Tag: Living in America

  • 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:

  • 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.


  • 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.

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

  • 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