Reverse Culture Shock

One of my biggest fears returning to the States was reverse culture shock.  In the past I've found that reverse culture shock is far worse than regular culture shock.  Going to new places, I've learned to expect the unexpected and the sheer excitement of traveling usually overcomes any anxiety of immersion in new countries.  On the other hand, reverse culture shock destroys the myth of Home Sweet Home.  Home is supposed to be the one place in the world that never changes, where childhood memories freely exist, and the comfort of the familiar welcomes all its lost children back.  Unfortunately, after living in a strange, far away land, our inner standards of normal shift. Home, on our re-calibrated standard, no longer feels normal.  Things are off.  With their guards down, travelers often fall victim to the depressive reverse culture shock.

When I first lived abroad for six months in Costa Rica and Nicaragua, I got lost in the abyss of reverse culture shock.  For the cost of a single beer in a Boston bar, I could buy 20 beers in Nicaragua, or pay an entire week's wages of local factory workers.  Instead of enjoying social nights on the town with friends, leaving my house became disturbing and mentally draining.  The frugal me hid from the excesses of the American lifestyle.  

This time, familiar with what to expect after two years away, I came back to Boston preparing for the worst.  I understood that prices would be high.  If I saw my peers paying for an absurdly priced sandwich, I knew that I should probably go along with the crowd and not worry about individual purchases.  With this mentality, I overcame reverse culture shock.

But needless to say, this past month, there have been instances that utterly freaked me out.  Of all places, nothing was quite as overwhelming as taking a trip to the supermarket.  There, all the vegetables are perfectly grown: all gigantic, without any blemishes, colored with deep greens and reds, and all identically created.  This food does not feel natural.

While I haven't succumbed to a cultural depression, strange nightmares about giant green peppers or attacks of the killer tomatoes might just be the preferable alternative to never leaving my house.

Star Market in Chestnut Hill

Reverse Culture Shock