After eight years in the United States, here are four things I’ve come to genuinely respect.


    1. Confidence and Self-Promotion

    This is the one that stretched me the most personally.

    Because I didn’t grow up in a culture that rewards self-declaration.

    In Australia, humility is social currency.

    • If you do well, you downplay it
    • If someone compliments you, you deflect it
    • If you’re capable, you wait to be noticed

    There’s a natural instinct toward understatement. Tall poppy syndrome is part of that wiring.

    So when I arrived in America, the confidence felt… confronting.

    People spoke clearly about what they were good at.
    They outlined their experience without apology.
    They applied for roles before they felt fully ready.

    At first, I mistook that for ego.

    But over time, I realised something important:

    Confidence in America isn’t automatically seen as arrogance. It’s seen as clarity.

    Take this coffee mug for instance, I had two employees with the same ones!

    It’s a subtle shift, but once you notice it, you start seeing these differences everywhere — even in something as simple as how we hear each other. -> Why Living Overseas Changes How You Hear Accents

    It’s not: “I’m better than you.”
    But more like: “This is what I bring.”

    And that difference matters.

    Especially in a country of over 330 million people, where waiting quietly often means being overlooked.

    In Australia, you often wait to be invited forward.
    In America, you’re expected to step forward.

    That expectation changes behaviour.

    I’ve watched people create opportunities simply because they were willing to speak up—not because they had everything figured out, but because they didn’t assume they needed permission to try.

    As an introvert, that’s still a stretch for me.

    But I’ve come to respect a culture that doesn’t automatically punish visibility.

    Because when visibility is normalised,
    possibility expands.


    2. Customer Service and Hospitality

    This one didn’t fully hit me until I went back to Australia for a visit.

    We walked into a café in Canberra for breakfast.

    The service was fine.
    Efficient. Professional. Straightforward.

    But something felt… different.

    No greeting at the door.
    No eye contact on entry.
    Proactive warmth was missing.

    We ordered. Paid. Sat down.

    And it hit me:

    I’d gotten used to American hospitality.

    I didn’t fully understand it at first, but over time I realised there’s a deeper cultural layer behind that kind of interaction. -> Why Are Americans So Polite? An Australian Explains the Cultural Difference

    Especially living in Tennessee, there’s a consistent pattern:

    • You’re acknowledged when you walk in
    • There’s eye contact
    • There’s a greeting—often immediate
    • There’s an effort to make you feel welcome

    “How y’all doing today?” isn’t just a phrase—it’s a social signal.

    Now, Australians are friendly. No question.

    But the timing is different.

    • In Australia, friendliness often unfolds after interaction begins
    • In America, friendliness often starts the interaction

    That small difference changes the atmosphere of everyday life.

    It lowers social barriers.
    Creates ease between strangers.
    It makes public spaces feel more open.

    And when you live inside that long enough, you stop noticing it—until it’s gone.

    Then you realise how much emotional energy proactive warmth actually saves.

    It quietly says:

    “You’re welcome here.”

    And that matters more than we tend to admit.


    3. Ambition and Scale Thinking

    This is where America really separates itself.

    If you’ve ever been to Buc-ee’s, you’ll know exactly what I mean.

    The first time I pulled into one, I thought I’d accidentally arrived at an airport.

    • Dozens and dozens of fuel pumps
    • A store the size of a supermarket
    • Walls of snacks (the jerky is a must!)
    • Fresh food counters
    • Merchandise everywhere
    • A beaver mascot somehow tying it all together

    It’s almost theatrical in scale.

    But it works.

    Because it reflects a broader mindset.

    In Australia, we tend to build what’s needed:
    functional, practical, proportional.

    In America, there’s a tendency to ask:

    “How far can this go?”

    That difference shows up everywhere:

    • Business growth
    • Education systems
    • Sports structures
    • Infrastructure
    • Entrepreneurship

    There’s an assumption of expansion.

    An expectation that something good should multiply.

    Sometimes that creates excess.
    Sometimes it creates inefficiency.

    But it also creates something powerful:

    Momentum.

    Australia’s strength is grounded practicality.
    America’s strength is expansive ambition.

    And when you live inside that mindset, you start to see how many doors it can open.

    Because scale doesn’t just grow businesses—
    it creates pathways.


    4. Encouragement Culture

    This might be the most underrated difference of all.

    Encouragement in America is visible.

    You see this play out most clearly in environments built around performance and participation. -> Dance Competitions in America: When the Show Becomes the Focus
    It’s expressed.
    It’s often loud.

    You see it everywhere:

    • School assemblies
    • Local sports games
    • Dance competitions
    • Community events

    Parents cheering.
    Teachers praising publicly.
    Strangers saying, “You’ve got this.”

    At first, the volume surprised me.

    It felt big. Almost over the top.

    Because in Australia, encouragement exists—but it’s often quieter.

    • “Good on ya”
    • A nod
    • A private comment

    In America, encouragement is often public and frequent.

    And that has an impact.

    When effort is acknowledged openly:

    • Trying becomes normal
    • Failing becomes survivable
    • Risk feels safer

    There’s something powerful about growing up in an environment where people regularly say:

    “We’re proud of you.”

    That reinforcement builds confidence over time—almost by default.

    And when you combine:

    • Confidence
    • Hospitality
    • Ambition
    • Encouragement

    You get forward movement.

    You get people willing to try.
    Willing to step up.
    Willing to back themselves.

    Because culturally, they’ve been taught to.


    What Living Between Australia and America Teaches You

    Living overseas has taught me something I didn’t expect:

    You don’t lose your identity by recognising someone else’s strengths.

    You don’t become less Australian by respecting America.

    It expands you.

    Australia gave me:

    • Humility
    • Directness
    • Perspective

    America has given me:

    • Confidence
    • Hospitality
    • Scale
    • Encouragement

    And then there’s another layer again.

    The time I spent in the Pacific—places like Samoa, Fiji, Tuvalu, and Tonga—that shaped me too.

    Not as a comparison.
    But as a foundation.

    So when people ask me which place I prefer,
    it’s not really a question I can answer.

    Because both places are home.

    And holding all of that at once…

    that feels like maturity.

    Not competition.
    Just clarity.


    Final Thought

    If there’s one thing living in America has taught me, it’s this:

    Every culture has strengths.
    You just have to stay long enough to see them.

    Hoo roo maties.


    You can find audio versions of this article and more on the Listen page.

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  • 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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    Hoo roo maties.