WARNING CONTAINS: me, generalizations about whole nations full of people, slang, possibly poor grammar choices, taxes, and a small entreaty to humanitarian outreach.
As a former teacher, I have often heard adults complain that schools do not prepare young people to do the numerous important tasks you're expected to know how to do out in the real world, e.g. write checks, balance accounts, read contracts, be thoughtful consumers, etc. And they're correct. Most American schools these days have no courses that teach "life skills" or even much practical, hands on anything. In case you're wondering, that's because schools have to get kids to pass fill-in-the-bubble paper tests and also because those adult skills are meant to be passed on by parents (that's bc old white dude govt assumes families are whole and stable wherein children listen to said parents - it's called 1950-never). Often, and I know because mine did, parents do attempt to share this knowledge with their children, but are frequently dismissed; I know because I dismissed mine.
But let's say for the sake of argument that you figure these things out either through family or friends and/or youtube videos (that's the "adulting" channel) . One day, you're a self-respecting, get-things-done, high functioning adult who decides to move to another country. And you think, "I can do this!" If you're me, you think, "My husband is British and I've lived in countries with unreliable electricity and mafia run black markets so England will be lush - I got this!" You, and I it turns out, would be horribly, horribly wrong.
When you move abroad to work for a company or even a school, they give you orientation materials, training maybe, and you might even be provided with housing. When you just pack your bags and step off a plane, into a rental house you've never seen, there is no booklet lying around that reads "Grownups Guide to the UK: everything you need to know about archaic laws and making tea." I've mentioned before on this blog our adventures with estate agents and strange chicken and egg scenarios with bank accounts and creditors. I've wowed you with my alien accounts of napkin wrapped birthday cake culture and other foreign rituals shrouded in mystery. But I haven't mentioned every bump partly because they're small and boring. They also make me appear a bit daft.
When I lived in the PRC, I was once robbed of several hundred Chinese dollars of my own free will through getting "change" from a woman pushing counterfeit bills. But I also bargained the hell out of every stall owner in the blocks around my school until they stopped trying to charge me four times the Chinese price. I have screamed obscenities at bus drivers who refused to pull over so I could puke in the street.
Once, in Prague, I had to find a Chinese restaurant so I could use a common language with the owner in order to borrow a phone to call my local friend after I couldn't find her flat.
Some friends and I found the equivalent of a 7/11 in a shack on Georgian (the nation) hillside in the dark so we could buy cheap vodka and chocolate instead of triple plus mark-up stuff at our hotel.
I've search Gaborne, Botswana on foot, by taxi, and with the police for a missing student (yes, I found them mostly unharmed).
My move count in America was at least 18 moves across five states in 30 plus years.
So you'd think I'd remember, after moving houses, to change my address with the local council (AKA county registrar) and, you know, pay my property tax. Or that my native hub would. But we didn't. And damn it if they're weren't' really nice about it since they admitted that someone ought to have "chased you up" after a year of unpaid bills.
Paying taxes ought to be a breeze after all of the above and passing the UK driving test. But between assets in two countries and payments from companies in both - we had to give up and hire an accountant and a lawyer, I mean solicitor, or face our brains melting and dripping from our heads.
Over the holidays, while visiting America, I found myself barely able to translate what a tombola is to friends who asked about British Christmas traditions. Why is a place to meet Santa called a grotto? Why are Pantomimes so popular? I got nothin' ladies and gents.
I still face inexplicable terminology and rituals and hoops that must be jumped through in England, two years into our experience living here. And so does my husband after more than 12 years living away.
So here let me stop being silly and self-effacing and say that all this has led me to consider how refugees deal; as aliens in foreign land, as people trying to keep a roof over their heads, get an education for their children, and to learn all their is to learn about adulting in brand new place, regardless of language - it is hard. Really hard. Soul crushing I'd imagine. That doesn't make the challenges I face less frustrating, but it has given me insight and it's made more thankful. I've also become more involved in immigrant issues as a result. Because I'm an immigrant. I'm just a super privileged, English speaking (sorta), monetarily able one.
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