There's No Place Like Home

OHHHH, New Zealand!

“Country road, take me home, to the place, I belong…” John Denver

I’ve recently come home to a spanking new apartment after six months on the road exploring New Zealand. I didn’t go half as far as I thought I would. My adventure took me out of my comfort zone, like a rollin’ stone, accepting offers of hearth and home.

What a welcoming sight my empty space was on the day I picked up the keys. My first call to my movers was, “Let’s shift in stages over 2 days, shall we?” Pacing out the rooms to reimagine my life in situ, I knew that most of my American-scale furniture would simply not fit. My lockup was stuffed to the gills with things I have been carting around the world for decades. It’s all on the chopping block now. My first lot of duplicate cookware sold on Trademe for $40 to a nice South African chef who met me at the petrol station. He was chuffed and so was I.

Travel changes you in so many big and small ways.

When I first arrived in New Zealand over 30 years ago, I immediately felt a chill go up my spine. I had arrived - home - at last. It felt like a dream. Had I just gone over the rainbow to the land of small people who talked funny and were wise beyond their years? What was this sense of peace that descended upon me? When Glenda of the amazing eye makeup, invited me to go riding on a wild black sand beach on her beautiful long-maned horses, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. Everything seemed to glow as my path curved into the horizon. I began to relax.

Oh, I made a lot of mistakes that first year.

One was thinking that people would understand my drive, enthusiasm and demand for perfection. That I often worked late seemed to annoy them, which I mistook for needing to work harder. What I didn’t realise then was that my work ethic was actually not appreciated by my colleagues. Kiwis preferred to keep the status quo at a manageable pace. I was upsetting the apple cart. Asking questions in meetings was barely tolerated because it made meetings go long. I was expected to learn the ropes quietly and out of sight. My enthusiasm for powering through things put me at odds with others who suddenly felt pressured to perform - and they didn’t like it! They thought I was showing off.

What my friends here didn’t know about my American upbringing is that competition is our lifeblood. How to win is the first lesson you learn on the playground and on the scholastic pitch. How you play the game looms large in everything. We stood for hours reciting words at spelling bees and solving math equations at blackboards. Standing up and stepping forward without hesitation was key to my cultural identity. As a product of an American university and corporate career, my identity was intricately linked with my work. It was difficult for me to see myself beyond that. Accomplishment was essential to my sense of self-worth, and talking up one’s accomplishments is justification. Earning one’s place.

Kinda sick, huh?

The great thing about running smack up against your views and seeing them in context of a different culture is that you cannot avoid the comparison. A reflection that I only began to see when Glenda tricked me into skiving off to ride horses on a nice afternoon with the excuse that the farrier was coming. Or when Julia scheduled me on foredeck for the Friday rum races, before I finished my work. That I could be so easily converted into a slacker was somewhat sobering. When I would slip back into work early on Monday, I saw I was the only one making coffee - for hours. I began to question my old habits. If I was going to get any good at sailing or eventing, I would have to make time for these things. Kiwis make time. They consider their personal pursuits just as important as their work. They are very dedicated to success, and sport is their natural competition ground. Work just does not hold the same place in the ethos here. Of course, it’s different for everyone. We have our amazing scientists and scholars too. I’ll bet many have a kayak paddle or cricket bat waiting by the back door. Learning new sports and timetables helped me swing wide of my narrowly defined persona, and to my great surprise, I liked it!

When I first began to slack off, I realized just how much my preset pendulum needed it. I learned how to be lazy. Really lazy. I took entire weekends off to just putter around! I didn’t have to report on the things I accomplished over the weekend on Mondays. Kiwis don’t believe that part - that we brag about all the things we ‘do’ in America to feel important. I began to see that having a life might mean sitting still in nature and just being. I took the opportunity to go on meditation retreats with people who didn’t speak for days. Seriously.

I remember noticing with amusement that when Americans arrive in New Zealand and ask where to buy their Seven Habits calendar refills (dating myself) and they find out they can’t get their particular size and style …their heads explode. The lack of choices seems baffling to people coming from the Northern climes. I am at pains to explain that in a small country, we just don’t have the demand for so many things. Shipping to the ends of the earth is expensive. Your pharmacy may only stock a portion of your cosmetics line, if they even have your brand. You may have to preorder and wait for things. You can either spend a lot of time and shipment costs on Amazon Australia or learn to try what’s on offer here. Sure, the socks suck. But everybody’s socks suck (say that fast!) here so - you get over it.

Choosing what is really important enough to keep (store, insure and maintain) is my current challenge. This is my third or fourth crack at downsizing, but who’s counting? Preparing for The Big Cull was easy this time. While I was WWOOFing (or more accurately during winter, mostly housesitting), I drove from place to place with 2 suitcases in my car. The smaller one held my office gear. When you stay in Kiwi’s homes you see how they live. Elegantly. Wanting nothing. I discovered that every respectable Kiwi home has a very handy toasty machine and a kettle. You’re lucky if the oven works. A microwave features highly. Maybe 3 different-sized knives and pots, 2 skillets max. Cupboards hold enough food for a week or two. Fridges are smaller. Only the most posh homes have icemakers. If I stumbled into a closet looking for the vacuum, I was shocked to see how few clothes people own. And how few closets most homes have as a result.

After living out of suitcases for 6 months and wearing the same two shirts on alternating days, I became used to not dressing up for work. I had a firewood-hauling-dog-walking shirt and a go-to-the-market shirt. A heavy jacket for cold mornings and a lighter jumper for afternoons. Allbirds and Red Bands. Simple.

As I was moving into my new flat, one of my neighbours saw my tall pile of neatly folded towels and asked me if I was running a hotel. She couldn’t know that during my days of highly disposable income, I managed to dispose of quite a lot of it at American home and fashion outlets. Shopping was my sport, and I was very good at it. Of course, I didn’t have a horse or a sailboat then.

These days, I do most of my work on Zoom or racing to the airport for a welcome brekkie. My colleagues offer their posh offices for in-person meetings. I really don’t need my huge custom-made ash desk anymore (it will be the last thing to go). I’ve sold many, many art books to a lovely second-hand shop.

During my last Big Cull, I delivered a stack of very nice vintage clothes to the Recycle Boutique. The shop owner asked me “How do you know they are vintage?” noting their pristine condition. I replied: “Easy. Do you know how long it’s been since I was a size 6?”

Once you start letting go, it becomes a game. “Do I really need this?” I ask myself holding up some treasure from my college days. I might even let my car go in favour of public transport. Lots of people don’t drive. They don’t need the status and ridiculous expense of owning a car.

Status has been putting a hole in my budget for decades. I think I’ll let some of that go too. I’m sure that will be much harder to let go of than my custom-made ash desk.