Is It Me, Or Is It Them? The Million Dollar Question
Image from Unsplash
There are days when the sun is shining, my social calendar is full, life is good, and I’m so glad I made the decision to raise my family in Spain.
And there are days when one awkward, unpleasant event can trigger my biggest insecurities and make all of that go to shit.
Today’s event involved a stopover at Maccas on the way back from a long weekend away, where we discovered that a classmate of my 7-year-old daughter was having a birthday party — and she hadn’t been invited.
Okay, fair enough, I first thought — maybe they were just having a small gathering with close friends. Since my daughter had had a small party earlier this year with just a few friends (we were having it at home and were worried everyone wouldn’t fit), it wasn’t unreasonable that she wasn’t invited.
But when more and more of her classmates started trickling in, to the point where it felt like the entire class was there, I started thinking: “Okay, this feels personal.”
I knew it wasn’t anything to do with my daughter. She is a social butterfly who’s friends with absolutely everyone. She’s the kind of kid other kids will approach in the park, asking if she’d like to be their friend. In fact, when we got to Maccas, the birthday girl came running happily up to her to give her a hug, evidently unaware that she hadn’t come for the party.
So yeah, I don’t know what the hell that was about. But I have a few ideas. And I feel like they’re mostly to do with me.
Most of the time, I already feel like my relationships with the other parents are on shaky ground. We get along fine, but on a superficial level. We talk about the kids, school, extra curricular activities, the new chiringuito that’s just opened up next to the school.
But there’s always something keeping each other at arms’ length — whether that’s cultural or language barriers, or my being perceived as an outsider, or my feeling that others perceive me as an outsider. Or a bit of all three, I suppose.
When something like this happens — and it’s not the first time it has — that rocky ground cracks open and swallows me up whole. I spend days consumed by it, going round in circles in my head and trying to see it from every possible angle to try to understand if it’s me, or if it’s everyone else.
And after 7 years, I still don’t know.
I’ve just finished reading “Paris or Die”, a memoir by Aussie writer Jayne Tuttle (which I loved and 100% recommend, by the way). In it, she talks about how frustrating it is that she never knows how to be around the locals. When she’s herself — whether telling jokes with her offbeat sense of humour, or simply talking a little loudly — she feels like she’s always committing some faux pas that ends up offending someone.
I can relate to that. But in some ways, I also feel like I have the opposite problem. I’m so scared of being myself here, and find it so hard to express myself in an authentic way — probably because I’m terrified of offending someone (something that lines up with my Enneagram Type 9 personality) — that I feel like I close myself off. I miss the chance to connect to others on a deeper level. Even though I try to be friendly to others, and am usually the one to instigate a conversation, it never goes very far — and that initial effort somehow ends up falling flat.
But then again, should I be the one trying so hard? I’ve rarely felt anyone go out of their way to be particularly welcoming to me — something I’ve always strived to do whenever I’ve met a newcomer, and have been conscious of their unfair disadvantage away from home turf.
Is it just that people aren’t aware of how hard it is for outsiders? Maybe if you’ve never lived in a different country, you don’t realise what it’s like to have that feeling of everything stacked against you from the get-go — a feeling that never really goes away.
Or maybe I’m the one incompatible with the culture? I’ve never been the kind of person to be comfortable in big groups, let alone speak up in one. I hate being the centre of attention. I’d always prefer a deep and meaningful conversation with a single person, and am perfectly content to be the one doing most of the listening.
When you add in my own hang-ups about speaking the language, I probably don’t contribute to the conversation as much as I could. And Spanish people like to talk. So maybe it’s true that extroverts have a much easier time of things when they move abroad.
Or, maybe people here just aren’t interested in making friends with outsiders. And why would they be? Most have had the same friends their whole lives. And seem to get along fine with the others that they can at least have a semi-interesting conversation with. Why would you choose to be friends with someone you don’t really have a lot in common with, especially if you’ve never taken the time to find out whether you do?
(Seriously - in all my time here, there have only ever been a handful of parents who have asked me anything about myself, where I’m from, what it’s like, or what I do for a living. And somehow I know all these things about everyone else. Talk about a one-sided conversation.)
Am I just used to a culture where people are friendlier and more open in general - something that’s not typical of other cultures? We Aussies have a reputation of being friendly and laidback, and when I went back recently, I was blown away by how warm everyone was, and how inquisitive they were — even perfect strangers. (Granted, a deserted park in Brunswick is probably not the best place to make friends, but still.)
Or is that romanticising Australian culture too much? We obviously have some individuals and even groups who are not so welcoming to outsiders. Most of my best friends back home are also those I’ve known since high school, so maybe I’m no different to the locals. If the situation were reversed, maybe I’d be just as cliquey to them. (I’d like to think I wouldn’t, though.)
Or am I overthinking the whole thing and blowing it all out of proportion, when I should just be chalking it up to a simple birthday party where not everyone could be invited? Or, a petty yet fair-game snub by parents who felt slighted that we hadn’t invited their daughter to our party (again, only because it was a small one!), which could probably be rectified by an invite to the next one?
As you can see — circles. When I think I’ve settled on one conclusion, my mind soon drifts to another one. And this cycle will most likely continue for a few days, until the awkwardness fades, one of the mums at school strikes up a conversation with me, and I get that little confidence boost that everything will be okay.
For now, the conclusion I want to stick to is that it’s fine. And I should let it go. In fact, I could probably take a page from my daughter’s book — she simply shrugged it off like a champ and went back to her Happy Meal, content with the unexpected surprise of having seen a few of her friends after a nice weekend away.
One thing’s for sure, though — we won’t be going back to Maccas any time soon.
