The Peaks & Valleys of Culture Shock
Although I have noticed many cultural parallels in the North Karelian region of Finland and the North Central Appalachian region of the United States (US) (—for a recap, see my previous blog entry: Why Finland?). Despite the parallels, there are also differences, of course. Based on my, previous, long-term and short-term professional experiences abroad, I know I am not immune to culture shock. For this reason, I am writing about this topic during my experience abroad in Finland to demonstrate how I am choosing to work through this process with the options available to me. As I wrap up my sixth month of living in Finland, I am noticing that some of the day-dreamy feelings of adventure are wearing into something more resolved and… well, real. Before I get into this reflection, though, I want to explain a little more about how culture shock can interact with someone’s new adventure—at home or abroad, compulsory or chosen.
For anyone unfamiliar with the term, culture shock can occur without traveling abroad. Cambridge Dictionary defines it as, “a feeling of confusion felt by someone visiting a country or place that they do not know”; Merriam-Webster dictionary takes this definition a step further, denoting culture shock as, “a sense of confusion and uncertainty sometimes with feelings of anxiety that may affect people exposed to an alien culture or environment without adequate preparation”. Culture shock could manifest for someone moving from a low-socioeconomic (SES) neighborhood to a high-SES neighborhood (or vice versa) within the same country just as easily as it could for someone moving to a foreign country as a refugee, immigrant, graduate student, researcher, or new hire.
Phases of Culture Shock: Linear Representations of a Vacillating Process
While I have had the professional opportunity to travel to a handful of countries now, I have only lived abroad twice. I must say that my transition to Finland from the US has been significantly smoother than my transition from the US to Bolivia when I was in my early 20s. Of course, there are several factors that play into the differences related to these transitions including, but not limited to: traveling via an established organization’s process instead of via my own connections and planning, moving from a small town to a small town instead of from a small town to a capital city, and increased maturity and sense of global citizenship. With specific reference to the Fulbright Finland Foundation (FFF), culture shock is such a known and navigable concept for grant recipients that FFF dedicates materials like this article on “Navigating Transition to a New Country and Culture” that is stocking-stuffed with resources to help Fulbright recipients navigate their culture shock journeys in Father Christmas’ official homeland.
Culture shock is often depicted as being a linear process, but based on my own experiences and others’ experiences known to me, they do not always manifest in this way. For instance, below I list three figures representing the potential processes of culture shock in increasing complexity. This is by no means an extensive list.
Figure 1
Youth Reporter (2018), “Are you depressed or are you just experiencing the culture shock?”
Figure 2
Paszkowska-Rogacz, A., et al. (2008) “Vocational Guidance and Multicultural Challenges”
Figure 3
Alex, S. (2018), “Is ‘Culture Shock’ Such a Relevant and Important Term in 2018?”
*Admittedly, I find the diagram more engaging than the associated article
As you can see from this sample of models, culture shock is generally described as having four major phases: Honeymoon, Anxiety, Adjustment, and Acceptance (See Figure 1); however, these phases can be further broken down, extended, and oscillate before finding resolve, depending on the individual and experiences (See Figures 2 and 3).
My Experiences with Culture Shock: Comparative Overview of Bolivia and Finland
There is no way to really dig into the details of this cross-country comparison of my perceived experiences in one blog, BUT I think I can provide a sturdy overview. For instance, if I just use the phrasing from Figure 1 (Youth Reporter, 2018), my comparison might look something like Figure 4 (below):
Side note: Interestingly, I’ve never written this out before and there is something therapeutic about the process, so we will explore this reflection together.
Bolivia
In my early-20s, there was a lot going on when I moved to the acting capital of Bolivia. For instance, I was a majority-demographic person (i.e., able-bodied, white, seemingly-heterosexual, middle-class) in my town in the USA and I had never been in a taxi or interacted with more than a few homeless or destitute people outside of local community service experiences. So, moving to this high-altitude, city on another continent teeming with people who immediately identified me as a foreigner based on my appearance was an exhilarating and daunting process—pretty much in that order. I learned a lot about myself, others, my profession, and the world in this new culture and environment. As you can see in Figure 4, from what I remember of the experience, I followed a pretty traditional, linear Culture Shock journey. This adjustment, though, was tough. Aside from different comfort foods, I was inexperienced and unprepared to navigate some experiences—like knowing I needed to negotiate the price of a taxi before getting in because they would likely overcharge me or having emergency cash on hand if I travel outside of the city in case I need to bribe an authority figure. I spent many after-work hours in my apartment room feeling depressed and isolated, often choosing not to interact with the local culture.
To use Alex’s (2018) descriptor from Figure 3, even though I was not a refugee, I totally rejected the experience during this time. I interacted primarily with English-speaking people in English-speaking places and outside of that I made minimal effort to interact. Thankfully, I was in the country with my then-partner and we were living in a shared apartment, so I had opportunities to get out and participate in cultural activities with them; otherwise, I honestly do not know if I would have left my room aside from to go to work and the open-air markets on the weekends. At one point, a teacher-friend I had made outside of my school even took me to an “American-style tex-mex” restaurant in an effort to cheer me up. All of these people were English-speakers, so I probably fluctuated between the “rejection” and “regression” phases during the early and middle months. I felt emotionally overwhelmed (i.e., fear, anger, remorse, dismay…) by the beggars who seemed to target me for aid, whether or not I had given them part of my lunch the day before (I didn’t have much change to spare). While I was awed by the stunning, dramatic views of the Andean mountain rage that peaked between the sides of too-tightly-quartered housing and above the rats’-nests power lines that mobbed the airspace above the streets, being in a city with so many people was claustrophobic for me for a few months. Visiting family over the winter holiday season—a gift from my parents—was a welcome, and probably needed, reprieve. It is not lost on me that the fact that I could even take a “break” from this new culture is also a big indicator of privilege. Many students, refugees, and minimum-wage workers definitely would not have this as an option. At this point of my life, if not for my family, it would not have been an option for me either.
I list the pre- and post-holiday experience as “Adjustment”, but I think there was a little bit of a honeymoon-resurgence because of the people I was looking forward to seeing and the opportunity that visit provided me to re-live some of my experiences and remind myself of the ways in which those experiences, although emotionally difficult, could be perceived to be rose-tinted. Ultimately, returning to celebrate the new year and returning to the country re-invigorated my will to interact with the culture. As specific examples, I started hanging out with locals outside of work, attended a wedding and local events, and even broke up with my then-partner, moved out, and found my own apartment on my own for a little while. (That didn’t last long—I was still (poorly) navigating being firm with the decision to separate with a significant other.) All that to say, I was firmly planted in the “recovery” and “acceptance” phases at that point. By the time of my “despedida” (going-away party), I had a great group of local and international friends to invite. It is also worth briefly mentioning that I absolutely experienced “reverse culture shock” upon returning to the USA. Going to shopping malls, for instance, was absolutely too much for me for a while after I returned because of how gleaming, extravagant, and truly excessive they appeared to me. It took around a month or so to re-adjust to the styles and culture of living in my home area.
Finland
After my successful, if challenging, experience living in South America on my own, without the assistance of a third-party guiding my transition, moving to Eastern Europe was an absolute breeze. Not only did I have the structured support of a renown international agency (i.e., The Fulbright Foundation) covering my residence permit and other expenses, but the destination agency and my grant sponsors (i.e., Fulbright Finland Foundation and Finnish National Agency for Education) provided pre-travel seminars; more tutorials, guides, and introductory material than I could have imagined; and supportive contact personnel to field any questions I might have—instead of leaving me to only figure it out for myself, like I did in Bolivia. Additionally, although there is some ethnic diversity in Finland, for the most part I look like I fit in with the ethnic, socioeconomic, and other majority groups and the cultural norms here are pretty similar to those of the area in which I was raised. So, it makes sense that Figures 1 and 2, respectively, resonate more with this journey.
Because of the thoroughness of the Fulbright application and planning process, not only did I enter this culture shock situation with an entirely different type of culture and previous experience, but I also entered with preconceived professional, academic, and personal goals aside from the main focus: conducting a parallel study to my dissertation research in Finland. As such, the gap between what Figure 2 describes as the “observer” and “participant” (Paszkowska-Rogacz, et al., 2008) is significantly shorter in my Finland experience. Additionally, the cultural divide between my prior and present experiences with cultural divide was not as vast and unwieldy.
See my Fulbright Finland Foundation magazine entry, “Volunteering to Connect with a Local Community” for examples of how I participate in Eastern Finland's local and regional areas.Honestly, some of the culture shock I experienced here was because what I had been prepared to expect of Finns was sometimes utterly annulled. For instance, I remember an instance in September when I went to an outdoor concert series (rock and metal openers with a gypsy-folk/dance feature band) and I was approached to take a group’s picture for them. Afterward, they wanted to know more about me and were willing to navigate my poor Finnish and their collective English to strike up a conversation. I had been prepared to be shunned and ignored by Finns—as part of my understanding of and orientations about the culture—and was prepared not to be offended by this behavior. So, when this group of middle-aged locals were so friendly, I was the one who was a bit cold and brief because I was so sure they were annoyed by interacting with me. Looking back, I recognized how ridiculous this thought-process was. Now, I am happy to say that I learned from the experience and cheerfully engage Finns who greet me in conversation after that point.
Unavoidably, some of the “anxiety” of my culture shock experience this time around can be attributed to the ongoing global pandemic. The regulation and protocol changes and cancelations has made for many opportunities to expand my positive outlook when I only seem to encounter closed doors or dark passageways in the bureaucratic logistics of living in a foreign country. Even with some of the valleys of the culture shock process (as opposed to the “peak-moments”, like the “honeymoon” and “acceptance” phases), overall, this adjustment has been dramatically smoother than my previous experiences, Bolivia being one example.
Finally, I labeled February as “anxious” because I have recently been feeling more homesick than usual. In general, homesickness tends to be categorized in the valley-moments of the culture shock journey. Of course, there could be a number of contributors to this. For one thing, I recently successfully defended my doctoral dissertation (yes, I’m still thrilled about it) and have increased the amount of time I dedicate to the job-searching and application processes. This causes me to consider where I want to be (e.g., continent -> country -> city/town) and assess where I am with a more critical eye. This also causes me to reconsider my core values and priorities—many of which and whom still live in my home country. Unfortunately, COVID-restrictions are ever-vacillating between increased restrictions and allowances, even in less-populated cities and rural areas, which has not helped me consistently maintain my engagement in and connection to the local community. With all of this, I am not intentionally “rejecting” Finnish culture, per se; instead, I might say that I am becoming disassociated due to extraneous events. Although, this certainly has more to do with experiencing the repercussions of living through a global pandemic abroad than it does with “traditional” culture shock. On a bright note, my Finnish language skills are improving, even with the more-limited, non-English-speaking interactions with locals.
Peace amidst the Process
It may be unexpected but experiencing culture shock does not mean I am not still enjoying my time in this culture. I still love snow and the winter-wonderlandy feeling I get when big, fluffy flakes fall from the frosty winter sky. I am not tired of Karelian pies (a local delicacy) nor am I sequestering myself within my apartment or university office space until my grant period is up. With that said, I have discovered that I must be okay with and set aside downtime for myself alone in order to recharge each day and at the end of the week. This is growth and self-awareness as a result of the age-difference between early-20s and early-30s me. This sometimes means that I have to disconnect from everyone—people back home and here in Finland—and that it is no longer a sign of me rejecting or disconnecting from the local culture.
Disclaimer: I understand that this is my experience, so if any of my colleagues are reading this and feeling like they aren’t doing something “right”, please cut that nonsense out and feel out the path that works for you. In Untamed, Glennon Doyle suggests that, instead of thinking about what is “right” and “wrong” in your life, reframe your decisions to seek what is “true” and “beautiful”.
“You are not here to waste your time deciding whether my life is true and beautiful enough for you. You are here to decide if your life, relationships, and world are true and beautiful enough for you.”
What it does mean for me is that I feel settled in this culture, but still miss the people who remain in my home country. I have been participating in local and university events (virtual and in-person), volunteering within the local community and region (virtual and in-person), and enjoying the ice-garden variety of ways Finns experience the outdoors, year-round. I am grateful for the people whom I have befriended, interviewed, and worked alongside while I am here. Still, with all of this and perhaps because I ultimately do not plan to settle in this country, there remains a sense of longing for and a reminder of places and people that I have accepted as “home”. As I mentioned, I have been looking more into the next steps of my career and I think that often translates to living less in the moment. This means that, although I still have work to finish at Ohio University, with academic colleagues, and for my Fulbright research. This form of reality—where one chapter seems to be closing, but you do not know which of the doors on which you are knocking will open to you—contributes to the valley-psychology of the culture shock process for me and has done so for the past month.
At the end of the day, although still anxious about the future, I am choosing to trust that I will “recover” and “adapt” (see Figure 2), both, in my immersion experience within the Finnish culture and the terminal-degree hiring culture. Regardless of what happens next, I know that I designed the parts of the path that I could control up to this point of the journey and I will continue to develop this mindset until my glocal (i.e., local and global) worldview expands to encompass peace amidst the process, in this valley and through whatever comes next.
