Language Lessons from the Canucks!

Currently, I am taking a couple of classes. The first is an insurance class, and the second is an intermediate-level Spanish class. The insurance class is very dry, the material mostly common sense, and the information is stuff I already know from similar classes I completed in the US. But, if I am to complete my Canadian insurance designation, I still have to complete six more of these classes. The Spanish class has absolutely nothing to do with my job—I just enjoy language, and because I have a bit of a background in Spanish language, I thought I would pick it up again to help stave off Alzheimer’s.

Over the past week, I have learned more about the cultural connections to learning languages than I have in the entire time since I moved to Canada in 2008.

The first story is very disturbing, so you may not want to skip a few paragraphs if you have a weak stomach. Okay, not really, but it was disturbing to me. I was going through my Underwriting Essentials textbook and making notes as a way to study for my upcoming midterm exam. One topic I need to know was the four stages of fire. I started making my little bullet point list. I wrote, “Incipient, smouldering, fire. . .” and then stopped in horror as I couldn’t believe what I had just seen my hand write. Smouldering? SmOUldering??? What was this? My mind began racing—was this how the word was really spelled? Was this how I had always spelled the word? Was this a Canadian spelling, a US spelling, or both? I quickly consulted my handy chart of differences between US and Canadian spelling. The word was not on the chart in any form. My next step was to consult dictionary.com to see if “smoldering” was a legitimate spelling. Without the “u,” it did look odd to me. Sure enough, dictionary.com showed the definition for “smoldering” and I stared at the screen, stunned, as I came to terms with the fact that I had unknowingly began incorporating Canadian spellings.

I have wondered for a while if this would happen, and if it did happen, how long it would take. Apparently the answer for me is two years. I will now sometimes do a double take when I see “neighbor” or “favorite” spelled without the “u.” Since I moved here, I have been using my backspace key, fighting with Microsoft’s AutoCorrect when it adds Us that I didn’t type to words. I’m not sure if I care whether the U is there or not, but I don’t like the computer telling me how I should have spelled words that I already know how to spell.

As someone who usually has no problems with spelling (although the frequent typos in this blog might lead you to believe otherwise), the evidence provided by the smouldering gun was disturbing—I no longer could be confident that I knew how to spell certain words. I’ll soon be reduced to a fragile and shivering shell of my formerly sure-spelling self.

My Spanish class has provided a language experience on a whole new level. Yes, obviously I’m learning Spanish. But, I am now learning Spanish with a bunch of Canucks, and those Canucks add an unexpected aspect to the learning.

Most Americans of my age or younger have had some Spanish language education while in elementary or high school. It just so happens that back in the early 1980s, my third-grade teacher was married to a Uruguayan, and she would often give us mini lessons in Spanish. I also had two years in high school and another year in college (university). Even those Americans who have never taken a formal Spanish class have been exposed to a significant amount of Spanish through bi-lingual labels, signs, pop-culture references, and cultural events. This is almost a direct parallel with the way that most Canadians have some level of French comprehension, whether they’ve taken formal French classes or not.

Before I moved to Canada, I enrolled in a French language class because I thought this would be beneficial for me when I moved. I have never found languages difficult, but I really struggled with French. I couldn’t tell when you pronounced letters, when you didn’t, and why was there no rhyme or reason to emphasizing syllables? Looking back, I am pretty sure that I and all of my classmates pronounced all of the French with Spanish accents. How can I be so sure? Because all of my current classmates in my Spanish class pronounce Spanish with a French accent!

Sometimes my fellow students provide what is, to me, a comical combination of French and Spanish without even realizing it. Phrases such as “mon amigo,” “nouveau casa,” and “Sud America” make me chuckle inside. Each night in class, I am exposed to a new Frenish phrase. I seem to be the superstar of my class because I don’t struggle with the pronunciation of Spanish words—I know to pronounce the letter E when it appears at the end of a word. I think it’s just years of being exposed to Spanish words. The preposition “de,” common in both languages, is pronounced “day” in Spanish. Yet, my classmates cannot seem to break the habit of pronouncing it as “duh,” just as I consistently pronounced it “day” when I was taking French.

In my most recent Spanish class, some interesting biases of the Canadians were revealed which surprised me a great deal. Our teacher was trying to get us to practice using the past tense, so he asked us in Spanish, “What did you do last Saturday?” (¿Qué hiciste el sábado pasado?) When I asked, I responded with “I played ice hockey.” (Jugué hockey de hielo.) Everyone in the class became concerned because they didn’t know what “hielo” meant. The instructor explained that it meant “ice.” A classmate blurted out, “Well, doesn’t that go without saying?”

The vast majority of the world’s population will think “hockey” means field hockey. In fact, that would be the assumption almost anywhere except Canada and parts of the US. And although the Honduran and Venezuelan hockey teams did very well in the last winter Olympics, I think that adding the “ice” descriptor might be beneficial in countries where Spanish is the first language. My filter was off, so I blurted out in response, “Yeah, only in Canada does that go without saying.” I don’t think that statement did me any favors.

Later that night in class, the lady sitting next to me whispered, “Do you think they have any curse words in Spanish? I don’t think they do. They must just be very polite?” My filter was still not on, so I belted out “What?! Are you kidding me?!” which promptly gained the attention of the entire class and the instructor. The instructor, who is from Colombia, also looked a bit puzzled that the student would think that there were no swear words in Spanish, so she explained her question, “Well, we all know all the swear words in French, so I just thought that if there were swear words in Spanish, we would have already known about them.”

At least in Spanish, there aren’t too many words spelled with an “ou” in them. The “ou” spellings in English words are directly derived from French, and the Canucks preoccupation with French languages, for better or worse, indicates that these spellings aren’t going away any time soon. I’m going to have to make an extra effort to keep these language concepts separate in my head, or pretty soon I won’t know how to spell or pronounce anything correctly whether it’s French, English, or Spanish!

Political Pains

Americans are very fond of aligning themselves with political parties. Those political affiliations play a large role in defining Americans as people. If you are a Republican, this is more than just a footnote on your personality profile—it becomes a badge of honor that you wear and defend every day. The same holds true with those who are Democrats. Your party affiliation can influence where you shop, where you buy gas, what apolitical charities you support, what clubs you will join, what sports teams back, and who you will befriend. Over 75% of Americans, when they register to vote, register as a member of one party or the other if that option is available in their states. Sure, there are other fringe parties in US politics, but these are either so short-lived or have too small of a membership to hold any significance. And, because there are only two major parties in the US, and because these parties are polar opposites, the social and political divide in the US is massive. I would go so far as to say that there is a lot of anger and hatred between voters of these parties.

In Canada, there are three, and some would argue four or five, major political parties. The comparatively abundant number of viable political philosophies effectively results in less dramatic and obvious polarization in Canada. I have yet to uncover any evidence that Canadians are given the option of registering as a member of a specific party when they register to vote. My conversations with Canadians has led me to make three generalizations that embody the political differences between Canadian and American voters: 1) Canadians are not as committed to parties--they will support a candidate for her beliefs and plans rather than solely based on her party affiliation; 2) Canadians don’t define themselves or judge others on their perceived or actual party affiliations; 3) Canadians who do align with a particular party do not necessarily view this as a permanent state nor do they agree wholesale with all of the positions that party espouses.

I have found these characteristics of the Canadian political landscape to be quite refreshing. While I was in the US, I would, right or wrong, judge someone based on what party they support. Oh, and for those of you who have not lived in the US, it’s easy to tell what party someone supports—Americans are not shy about sharing what many would consider to be very private information. You can tell a lot about Americans' political beliefs by the stickers they put on their cars, the signs they put in their yards, and most of all, the loud verbal broadcasts of their opinions occurring when they are sure that not only are their beliefs the right beliefs, but that everyone around will agree with them and nod approvingly at their wisdom.

I grew up in an area of Michigan that is close to 90% Republican leaning. As I got older and realized that there was almost nothing about the Republican tenets that meshed with my own beliefs, I also realized I was part of a very small minority. I was not really safe speaking out about my own political beliefs on issues unless I was certain I was in the company of like-minded individuals. Otherwise, I would be ganged up on by the Republicans. I became quite adept at identifying the non-Republicans in my midst and making connections. (I need to clarify that I hesitate to call myself a Democrat as I refused to identify a party affiliation when I registered to vote. Although I generally support Democratic candidates, I have no desire to align myself with a party.) I could also very easily identify the Republicans around me as they were not shy about divulging their opinions—why would they be? They’re surrounded by so many like-minded people in West Michigan.

Knowing that the Republican party does not support equal marriage rights (or equal rights for gays in general), and that those who vote for Republicans are essentially voting against my equal rights, created many a dilemma for me during my adult life in West Michigan. How could I be friends with someone who was proudly Republican? Even those Republicans, some of whom are in my own family, who say that they still support Sarah and me, vote against my constitutionally-granted rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness every time they cast a Republican ballot. I kept known Republicans at an arm’s length. I had been hurt too often by “friends” who eventually confided in me that they didn’t really believe I should have the right to marry Sarah, even if it meant me having to leave the country of my birth. They would happily take my tax money, invite me to their homes for dinner, accompany me to festivals. But, what their flagrant political opinions screamed to me was, “Sure, I like you, but I don’t believe that you deserve the same rights that I enjoy.”

If I started to befriend someone new and then gleaned any information indicating Republican inclinations, I would halt the progression of the relationship. After all, how could I ever be myself around that person? How could I introduce my wife without worrying it would make that person (and consequently me) uncomfortable, or even worse, prompt an I-don’t-mind-as-long-as-I-don’t-have-to-see-it, love-the-sinner-hate-the-sin response?

Thinking about the friends I had (and mostly still have) in Michigan, I believe I only had one good friend who was Republican. That relationship was (and still is) trying on many levels, as there are certain topics we can just never discuss. As much as I love this person and value her as a friend, there is always an indescribable barrier that prevents us from being as completely open and honest with each other as we are with our other friends.

Perhaps I’ve been a bit naïve since I’ve moved to Canada. I know that gay marriage is law here and that there are people who aren’t necessarily comfortable with gay marriage. However, even those people, for the most part, don’t outwardly exhibit indicators of their disapproval. I have been buzzing around Canada for two years in ignorant bliss, believing that everyone was okay with Sarah and me. Out of an ingrained fear of a negative reaction, I don’t usually “out” myself to anyone until I have a good reason. Any time I have been upfront with Canadians about my relationshis, the revelation had about as much impact as if I’d told them I drive a blue car.

But, a negative reaction was bound to happen sometime, and I have known this all along. Canadians are more tolerant in general, but there are still those who fear and dislike others who are different. I came face-to-face with this situation earlier this month.

I went to lunch with someone I considered a friend. This guy is extremely friendly, intelligent, and well-read. My own prejudices caused me to assume that anyone who is intelligent is also open-minded. I had noticed a bumper sticker on my friend’s car promoting a certain Canadian political candidate known for being ultra-conservative. I was surprised to see a campaign bumper sticker at all, as this is not a common sight in Canada, and I was even more surprised that someone I thought of as intelligent and open-minded would support such a candidate.

Next, I did something very foolish, something I wouldn’t have done when I was living in the US. He made some joke about his bumper sticker, and then I said, “Are you a Conservative?” [Capital “C” intended here as I am referring to the Canadian party not the adjective.] His startled look in response to my impulsive inquiry caused me to follow up with, “Oh, I don’t know if it’s appropriate to ask that in Canada.”

He smirked and replied, “Yes, I am a Conservative.” I felt that awful sick feeling come over me that I used to get when I lived in Michigan and discovered that someone I liked or admired was a Republican. I remembered that Conservatives in Canada are not usually as right-wing as Republicans, so I gave him a chance to redeem himself in my eyes by asking, “Are you a fiscal conservative or a social conservative?” this time focusing on the rationale for his support of the Conservatives.

He looked me in the eye and said deliberately, “I’m a Conservative.” This response didn’t make me feel any better, so I decided it was time for him to lay all his cards on the table. I swallowed hard and squeaked out, “Do you support gay marriage?” He continued to stare me in the eyes and said unapologetically, without hesitation, “No.”

The sick feeling in my stomach intensified and I couldn’t believe I was actually having lunch with someone who thought I didn’t deserve the rights I had travelled so far to get. He knew about Sarah. He knew my story about having to leave the US. As much as I had to give him credit for being honest with me, I couldn’t look him in the eye. Finally I managed a helpless and weak “Why?” He explained that even though he was not a Christian, he really liked Christian values. I stared at him in disbelief—I know he lives with his girlfriend, and that, in terms of supposed “Christian” morals, his objection to my relationship was inconsistent with his own relationship status. I wanted to point this out, but by this juncture in the conversation, I had already given up on the friendship and didn’t want to belabor the issue.

Was it a mistake to ask him so directly about his beliefs? I don’t know. I guess I feel like, after all I’ve been through and how much I’ve given up to be who I am, I have a right to know how my “friends” perceive me. Was it foolish for me to assume that most Canadians are okay with my “lifestyle”? Definitely. Now I am left to wonder how many of my friends in Canada are actually supportive of Sarah and my relationship. I probably won’t ask anyone else. I’ll just wait until I can observe clues, which will take a bit longer than it did with people in Michigan as Canadians are a bit more private about their beliefs.

American Oddities

I’ve begun to have a little trouble finding blog topics about Canadian cultural characteristics. But, I think that is because I have stopped noticing what I perceive to be oddities of Canadian culture. That’s just it—I’ve stopped noticing. If I were to draw a graph of my transition between Canadian and American culture, I would be at the midpoint. A recent trip to Michigan confirmed that now I am noticing what I perceive to be oddities of American culture.

Last month, Sarah and I took a trip to Michigan to go shopping (which is quite a Canadian thing to do). We stayed near Frankenmuth at a hotel with my parents. It was a good halfway point for us all to meet and spend the weekend catching up and shopping.

The hotel was located near a busy highway. I looked out the window of my room and saw a giant billboard with a photo of a rifle advertising “SAVE BIG—BUY USED Over 2,500 used guns in stock.” As much as I dislike the stereotype that Americans are all gunslingers, I could see why any visitors to the US would believe this, considering this billboard and several other similar signs I saw in eastern Michigan. There was a time, not so long ago, when I wouldn’t have even noticed a gun store advertisement, or if I had, it wouldn’t have seemed unusual to me.

Our hotel rooms had refrigerators, and my parents had brought bottled water and cans of pop. We all watched some late-night tv together before going to bed, and on my way back to our room, I was cleaning up and put the empty water bottles in the recyc. . . .oh, there was no recycling bin in either of our rooms, only trash cans! As much as I dislike the stereotype that Americans don’t recycle as much as they should, I was surprised to be in a hotel where each room did not have its own recycling bin. The last several hotels I had been in were in Canada, and recycling bins are a standard amenity. I couldn’t bring myself to just throw the bottles away, so I left them on the counter. There was a time, not so long ago, when I wouldn’t have even noticed the lack of a recycling bin.

By the third day of our weekend excursion, not only was the weather rapidly deteriorating, as we got further into the fall season and the rain was falling, but my dad’s mental state was rapidly deteriorating as he had reached his shopping patience limit. So, during one of our final shopping stops, my dad stayed in the car while my mom, Sarah, and I went in to shop. When we finally emerged from the store an hour and a hundred dollars later, I was surprised to see my dad sitting in his SUV with the engine running. . As much as I dislike the stereotype that Americans are gluttonous SUV drivers on a mission to destroy the world, I didn’t know how long the vehicle’s engine had been running, and I was horrified. I even briefly glanced around, embarrassed that someone might see me getting in this car that had been destroying the air for our children and our children’s children. Such idle idling would not be tolerated in Canada. There was a time, not so long ago, when I wouldn’t have even noticed cars idling in a parking lot.

The most striking reminder of how foreign my home state now feels was during breakfast at the hotel. A breakfast was included with our stay, and we were happy to take advantage as the food was fresh, diverse, and tasty, and the breakfast room was large, clean, and bright. We were staying at the hotel during a busy weekend when high school athletic teams were traveling for competitions, groups of older women were on overnight shopping trips, and medieval re-enactors were participating in the nearby renaissance festival. As I was getting through my second coffee and first banana, I paused and tried to discern what was gnawing at the back of my mind. Something was slightly uncomfortably different, but I couldn’t identify what in particular. I spent some time observing what was going on around me in the busy breakfast room. First, the noise level was quite high as all the breakfasters were loudly discussing their plans for the day with apparent disregard for their very public surroundings. I wondered if they almost were hoping everyone around would be listening in. Those who were not brashly sharing their itineraries were looking around the room with furrowed brows, evaluating the other guests. I even inadvertently made eye contact with a couple of people who were staring directly at me—I quickly moved my gaze; they did not. I realized that I was feeling uncomfortable because no one was keeping to themselves. I stared down and my coffee and thought very hard about how this same situation would be different in Canada. First, Canadians generally would be much quieter in their conversations. Second, Canadians wouldn’t be staring relentlessly at those around them. They might glance around with curiosity, but during my two years in Ontario, I had clearly become intolerant of the type of intense eye-boring I was getting from the Americans.

Of course, everything I am saying here is a generalization based on generalizations, and perhaps my observations are distorted by my preconceptions. I might as well also make a comment about the marked lack of “eh” and “sorey” expressions floating around the room, eh?

Despite my newfound discomfort, I got up and went back to the breakfast bar to get some biscuits. A guy who was seeking similar sustenance arrived at the biscuit bin a split second after me and displayed an inordinate amount of irritation that I was in his way. I smiled nervously at him and said, without any real justification for doing so, “oh, sorry.” Expecting my unnecessary apology to be reciprocated in turn, I was a bit taken aback to instead be presented with another loud sigh and eye roll.

Holidays and Loneliness

The poignancy of loneliness is relative; relative to the time of day, the mood of the lonely person, the time of year, the weather. Most of all, the amount of pain caused by loneliness is relative to the social surroundings. The feeling of loneliness one has while sitting alone at home watching TV is, for most people, substantially less depressing and disconcerting than that feeling of loneliness one has while eating alone at a restaurant or holding up a wall at a party. In my own experience, the times I have felt the most overwhelmed with loneliness were when there were when I was surrounded by others who were socializing and enjoying each other’s company, and I was merely a spectator and not a participant. I’ve been to the movie theater on my own a couple of times, and once the lights go out, I get lost in the storyline—besides, all of the other couples and groups present in the theater aren’t a taunting reminder of my solitude until the lights go up at the end of the film. Once I foolishly went on a bus trip to an amusement park by myself, and the other people on the bus were cuddling couples or groups of laughing friends. I was the only person on the bus sitting by myself. The feeling of loneliness that overwhelmed me on that five-hour ride was merely a preview of what I would experience when we arrived at the park.

Today is Thanksgiving in Canada. Thanksgiving in Canada is a bit different from Thanksgiving in the US for a few reasons: 1) In Canada, it’s not the start of Christmas season but more of a fall festival, 2) Canadians only get one day off from work while most people get two days off in the US, 3) Canadian Thanksgiving is on a Monday in mid-October while American Thanksgiving is on a Thursday in late November, and 4) my experience has been that Thanksgiving is the second-biggest holiday in the US, but I’m not sure Canadians regard their Thanksgiving with as much importance. However, the two countries’ holidays have much in common—turkey, large meals, internal inventories of gratitude, and family gatherings.

This is my third Thanksgiving in Canada. Each one I’ve experienced here has been especially memorable, but memorable because of the loneliness that creeps up on me. It starts in mid-September when I overhear people talking about their plans for family get-togethers for Thanksgiving. My first thought is usually about why they are planning so far in advance; after all, Thanksgiving is over two months away. Then I remember with a jolt that it’s in October. As Thanksgiving weekend approaches, I overhear all the conversations around me about family gatherings, preparations for big meals, talk of turkey. Then I remember with a jolt that Sarah and I will not be spending time with any family as we don’t have any within a five-hour drive. That is the point where I start to feel a bit sad and lonely.

Oktoberfest is a very big deal in the Kitchener-Waterloo-Cambridge area, and Sarah and I have gone each year that we’ve been in Canada. Oktoberfest always coincides with Canadian Thanksgiving. The first year we were in Canada, I had only been living here less than two months, but somehow we managed to get tickets to the biggest festhallen in Oktoberfest. There were thousands of people there, but Sarah and I floated around the uber-long tables without knowing anyone. The feeling of being lonely in a crowd was ever present. This year’s Oktoberfest was a vastly different experience. We had tickets to go to a hall on the first Friday night, and not only we were lucky enough to go along with some of our favorite Canadian friends, but we saw several of our other friends there throughout the night. But the prospect of a lonely Thanksgiving day still loomed at the end of the long weekend.

This year, we were also fortunate enough to have visitors for at least part of the Thanksgiving weekend. Some of our friends from Michigan were driving to Philadelphia and stopped to stay with us on the way. Still, they were only staying until Monday morning, which meant that Sarah and I would be on our own for Thanksgiving day. Doesn’t sound so bad, does it? Well, Thanksgiving is not a romantic holiday—it’s a family holiday, a holiday typically celebrated with more than immediate family. And, one of the problems with family holidays is that when you don’t have any family around, your friends aren’t around either because they are all with their families. So, this morning, as we stood on our front steps and waved goodbye to our friends from Michgan departing for Pennsylvania, we felt a bit lonely as we saw all the other cars arriving at our neighbors’ houses. The air outside smelled like a thousand turkey dinners. I was getting a bit depressed, but didn’t say anything to Sarah about it. For a fleeting moment, it occurred to me that I used to get so easily annoyed with the obligations of family holiday gatherings. Then the moment was gone and I felt a bit lonely again, missing my family.

We went back in the house and Sarah, looking quite forlorn, said “I feel really down. I’m a bit homesick today, but I don’t know why.” I said, “I know.” I gave her a big hug and thought about how thankful I was that at least we were together.

My Survival Guide Arrived. . .A Bit Late

Three things I enjoy very much in life are teaching others, analyzing cultural differences between people of various nationalities, and the mechanics of the English language. While they seem fairly unrelated, I have discovered that I can combine my interest and skill in all three by teaching English as a second language (ESL). I have been a volunteer ESL conversation circle leader for about two years now, working with my local immigrant services organization and neighborhood associations. Canada has a considerable influx of immigrants from all over the world, and a sizeable portion of these immigrants speak little or no English on arrival. Aside from my experience teaching English (which included some ESL training while I was in grad school), I can relate somewhat to those who are newcomers to Canada. But when I found out that my local college offered an actual post-graduate certification in teaching ESL, I applied and was accepted into the program.

I just finished my first course in the program. We had discussions and assignments on cognitive theory, language assimilation, and linguistics. We also spent a fair bit of time discussing cultural obstacles that ESL learners face, as these obstacles must be anticipated by the ESL teacher. One assignment was to read an article about culture shock. I had never read this particular article before, but when I did, all I could think was “I wish someone had told me all of this two years ago!” I was surprised at how accurate it was. I also showed Sarah, who has immigrated to new countries twice now, and she agreed it rang very true.

I have put this text in my blog because it really sums up everything I’ve experienced over the last two years (and am still experiencing). This text used to appear on a website called cultureshockguides.com which no longer exists. You can find this information still on other sites (such as the Migration News website). I am pretty sure it was originally written by the people who write the Culture Shock Guides, which are books than can be purchased about the culture and customs of various nations. See below for the immigrant “survival guide.”

YOUR SURVIVAL GUIDE

Many new settlers suffer from varying degrees of culture shock, ranging from the odd surprise at differences in local customs to major belts of home sickness. Even migrants from English speaking, Commonwealth countries such as the United Kingdom, are susceptible to vary degrees of "culture shock" as they are often not prepared for any sort of change at all or the "subtle" differences in social etiquette or customs. The key to success is being pragmatic and accepting that you will never "change" your newly adopted home land. It is YOU who must change or at least adapt to the local environment. Most find that they do not have to change a lot, while others may find the task of "fitting in" to be more difficult.

It is important to understand the emotions that you will encounter when migrating. It is not just you. Every new settler feels them. Some say that moving to a new country can be a roller coaster ride, with many ups and downs along the way. These ups and downs have been scientifically proven and are known as the assimilation process. To help you understand the assimilation process, it can be broken down into three distinct stereotypical phases below:

THE ASSIMILATION PROCESS. . .

PHASE 1 - Euphoria

The Euphoria phase occurs when you first arrive in your new country. It will be a great adventure much akin to taking a holiday. You will be enjoying your new life and discovering everything that your new adopted home land has to offer. This is the honeymoon period.

PHASE 2 - Culture shock

After 6 to 12 months, the honeymoon will be over. You need to start working, your first tax bill will arrive and the grind of day to day life begins. Although you are largely enjoying your new lifestyle, you discover aspects of your new country that you dislike. You have a few surprises along the way as you encounter differences in social etiquette and customs, especially when developing a group of friends or socialising with work colleagues. You miss some aspects of your home country and most importantly, you will miss your family and friends. You will become a little home sick.

PHASE 3 - Assimilation

Successful re-settlement! It can take up to 2 - 3 years for some people to achieve full assimilation. This is when you fully accept your new home land and ignore the aspects that you dislike. You now fit in and are confident that have you built a good life for yourself. Perhaps you will have taken a trip back to your home country (recommended) and you now realise just how better off you are. You have a much healthier and interesting lifestyle than any of your friends and family back home and they will be envious of your new life. You take a balanced view of your relocation and learn to accept the various aspects that you do not like or that you miss.

THE KEY TO SUCCESS. . .

To achieve full assimilation more quickly, it is important for you to understand the 80 / 20 rule. This is a well known law of averages. Experience has shown that many new settlers will like 80% of the aspects of their new adopted home land. But they will dislike 20%, sometimes quite strongly. Some people make the mistake of spending 80% of their time focusing on the 20% of aspects they do not like. The 80 / 20 rule. These negative thoughts can be very damaging and can lead to failure. The key to success is spending 80% of your time focusing on the 80% of the aspects that you like. Accept that you will never like 20% of your new country, but since it is the minority, you are still better off.

Remember to remain flexible and open minded when emigrating. View your move much like a permanent holiday for the rest of your life. You will never change your newly adopted country so love it for its differences. And most importantly of all, make the effort to discover all the outdoor pursuits and recreational opportunities that you new country has to offer. And if your work colleagues or a contact invites you for a BBQ, accept! Through one person you will meet 10 and this will ensure you successfully assimilate without delay.

My Moving Mix

I love my iPod. My iPod is one of my most reliable companions. My iPod can inspire more emotions and reflection than a sappy soap opera and historical documentary combined. One of my favorite things about my iPod is that I can create playlists for any mood. I have a playlist for when I’m mad, one for playing before soccer games, one for when I need cheering up, one for morning motivation, one for laughs, one for running, and even one for my dogs. Some playlists are created for temporary needs, such as road trip playlists, or playlists created for entertaining visitors.

One of my playlists was created for a temporary purpose—to help me get through my move to Canada two years ago. However, that playlist remains on my iPod and may be there forever. When I listen to those songs now, the emotions I was feeling two years ago come rushing back. And, listening to those songs helps me remember the difficulties I overcame when I went through such an emotionally trying transition. I’ve been thinking about my expatriation to Canada more lately, as it has been just two years since I moved, and I thought I should give the songs the credit they deserve for helping me preserve my sanity at that time. These are the songs that kept me going when I was still in limbo, not knowing if Sarah and I would be able to stay together. These are the songs that were my crutch as I packed up my stuff and donated all but my most important possessions. These are the songs that gave me strength as I made the ten hour trip from Grand Rapids, MI to Cambridge, ON. These are the songs that helped me keep my chin up when I was new in Canada and felt very alone.

The lyrics of some of the songs on that playlist are so eerily apt to my situation and my move that I still get chills or teary-eyed at some of them. In fact, I wrote a little synopsis of what was going on in my life two years ago using only excerpts from those songs:

This doesn’t feel like freedom. This ain’t my American dream. Nothing’s belonged, nothing’s been “yes,” nowhere’s been home, and I’m ready to be limbo no more. I’d give anything to get what's fair. Somewhere there's a place for us. It's time to make a move. I've got my heart set on anywhere but here I'm staring down myself, counting up the years. We gotta move. This ain't no living. I wouldn't stay around if the money let me linger on. When the white oak (national tree of the USA) has no answer, it turns its back on you. The maple calls you, shows you something new. In Canada, they treat you like a queen. In Canada, they never will be mean. I hear spring is nice in Canada. I start to wonder why I’m here, not there.

I sit with filled frames and my books and my dogs at my feet. My friends by my side, my past in a heap. Thrown out most of my things. You can have my stereo. Only kept what I need to carve something consistent. We said goodbye to a dear old friend, and we packed our bags and left feeling sad. I've got a heart full of rubber bands that keep getting caught on things. And I know it aches and my heart it breaks--I can only take so much. I’ve got to leave it behind. We’ll leave behind the worst we've known and build ourselves a brand new home--maybe then we'll find the time we've lost I’m ready to wake up, there in the exodus, on the beautiful side of somewhere. So I packed my car and headed east. There’s something exciting about leaving everything behind. Turn your head and don't look back. Just set your sails for a new horizon--don't turn around, don't look down. And you know it's really not surprising--it gets better when you get there. I remember my home--I left there with bitter words. I won't forget the place I come from. We said hello as we turned the key. A new roof over our heads--somewhere I belong. My roots in the ground, something at last I can feel a part of. It's a shame that we have lost so many things that we will never find again. But it doesn't matter anymore, anyways.

Below is a list of the songs on that playlist and a snippet of the lyrics for each. The songs with an asterisk are the ones that have been the most meaningful to me, and I have posted their entire lyrics. I hope that anyone who might be moving to somewhere new and unknown can find solace and encouragement in their words and music as I have (and still do).

No More—Matt Pond PA
“When the white oak has no answer, it turns its back on you. The maple calls you, shows you something new.”

Even Rats—The Slip
“I hear spring is nice in Canada. . .you can have my stereo.”

American Idiot—Greenday
“Well maybe I’m the faggot America. I’m not part of a redneck agenda.”

In a Big Country—Big Country
“I thought that pain and truth were things that really mattered, but you can't stay here with every single hope you had shattered”

Somewhere—from West Side Story
“We'll find a new way of living, we'll find a way of forgiving. Somewhere . . . There's a place for us.”

American Dream—Switchfoot
“It doesn’t feel like freedom. This ain’t my American dream.”

Godspeed You Deathwolf—Sleepless Nights
“I don’t want to move to Toronto.”

Breakaway—Kelly Clarkson
“Though it's not easy to tell you goodbye, gotta take a risk, take a chance, make a change and break away. Out of the darkness and into the sun, but I won't forget the place I come from.”

*Limbo No More—Alanis Morissette
“My house, my role
My friends, my man
My devotion to god
All the more feels indefinite

Nothing’s been clear
Nothing’s been in
Nothing’s felt true
And I’ve never had both feet in
Nothing’s belonged
Nothing’s been yes
Nowhere’s been home
And I’m ready to be limbo no more

My taste, my peers
My identity, my affiliation
All the more feels indefinite

Nothing’s been clear
Nothing’s been in
Nothing’s felt true
And I’ve never had both feet in
Nothing’s belonged
Nothing’s been yes
Nowhere’s been home
And I’m ready to be limbo no more

I sit with filled frames
And my books and my dogs at my feet
My friends by my side
My past in a heap
Thrown out most of my things
Only kept what I need to carve
Something consistent and notably me

Tattoo on my skin
My teacher’s in heart
My house is a home
Something at last I can feel a part of
Sense of myself
My purpose is clear
My roots in the ground
Something at last I can feel a part of
Something aligned
To finally commit
Somewhere I belong
‘Cuz I’m ready to be limbo no more
My wisdom applied
A firm foundation
A vow to myself
‘Cuz I’m ready to be limbo no more”

*We Said Hello, Goodbye (Don’t Look Back)—Phil Collins
“We said goodbye to a dear old friend
And we packed our bags and left feeling sad
It's the only way
We said hello as we turned the key
A new roof over our heads
Gave a smile
It's the only way
Only way

Turn your head
And don't look back
Set your sails for a new horizon
Don't turn around don't look down
Oh there's life across the tracks
And you know it's really not surprising
It gets better when you get there

Well it really don't matter much where you are
Cause home is in your heart
It's a feeling that you wake with one day
Some people keep running all their life
And still find they haven't gone too far
They don't see it's the feeling inside - the feeling inside

Turn your head and don't look back
Just set your sails for a new horizon
Don't turn around don't look down
Oh there's life across the tracks
And you know it's really not surprising
It gets better when you get there

We said hello as we turned the key
A new roof over our heads
Gave a smile - it's the only way”

*What We Have Been Waiting For—Daphne Loves Derby
“I have been waiting for July to come around
I hear the summer whispering the things to come

We have been waiting for the sun to show its face
Thank you, sweet winter
But now we're desperate to move on

We leave behind the worst we've known
And build ourselves a brand new home
Maybe then we'll find the time we've lost

Set us free, sweet summer day
We've been waiting much too long for you to come
Save me from the worst I've known
And let me relive the days I've thrown away

Times have changed so quickly
It's a shame that we have lost so many things that we will never find again
But it doesn't matter anymore, anyways
Summer sings a song to us that I can't ignore
That I'm desperate for
I tried too hard to keep my calm but I just cannot anymore, anyways

We leave behind the worst we've known
And build ourselves a brand new home
Maybe then we'll find the time we've lost

Set us free, sweet summer day
We've been waiting much too long for you to come
Save me from the worst I've known
And let me relive the days I've thrown away

Remember all the times we've wasted
Drowning ourselves in foolish dreams
We were betrayed by our own hope
But the summer will be a sweet revenge

The end”

*Stop and Stare—OneRepublic
“This town is colder now, I think it's sick of us
It's time to make a move, I'm shaking off the rust
I've got my heart set on anywhere but here
I'm staring down myself, counting up the years

Steady hands, just take the wheel
And every glance is killing me
Time to make one last appeal
For the life I leave

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be.
Stop and stare
You start to wonder why you're here, not there
And you'd give anything to get what's fair
But fair ain't what you really need
Oh, can you see what I see

They're trying to come back, all my senses push
Untie the weight bags, I never thought I could
Steady feet, don't fail me now
Gotta run till you can't walk
But something pulls my focus out
And I'm standing down

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be.
Stop and stare
You start to wonder why you're here, not there
And you'd give anything to get what's fair
But fair ain't what you really need

Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah, I know that everyone gets scared
I've become what I can't be
Oh, do you see what I see”

*Another White Dash—Butterfly Boucher
“There is something exciting about leaving everything behind
There is something deep and pulling leaving everything behind
Something about having everything you think you'll ever need
Sitting in the seat next to you

And I watch another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beside us
And I watch another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beneath us

Away away..

There is yelling of an engine, a constant rattling door
There is serious, deep and mumbled a conversation I'm not in
Flickering lights, shadows of trees makes me blink my eyes
Makes the land appear like a really old movie

And I watch another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beside us
And I watch another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beneath us

Away away..

I've got a heart full of rubber bands that keep getting caught on things

And I count another white dash, another white dash, another white dash, I drift off at eighty.. something!
And I count another white dash, another white dash, another white dash out of time with the music
Another white dash, another white dash, another white dash, fly beside us
And I count another white dash, another white dash, another white dash fly beneath us

There is something exciting about leaving everything behind
There is something deep and pulling leaving everything behind
Something about having everything you think you'll ever need
Sitting in the seat next to you”

Waiting in Canada—Jann Arden
“Drive your car all night by just starlight to Canada”

Nothing Left to Lose—Mat Kearney
“There’s nothing left to lose. So I packed my car and headed east. . .push the pedal down, and watch the world around fly by us.

Catch the Sun—Doves
“I ain’t ever going back, back to the place that I can’t stand.”

The Beautiful Side—The Wallflowers
“I’m ready to wake up, there in the exodus, on the beautiful side of somewhere. I’m ready to come down and see us both somehow, on the beautiful side of somewhere.”

Gotta Get Thru This—Daniel Beddingfield
“I gotta get through this. . .just another day and then I’ll hold you tight.”

Miles From Our Home—Cowboy Junkies
“You're miles from your home, miles from your home. But that's where I want to be.”

Start the Car—Jude Cole
“Start the car, we gotta move. This ain't no living, this ain't no groove. . .
But somewhere waiting there's something more. Start the car.”

Don’t Look Back—Thallia
“Trust your heart, you'll make it somehow. It's everything you're looking for. . .Don't look back, keep straight ahead. You know what is right--out of mind is out of sight.”

Check Yes Juliet—We the Kings
“Run, baby, run. Don't ever look back. They'll tear us apart if you give them the chance.”

Brand New Day—Sting
“The river's wide, we'll swim across. We're starting up a brand new day.”

Walk On—U2
“And I know it aches and your heart it breaks--you can only take so much. Walk on. Leave it behind. You've got to leave it behind.”

Somerville—The Pernice Brothers
“I wouldn't stay around if the money let me linger on until the end of December and waste another year like a minute, trying to forget, but I remember my home--I left there with bitter words.”

In Canada—B. J. Snowden
“In Canada, they treat you like a queen. In Canada, they never will be mean.”

Canadian Idiot—Weird Al Yankovic
“And you know what else is too funny? Their stupid Monopoly money.”

Guard it Closely—The Jealous Sound
“There's an empty chair here--we guard it closely. You're so far gone.”

No Way Back—Foo Fighters
“There is no way back from here, but I don't care--no way back from here.”

My Third Canadian Autumn Begins

I’ve always found it remarkable how many people say that autumn is their favorite season. You would think that people would prefer the lazy doldrums of summer. Yet, ask any North American to name their favorite season, and you will invariably get a response indicating either fall or both summer and fall.

I think the explanation for this is that fall is a time of year when people often start something new—ironically, a season of death represents new beginnings for so many. Either it’s off to school, sending kids to school, the start of a new sports season, or even getting new clothes that provide a bit more protection from the elements than the summer tank tops and shorts. One of my friends and I were recently discussing how powerful seasons and holidays are in prompting memories and emotions—it’s the temperatures in the air, the thickness of the atmosphere, the decorations, the colors of the fields, the richness (or lack of) in the hues in the sky, and most of all the smells that cause us to get lost in reverie, depression, or excitement. Fall, in particular, is a bit drastic in these changes. While autumn slips in some flurries here and there just to get everyone mentally ready for the upcoming cold, winter moves to spring in a blustery and muddy but gradual way, and spring eases into summer with two-degrees forward/one-degree backwards type intervals, the fall of fall always seems to be more sudden. There is always a day each year when I walk out my back door and say, usually to no one in particular, “Well, fall is here.” I can’t recall ever having that same epiphany for other seasons.

While autumn has always been my favorite season, the changing from summer to fall has increased significance for me now as I remember that one of the biggest changes in my life happened in the late summer/early fall of 2008. That was when I moved away from the US. The 30^th of August recently came and went, and the magnitude of the date did not escape me—it was my two year anniversary of moving to Canada.

I had some chance to contemplate how much my life had changed in two years, and in what ways the changes were so much different than I could have imagined. The following weekend was cold, rainy, and blustery, and I remember mentioning to no one in particular, “Well, fall is here.” Our friends Tony and Rick came from Michigan to visit us for the holiday weekend. This was their third annual Labor Day weekend visit. Their first visit to Canada on Labor Day weekend was when I moved to Canada. They arrived in Cambridge on the Friday night and stayed with Sarah so that they were there and able to help us unload the U-Haul when I arrived from Michigan the next day. In the mean time I was sleeping in a nearly empty house in Michigan with a U-Haul parked in the driveway. I got up the next morning and finished loading the final few items. My friend and neighbor Beth came over to say a tearful goodbye and to give me a bunch of Canadian coins that my soccer teammates had collected as a going away present.

As I needed to bring not only the U-Haul to Canada, but also my car, my friends Clare and Jason came over to make the trip with me. We had a nice little three-vehicle convoy—I was driving the giant U-Haul truck. Clare drove my car, and Jason drove his car so that he and Clare would have a way to get back to Michigan.

I’ll never forget those few split seconds when I pulled out of the driveway for what I knew would be the last time. I was full of fear and sadness. Sarah had made the same journey just six weeks earlier, and she said that the further she got from Grand Rapids, the more the fear and sadness started to transition into excitement and anticipation. Like her, I was driving all alone with only my iPod and my “moving to Canada” playlist to keep me company. More on that in a future post.

The U-Haul could only go so fast, and we had to stop for gas and food now and then. When we reached Detroit, we had to stop to export my car. Most encounters with United States federal government employees are a real treat, and this was no different. It took about an hour to complete something that should have taken ten minutes. Finally the car was exported, and we headed over the Ambassador Bridge. We didn’t get too far as the line to get into Canada extended almost the length of the bridge. I will never forget thinking about how during that whole time on the bridge, my car was a car without a country—exported from the US but not yet imported into Canada. I was kind of the same.

The import proceedings at the Canadian border took an additional hour, but were a much more pleasant experience, as the customs officers were very chatty and helpful. Then we were on our way again, driving the horrendous two hours of highway 401 nothingness between Windsor and London. Once we hit London, I knew we were only an hour away from my new home, and as Sarah predicted, my fear and sadness has changed to excitement—here I was in a new country, MY new country.

A journey that would typically take under six hours ended up taking ten hours. Our little convoy arrived at the house in Cambridge where we were joyfully greeted by Sarah, Tony, Rick, and our dogs Cody and Brit. The reunion with Sarah and the dogs was emotional enough, and the realization that four of my friends made the incredible journey with us just to help us out and help ease our anxiety was overwhelming. It was already getting dark when we arrived, so we opted to wait until the morning to unload the truck. Besides, Sarah, Tony, and Rick had made a trip to the Beer Store and stocked the fridge with over 72 bottles of new and exciting Canadian beers.

I woke up the next morning and opened my eyes and thought, “Wow, I’m in Canada. I’m in a different country!” (This internal morning ritual was repeated every morning for almost the next five months.) The rest of the weekend was filled with shopping, drinking, and unpacking. On Labor Day, all of our friends headed back to Michigan, and so we were left all alone in a new country where we didn’t know anyone. I had negotiated to start my job the following week, so I had one week all to myself to explore my surroundings. Sarah was working, so during the day, I rode my bike and walked around town, took drives through the countryside, and sat on the deck taking it all in. Autumn came early in 2008, and by the first week of September, the feeling was already in the air. The day before I started my new job, I was hanging out on the deck with the dogs. The sky was cool gray, the wind encouraged a few red-tinged maple leaves to surrender to gravity, and I buttoned my overcoat with a shiver. I mumbled to no one in particular, “Well, fall is here.”