Culture Shock

In my travels I’ve often been susceptible to culture shock. What is culture shock? How would one describe it, or define it? This feeling of being overwhelmed when placed into another culture, another country. This feeling of things not making sense, or feeling familiar, or just a general feeling of one’s center, one’s sense of the world, feeling disrupted and out of sync. Maybe the concept is different for everyone. I’m not sure. But it is enough of a phenomenon that as a society we’ve deemed it real enough - real enough to decide to give it a name. So, for people, I suppose it takes on many forms.

For me culture shock is a feeling akin to anxiety, or even panic. I’ve struggled with anxiety and panic for much of my life, and often times, it’s when I’m immersed in another culture, with people speaking another language, with the pace of life accelerated, when I’ve felt heightened anxiety the most - when I’ve experienced very real, very frightening panic attacks.

I’ve always wanted to - but have been thus far too lazy to - do a little research into this concept of “culture shock” and to see if there are any studies into whether certain people feel culture shock in a more heightened way than others, or if some are more susceptible to experiencing extreme anxiety or even panic attacks while traveling or while immersing oneself in other cultures. Because, for me, it’s real. And for me, I’ve fought the urges at times to limit my travel, or to limit the places I travel to or with whom I travel for fear of experiencing crippling panic. The list is fairly long in terms of places I’ve experienced full blown panic. Los Angeles in 1992. Vienna in 1993. Glacier National Park in 1997. On a train to Salzburg in 1998. Madrid on the same trip in 1998. Madrid again in 2014. On the airplane to Las Vegas in 2015. Santa Fe in 2021. And these are just the ones I remember. I’m sure there are a lot more. It’s enough of a list that, when thinking about future travel experiences, I get a little knot in my throat and tightness in my chest and the worried thought of, “Is it going to happen again?”

I experienced a lot of worry in the lead up to my one-year teaching experience in Munich. I was very concerned that I’d feel intense anxiety and panic being on my own in this strange, new place - enough that I’d get so overwhelmed that I’d have to flee and return home. It was a real fear of mine. Thanks to decent therapy and a lot of mental preparation, I was able to deal with the anxieties that did come up while in Germany, and thankfully, none of them manifested into anything I couldn’t handle. I had many of those same worries leading up to this 3-month trip I’m currently on. “Will I experience panic attacks again?” “Will I struggle?” “Will I get to the place where I just can’t take it anymore and need to go home?” Those were all thoughts that flooded my brain prior to this experience.

So, I write this as the topic of my latest post, because, as you may have already guessed, I exprienced a fairly heavy dose of anxiety-causing culture shock yesterday. I’m currently writing from the roof-top patio of a hotel my nephew, Santi, and I are staying in in the city of Cádiz, on Spain’s southwest Atlantic shore. He and I decided yesterday to abandon the beach, and the rest of our family, for a couple of days - to experience something other than the lazy beach existence and to get a charge from the (somewhat) big city. Santi also has a friend in Cádiz, so for him it went beyond just a chance to spend some quality time with his uncle.

So, last night. Santi and I spent a little time together after arriving here, but then I decided I wanted some solo time to stroll and perhaps do some things that Santi was likely not interested in. I strolled. Santi lounged. Day turned to night, and I still felt as though I’d rather be alone than join Santi and his friend, Jose, for dinner. I wanted to experience a little culture, and I figured it would be nice to give Santi his space to hang with his friend. So I sought out a nearby bar that I had found online as having live music. The minute I went into the bar, I started feeling that sensation of being a fish out of water, wishing I wasn’t alone, feeling a million miles away from anything that felt normal and familiar and comfortable. Culture shock. I took a seat at the bar, but immediately wanted out. I lingered, waiting for the bartender to acknowledge me, and hoping with a beer and a little time that I’d settle in. The bartendar ignored me. I didn’t settle in. So I bounced. But the feelings of anxiety didn’t die down. Out on the streets, again I was immersed in an environment that felt offputting and scary. It’s hard to define these feelings, exactly. Especially considering there are times when I’m exhilarated by being somewhere different, around others different than me, in another country and culture. How is it that the same environments, the same cities, the same situations can sometimes give me overwhelming joy and other times give me stiffling panic? I don’t get it. And, frankly, it pisses me off.

On the streets of Cádiz I began to have those anxious feelings that have led to full-blown panic attacks in my past. So, what’s a grown man to do when faced with impending panic. Well, this man went to Burger King. Familiar, right? Sure. It maybe calmed me a little, knowing I could get a burger, sit out on the street and breathe for a minute. But even Burger King was a chaotic exercise in culture norm assimilation. The items were all different. I had to order at a confusing kiosk. I had to figure out where to get my food. And I had to wait an eternity for someone to call off my order number I’d been repeating in my head as to make sure I’d recognize the number when a BK employee shouted it out in Spanish. Would she holler, “Ocho Uno Ocho” or “Ochocientos Dieciocho”? I said both in my head over and over again just to be safe.

With my grande, super, bacon something or other successfully inside my belly, I did begin to calm. I’d been here before. I’d dealt with these feelings way more times than I could count. For me, I’ve learned that the best strategy is to sort of let the anxious feelings just wash over me. Accept them. And know that they will not last forever. The knowledge of the relative brief duration of these anxious feelings is what’s gotten me through them the most in my life. Yes, I’ve experienced panic attacks in all corners of Europe and from Bar Harbor to Beverly Hills. But I’ve also experienced the aftermath of this panic and the eventually peace and contentment that comes later. In 1993 I went on to joyously explore Europe with my dad and fall in love with the continent for the first time. In 1998 Tricia, Donna, Nathan and I made countless amazing memories together throughout Austria, Germany and Italy. And in 2014 our whole family, including my mom, had the trip of a lifetime in Spain, Portugal, London and Ireland. The anxiety eventually fades. The panic subsides. And, usually, with a day or two of distance, I’m back to embracing and rejoicing in the strange, wonderful, eye-opening culture in which I’m in. So, today I write. And today I feel better. Just according to formula. Do I feel perfect? And anxiety free? No. Do I continue to worry about future times on this trip and the panic that may hit me even worse than it did last night? You betcha. But, here and now, I'm better. And happy. I’m sitting in the sun, drinking a beer, writing, hearing the sounds of drums from the streets below, and soaking up the intense gratitude for where I am, what I’m experiencing and what’s to come. Fear? Culture shock? The hell with both of you. I’ve got things to do.