You might’ve come for the remote work tips; you’ll probably stay for the feeling of being seen in your hunger for a freer, more intentional life. Pull up a chair and let’s get you a Spritz.

I don’t know if this is a strange form of OCD, but in three days I’m setting off on a 10-day solo trip to Europe, partly because I feel compelled to heal my relationship with a city I lived in back in 2019, which I left after an internship I hated.

That city is Oxford, UK.

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As I booked the trip, with all the butterflies of a solo traveler, I kept picturing myself walking down the same street where my internship workplace was, wandering through the city center, and recreating new narratives—almost as if to lift a spell.

Lately, I’ve found myself wanting to do this with a couple of other places I lived in during my 20s that left me with a meh feeling when I departed.

Of course, I’m also looking forward to heading back to the UK simply because it’s been on my mind a lot recently and for the fascination it always sparks. I can’t wait to eat scones with jam, have fish & chips again, and see the greenest parks on earth.

I’m glad to be having a job (two, to be precise) that allow me to take trips without using PTO and where I have enough autonomy that I don’t have to ask permission every time I want to leave.

I’m excited and nervous for my trip at the same time. I’ll keep you posted!

P.S.: Two potential explanations for the “odd” pull to revisit places from our past

They come from authors any traveler seeking deep reflections on the art of traveling should read:

The first is José Saramago. In Journey to Portugal (another place I lived in and will be visiting again on this trip), he writes:

The end of one journey is simply the start of another. You have to see what you missed the first time, see again what you already saw, see in springtime what you saw in summer, in daylight what you saw at night, see the sun shining where you saw the rain falling, see the crops growing, the fruit ripen, the stone which has moved, the shadow that was not there before. You have to go back to the footsteps already taken, to go over them again or add fresh ones alongside them. You have to start the journey anew. Always.

In a time when people pride themselves on counting countries or placing flags on a map—digital or physical (what does “checking off a country” even mean, really?)—I love the idea of revisiting the places that have shaped us, multiple times and in different seasons, both of the year and of our lives.

It’s almost like keeping a relationship alive.

That’s exactly how I feel about Lisbon, where I lived for three formative years and which I return to every few years.

The second explanation comes from Italo Calvino. In his masterpiece Invisible Cities, he writes:

You take delight not in a city's seven or seventy wonders, but in the answer it gives to a question of yours.

To me, this suggests that it’s sometimes hard to pinpoint exactly why we’re drawn to a city. Perhaps the place will only reveal the answer once we arrive (maybe that’s what will happen for me in Oxford?) and I love the idea of tuning into our intuition enough to listen to which places are calling us.

I’ll leave you with that for this week. Thank you for reading!

Have you ever felt compelled to visit a place more than once? Or to return to a place you once lived in, hoping to gain a sense of closure?

I’d love to hear your experience.

Leave a comment

And if you liked this piece, don’t forget to tap the 💙 below. You can also buy me a coffee or consider a paid subscription.

Until next time.

Yours,
Caterina

You might’ve come for the remote work tips; you’ll probably stay for the feeling of being seen in your hunger for a freer, more intentional life. Pull up a chair and let’s get you a Spritz.

There’s something that has been occupying my mind a lot since last weekend: the loneliness so many of us in our 20s and 30s have quietly accepted as our default mode, often without even realizing it.

The thought came to me during yet another wide-open Sunday I was blessed with—no preset plans, just hours to fill as I pleased.

Instead of starting the day with joy and making the most of that spacious, exciting freedom, though, I threw one of my worst “5-year-old-in-the-body-of-a-30-year-old-woman” tantrums.

Directed, unfortunately, at the kind presence of my partner.

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Now. This took place after what I’d call a pretty lively 48 hours

…a party at our place, friends, wine, followed by a slow morning of coffee and pastries, and then more friends, another party, and more wine.

By the numbers alone, come Sunday, I should have felt fulfilled.

I should’ve been the kind of woman who pops up on your Instagram feed, ready to put on her red light therapy face mask (which, for the record, I don’t own—**donations accepted via Buy Me a Coffee BELOW**) and sink into a peaceful “Sunday wellness routine.”

Or at the very least, I should’ve tackled my long-overdue adult to-do list (read: the meal prep I’ve been promising myself since January 1st, 2025).

But no.

Instead, I woke up in a full-on rut, and the next thing I knew, I was crying over the sponge while washing dishes from the Friday party.

As tears slid down my cheeks in the most unnecessarily dramatic way possible, I gave myself a pep talk:

“CATERINA! You’re the woman who’s moved to multiple countries alone. Who’s traveled solo a thousand times. What is happening to you, girl?? Why so fragile???”

Honestly? I didn’t have an answer.

But I did know something was off.

And thanks to the many hours of meditation collected during my Petty Goals Summer Detox (wrapped successfully on July 31), I was at least able to hear myself clearly.

And what I heard was this:

I wasn’t done socializing. I still needed more connection.

So I did what any millennial living abroad would do:

I scrolled through 30 different platforms, groups, and Instagram pages, trying to find a girls’ event that didn’t come with a $40+ price tag—because yes, this is NYC, where even making friends has been commodified under slogans like “third places!” “girlies’ date!” and “find your village!”.

Eventually, I posted in a “last-minute plans” chat from a women’s Facebook group in Brooklyn.

And guess what?

A girl replied. We went on a two-hour walk through a gloriously sunny Prospect Park.

Needless to say, I came home a normal human again.

That one walk got me thinking about the difference between city life and small-town life

…and how folks like me in our 20s and 30s might need to radically rethink how we approach our weekends.

I’ve lived in plenty of big cities scattered around the world—Lisbon, Rome, Warsaw, Seoul, now New York.

And although I’ve only ever lived in one small town (my hometown in Italy), I’ve noticed a pattern:

Sundays in a big city are a mousetrap for the overthinker.

They’re the days when we spiral into career rumination, second-guess life choices, and make empty promises to fix the existential void.

So after falling into that trap one too many Sundays, I finally realized:

The problem isn’t my life. Nor my past or future career decisions.

It’s my loneliness.

Weekends are meant for company

Sunday, in particular, is one of our only two days off—and yet we’ve stopped honoring it the way it deserves.

We’ve capitalistically repurposed it into a prep day for the workweek.

Where are the long Sunday lunches?
The family gatherings or the post-Church chit-chat?
When did we stop honoring real diversion and start giving ourselves a really hard time by staying alone with our thoughts?

I love the concept of low-stakes friendships—the ones that don’t require endless coordination or moving mountains to meet.

As writes so compellingly in her essay ‘The friendship problem’:

“Add in the pandemic, which I think has accelerated this, and we’ve lost entire categories of social interaction that used to foster friendships, especially low key ones. Our lives are bereft of ways to see people in the low-effort, regular, and repeating ways our brains were designed to connect through.”

As much as I don’t want to join the Substack chorus that romanticizes life across the pond, last Sunday reminded me of something about my lifestyle there:

in Italy, it doesn’t matter if you already saw your friends on Friday night and again on Saturday afternoon and Saturday night. If you're free on Sunday, you’ll still meet them for coffee, a walk along the promenade, or an aperitivo. You’ll probably end up playing with your friends’ kids (who are passed around from lap to lap and teased lovingly by the group). If you’re feeling adventurous, you’ll visit a nearby borgo—a tiny medieval town with a castle perched on a hill.

But here’s the important part:

You won’t talk much about work (at least not in the existential way we do with ourselves when we’re alone).

You won’t be “working on yourself.”

You won’t be strategizing your five-year plan.

You’ll be living. You’ll be laughing. You’ll be regenerating.

I don’t have a perfectly packaged solution for you

But what my Petty Goals Summer Detox showed me is that the quote “if you worry, you suffer twice” has never been truer.

I’m becoming increasingly allergic to my own complaints and obsessive life troubleshooting.

Because truthfully? I’ve never heard anyone say their endless ruminations helped them solve a real problem.

On the other hand, I’ve met plenty of people who stumbled into their next chapter in life through a random chat with a random person.

So maybe the problem isn’t the decision you made in 2021, or whether its ROI was worth the trouble.

And the solution won’t be found in overthinking it all while biting your nails on the couch.

Maybe the real problem is just that you’re alone with your thoughts on a random Sunday.

So do yourself a favor—don’t spend this weekend alone.

Thanks for reading Freedom Focus! While I’ve been a bit AWOL lately, I’ve been trying to walk the talk—if not by fully re-creating in NYC those low-effort, Italy-style friendships (which, let’s be honest, might not even be possible in a city of 8 million)—then at least by getting out of my mind and into my life more often. That shift has already led to plenty of spontaneous, inspiring chats—some in person, others online. One of those conversations even landed me in a Guardian article on the digital nomad lifestyle (!).

At the end of the day, it’s all part of this slightly clumsy commitment to being a bit more present, a little less neurotic, and more trusting of life’s default uncertainty.

As always, thank you for being here.

If you’d like to support my writing, you can fuel it with an overpriced—but deeply appreciated—Brooklyn cappuccino, a subscription, or by booking an office hour to chat about whatever’s troubling you in your life or career right now.

Until next time!

Yours,
Caterina

Every place seeps into your habits, reshapes your perspectives, and colors your personality in ways that, after a while, make it hard to tell where your “real” self ends and the cultural influence begins.

One thing is certain: without the mosaic of all those pieces, I would likely be a different person.

In today’s article, I’ll focus on the “big five”—the countries where I lived long enough to study, work, and build a life: Portugal, Brazil, the UK, Poland, and the US.

With that in mind, I’ll leave aside the places I spent time in as a digital nomad. Despite these being intense, incredibly beautiful chapters of my life, it’s the countries where I truly settled that left the deepest marks.

As always, if you enjoy this piece, tap the 💙 below—and if you’d like to keep exploring these reflections together, consider becoming a member.

Thank you for being part of the journey.

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I wish I could revisit the journals I kept during these past years

—but today, I’ll have to rely on my memory alone, writing this from the fifth country I’ve called home: the United States.

My notebooks are waiting for me in Italy, somewhere on a dusty shelf, ready to remind me of the girl I was when this journey started.

Ten years, five countries, and countless lessons later, I’m writing this article in an attempt to distill the beauty and burdens of living abroad into 10 mini bottles of pure essence.

Let’s get started:

Lesson #1 Your definition of “challenging” changes

From taking the wrong bus in Brazil and ending up in a favela, to filling out visa papers for the United States. From navigating bureaucratic documents in Poland to visiting the ER in Portugal. When you live abroad for a long time, you get used to figuring things out in a different language and system.

What most people consider “challenging” feels like a privilege when you’re handling it in your native language. (Most of the time, you take for granted that it won’t be.)

As a result, your brain operates in a different mode: often on high alert, constantly processing and making sense of multiple things at once—burning through more energy than you’d like.

#2. Some people trust you instantly… others look at you like you’re from another planet

Funny story: I didn’t know you were supposed to sit in the back seat of a cab or Uber—until about two-three years ago. Up until then, I’d always just hopped in the front!

As a result, drivers often took it as a sign that I wanted to chat, so I ended up accumulating a huge archive of the most random conversations—with them sharing stories about their families, their struggles, and their dreams.

Especially in Portugal and Brazil, where I spoke the language, I had some of the deepest conversations with strangers on my way to the airport.

And it’s not just Uber. When you show genuine interest and speak the local language, it often sparks unexpected moments of connection… and sometimes even little rewards!

I’ve been gifted perfumes, a bike helmet, protein bars, and even free taxi rides—small tokens of appreciation for actively listening and asking questions.

But there’s another side to this coin. When you’ve lived a life that looks “unconventional,” some people struggle to relate. They might assume you’re living a glamorous, influencer-style life, bouncing from country to country without any real problems.

My strategy for creating more proximity? If the topic comes up, I try to bridge the gap by sharing openly that there’s no single “right” way to live. Whether someone has stayed in the same town all their life or moved around the world, both paths are valid—and both come with trade-offs.

#3. You feel like you lived 5 lives in one (and feel oddly wise for your age)

Sometimes I look back at my twenties and think:

“Did I really pack all that into a single decade?”

Living in different countries accelerates your sense of time. You gain a kind of emotional maturity that’s hard to explain. For example, you learn very quickly to sit with discomfort (though, let’s be honest, I’m far from being a monk!), to navigate culture clashes, and to reflect on your own culture from a distance.

All of this gives you a “meta” perspective on life—an ability to zoom out and see the bigger picture, and with it, a quiet kind of wisdom that always comes up as a little older than your years.

#4. You understand that there are no perfect places in the world

This is a big one—and probably my biggest pet peeve with the kind of narrative you often see here on Substack, or even in general conversations, where “Europe” is often described as so much better than the US.

Living in different places teaches you that every country has its strengths—and its blind spots.

For example, I once read an article in this space titled something like “What the World Can Learn from Italy’s Feminist Culture,” which praised Italy’s abortion laws—written by someone who had never lived there.

I was shocked.

While abortion is technically legal in Italy, a huge number of doctors are conscientious objectors who refuse to perform them. In some regions, it’s nearly impossible to access abortion care.

That’s just one example of how the story on paper can differ from the lived reality—and how actually living in a place helps peel back the layers of the idealized image we might have built in our minds.

#5. You become painfully aware that you will never fully fit in—anywhere

This is one of the hardest truths.

When you return home (however you define that)—even if everything looks the same, and your childhood friends are still there—you notice how much you have changed.

While away, your mindset has shifted. You no longer see things the same way.

And in your host country, no matter how fluent you become in the language or how deeply you integrate, there will always be cultural nuances or habits that never fully become yours.

It’s a bittersweet, sometimes lonely feeling: you can feel comfortable in many places, yet end-up never truly belonging anywhere.

#6. Weirdly enough though, the longer you stay away, the stronger your attachment to your country grows

Until a few years ago, I couldn’t quite understand why Italian-Americans, for example, had such a deep attachment to Italy—even if some had never lived there, or only as children before migrating to America.

Now I get it.

When you’re far from your homeland for a long time, the image you have of it undergoes a constant transformation: you start projecting onto it whatever you want to see. It becomes an idealized, comforting picture—almost like a promised land.

When I first left Italy, I thought I’d never really miss it.

But over the years, my attachment has grown stronger. From time to time, I find myself craving the flavors of home, missing the familiar rhythms, and longing for the simplest things—like a croissant and cappuccino.

I’m still not sure if this is a process everyone goes through... or just a sign of aging?

#7. You become more aware of global inequalities

If I hadn’t volunteered in a public school in an underserved neighborhood in Brazil while living with a local family, or if I hadn’t worked with refugee populations from Syria, Afghanistan, and Eritrea in Portugal—and instead had stayed in my comfort zone—I doubt I would have developed the understanding of the world that I have today.

Sure, my studies in Psychology gave me a solid foundation. But it’s only by talking to people and hearing their stories that I’ve come to understand lives so different from my own—a humbling lesson no textbook can teach.

#8. You become 10x more capable to navigate uncertainty

Living in different countries means constantly facing the unknown. Plans constantly fall through, systems confuse you, nothing feels remotely predictable.

Instead of freezing, you learn to adapt, improvise, and keep moving forward.

This skill proved crucial when I decided to quit my job and start a nomadic lifestyle with barely any savings, or when the pandemic broke out and I didn’t know when I would see my (now) husband again.

These years of navigating uncertainty taught me to become comfortable with risk and ambiguity, trusting that I can figure things out even when the path isn’t clear.

#9. You become overall braver, bolder and more confident

If you’ve moved to a new country by yourself and had to build your community from scratch multiple times, then going somewhere new alone or having dinner solo no longer feels like a scary, “woah” moment.

Sure, I still get butterflies sometimes—especially when I try something new on my own—but mostly, you learn to rely fiercely on yourself.

Most importantly, you learn to trust your gut, advocate for yourself, and make independent decisions. And through that process, you build a grounded, unshakable confidence.

#10 Your turn: What would you add?

These are my biggest lessons from a decade of living across five countries. But I’m curious:

• If you’ve lived abroad, what’s a lesson you’ve learned that shaped you the most?

• And if you haven’t, what’s the scariest thing you imagine about stepping into the unknown?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.

Leave a comment

If you’re wrestling with fears, doubts, or uncertainty about living abroad (or just need clarity on your next move), let’s talk:

🌟 Book a focused 60-min 1:1 call where we’ll unpack your questions about career shifts, life overseas, or starting fresh as a remote worker or digital nomad. This session is designed to help you cut through the noise, ease your worries, and create a clear plan for your next step.

That’s all from me this week—until next time!

Yours,
Caterina

Last year, I found myself struggling through the low point of my cultural adjustment to life in the U.S.

My dissatisfaction wasn’t tied to just one thing — it was a tangled web of sudden health issues I had to navigate just as I familiarized with the dreaded American health insurance system; frustration over the limitations imposed by my work visa; and a growing sense of disconnection stemming from the double-edged nature of my job’s remote setup.

The daily “What am I doing here?” and “Did I make the right choice?” kept echoing louder in my mind, soon joined by a growing nostalgia for home in Italy.

At a certain point, my dissatisfaction had reached a level I thought was only reserved for people on their very first experience abroad — certainly not for someone like me, who had lived in five different countries since the age of 21 (plus a few more during my digital nomad years):

the one where you can't stop comparing your host country to your home country.

I had become embittered, frustrated, and, most certainly, exhausting to be around.

The signs of my dissatisfaction had started leaking into my relationship too, like water through the holes of a colander.

Arguments with my partner often ended with some sophisticated version of my most venomous, biting comment:

"Moving to the U.S. was never part of my plan before I met you, and if I have to give up my green card by moving back, so be it."

To which he would often respond, in a much calmer tone:

"If you see that you’re not happy here and decide you want to move back, I’m sure we could figure out a temporary long-distance setup until I can join you in Italy.

Ugh.

Around that same time, I had started scrolling through a Facebook group for Italian women living in the U.S.—a very active community of thousands spread across the country, from megacities like New York and LA to the tiniest towns in Wisconsin or Texas.

The community members relied on that group for everything:

from tips on navigating the health insurance scams, to divorce lawyer referrals, to advice on enrolling kids in school and updates on green card processes.

Beyond day-to-day logistics, the group also served as a lifeline for emotional support.

As I skimmed through dozens of daily posts from every corner of America, I began to feel less alone.

My feelings of frustration, sadness, and guilt for not being more grateful felt validated.

Women from all walks of life, yet with a similar cultural background to mine, were echoing my internal struggles:

"I’m not the only one dealing with this!" I remember thinking.

Then, one afternoon I stumbled on a post:

In it, an Italian woman shared, anonymously, her deep unhappiness after moving to the States to be with her American husband.

After enduring the long, arduous bureaucratic process, she had finally secured her permanent resident card. In theory, she could now return to Italy at any time — but she felt lost.

She described growing up in the Italian countryside, surrounded by nature, and was now struggling to adapt to living in was she perceived as a flat, unsafe, and culturally sterile town.

She was also unhappy with her job, which, although well-paid, offered very few PTO days. As a result, she missed her family intensely.

Finally, although she had always dreamed of having a large family, she was now questioning that dream, unable to imagine raising children far from their grandparents and in a place that felt wrong to her.

Her husband, while loving and supportive, couldn't fully bridge her sadness.

The post ended with her asking the community if they had ever felt the same, and whether they had advice or reflections to share.

The post had sparked a pretty big engagement — over 80 likes and 115 comments.

I found myself reading those comments with the same intensity as watching an engaging soap opera.

Although her feelings were much more intense than mine, I resonated with her sense of being lost, uncertain about how to move forward, and questioning her own decisions after making quite a big effort to be here.

While many comments were sympathetic, others took a more prescriptive tone, suggesting she stop complaining and take action.

In a nutshell, the advice in the comments fell into three main categories:

1. “Move back to Italy — if that's what you truly want.”

2. “Try moving to California — it made a huge difference for me.”

3. “Stop whining. Accept that the U.S. and Italy are two different worlds. Since you are here, focus on what this country can offer, things you might struggle to find back home: career, money, opportunities.”

Woah.

But also, ouch.

Reading the comments to the post, especially the ones falling in the third category, felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over me!

In my mind, I pictured these Italian women — 10, 20, 30 years older than me — staring at me with a wise but unforgiving gaze, pointing a finger as they delivered a hard, but needed, lesson:

STAY.IN.THE.PRESENT.

And focus on the positives you can gain from this experience.

I can’t recall how long I mulled over those comments, but at some point, I had a quiet conversation with myself where I responded to the three main inputs:

1. No, I didn’t want to move back to Italy—not after everything I had poured into first finding a visa sponsorship and then applying for a green card.

2. No, California wasn’t calling me either. This—right here, right now—was exactly where I was meant to be, at least for now.

3. And yes, it was true: when in Italy, I looked forward to joining my partner in the US, and now that I was in the States, I was looking back at my home country with nostalgic eyes. In short, I was stuck in the loop of thinking my life would always be easier somewhere else.

Making peace with this realization in the following months helped me become more present and stop living in an alternate reality.

Sure, it’s not perfect. But it chipped away at the illusion that somewhere else, there’s a land where life will flow effortlessly and I will feel completely at peace.

Thank you for reading Freedom Focus! I’d love to hear from you:

• What helps you move on when you feel stuck comparing 'here' to 'there'?

If you enjoyed this piece and want to support Freedom Focus, consider sharing it with a friend or becoming a subscriber

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Some of you may be familiar with the story of The Fisherman and the Businessman:

One day a fisherman was lying on a beautiful beach, his fishing pole propped up in the sand, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun and the prospect of catching a fish.

A businessman walking by noticed him and asked why he wasn’t working harder to make a better living for himself and his family.

“You aren’t going to catch many fish that way,” said the businessman to the fisherman. “You should be working rather than lying on the beach!”

The fisherman looked up at the businessman, smiled and replied, “And what will my reward be?”

“Well, you can get bigger nets and catch more fish!” was the businessman’s answer.

“And then what will my reward be?” asked the fisherman, still smiling.

The businessman replied, “You’ll make money and be able to buy a boat, leading to larger catches of fish!”

“And then what will my reward be?” asked the fisherman again.

The businessman was beginning to get a little irritated with the fisherman’s questions: “You can buy a bigger boat, and hire some people to work for you!” he said.

“And then what will my reward be?” repeated the fisherman.

The businessman was getting angry. “Don’t you understand? You can build up a fleet of fishing boats, sail all over the world, and let all your employees catch fish for you!”

Once again the fisherman asked, “And then what will my reward be?”

The businessman was red with rage and shouted at the fisherman,

“Don’t you understand that you can become so rich that you will never have to work for your living again! You can spend all the rest of your days sitting on this beach, looking at the sunset. You won’t have a care in the world!”

The fisherman, still smiling, looked up and said, “And what do you think I’m doing right now?”

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For years, I was trapped in the belief that I didn’t have enough

When unemployed after finishing my studies, I thought, “I’ll be happy when I get a good job.”

The moment I secured a prestigious job in a shiny skyscraper, I thought, “My office job is boring; if only I could travel more.”

When that job introduced remote work within Europe, I thought, “I’ll be happier when I have a fully remote job and can travel anywhere in the world.”

Upon resigning and landing that fully remote job, I thought, “I’ll be happy when I earn more money to travel even more comfortably.”

After getting promoted and improving my salary, I still felt dissatisfied: “It’s not enough—my European salary in a city like New York doesn’t go far. I need to earn more while keeping my flexibility. And being fully asynchronous would be ideal.”

And so the cycle continued.

What I missed was the big picture

By the time I realized it, I had already achieved most of my goals:

• landing a prestigious job after university,

• transitioning to fully remote work,

• traveling the world,

• and even earning a promotion.

Of course, there were trade-offs. For example, I wasn’t fully asynchronous because my company’s clients were mainly in Europe.

Still, I felt trapped in comparison-driven details.

When visiting my partner in New York, for instance, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my salary wasn’t high enough to live comfortably in the city. Yet, I overlooked the fact that none of the New Yorkers I knew had nearly the year-round freedom I did. Additionally, the fact that I needed to spend only two or three months there at a time—while the rest of my time was in more budget-friendly places—wasn’t enough to quiet my self-criticism.

My mind was stuck.

Once I obtain all the things I want, what will my reward be?

Then, recently, while visiting my parents in Italy, I took a moment to look around.

We were having dinner in the backyard, just a few steps from the beach.

On the table: fish my dad had caught that morning, vegetables from his farmer friend, olive oil from our own family’s harvest.

The setting sun and the gentle breeze completed the painting.

Just like in the tale of The Fisherman and the Businessman, I imagined being asked,

“Once you obtain everything you want, what will your reward be?”

My answer?

“I’d travel part of the year and spend the rest of my time in Italy, enjoying good food with family and friends.”

And then I pictured the fisherman looking at me with a smile and asking,

“And what do you think you’re doing right now?”

Thank you for reading Freedom Focus!

I originally wrote this article in mid-2023, but its message still holds true today. With that in mind, I’d love to know:

• If you struggle with social comparison, what’s something that helps you navigate it?

That’s all from me this week. I’ll see you again next week!

Yours,
Caterina

On my first day at Universidade de Lisboa in October 2015, I quickly discovered that all my classes would be in Portuguese.

Now, for anyone who has ever listened to European Portuguese—no, it sounds nothing like Spanish or Italian!

To make things more challenging, professors weren’t going to make exceptions for the handful of us Erasmus students in their classrooms.

Let me be clear: I don’t blame them. But there was clearly a logistical issue if students were sent to a foreign university without being required to know the language beforehand, and without classes being offered in English.

(Looking back, I’d later discover that this was also part of the Erasmus experience—which I ended up loving with every inch of my heart!)

Therefore, as soon as I arrived, I threw myself into learning Portuguese.

I enrolled in an intensive course—four hours a day, every day for a month

I started reading books in Portuguese. Tried speaking with local students. Later on, I even took private lessons. All the steps you’d expect a good girl who had long crossed the border into perfectionism would take—I took them all.

Despite all my efforts, my adaptation curve never seemed to go past the slope. Or at least, reach the plateau phase.

My brain was going through an adjustment process that would take far longer than the couple of weeks of the A1 Portuguese course!

There was no way to speed it up1.

Navigating a new educational system added to the overwhelm:

The Portuguese approach—full of group assignments and in-class presentations—was a world apart from the formal Italian system, exclusively based on independent study. Before then, I had never once presented a project in front of a class, and now I was required to do it in Portuguese or English!

Then, there was the stress of finding accommodation (the one I had booked remotely had ended up not working-out), the time needed to form new friendships with other students, the pressure to secure my final-year traineeship, and... and... and!

The blow to my pride as a high-achieving student now struggling to feel competent in a foreign country, had me wondering—as I crunched kilometers on the sidewalks lisboetas—if I had ever been capable at all!

After four months, my anxiety had peaked

I was crying over the phone with my mom after every class, spending long nights in the library trying to figure out what each new assignment required of me, and often dealing with my emotions through food. I will never forget the pipoca doce (sweet popcorn) sold at the main metro stations, which I voraciously devoured to silence my angst while heading home most nights of the week.

Thankfully, as a psychology student, it didn’t take me long to recognize that I could really use support from a therapist.

I went on the internet and, soon enough, found a local therapist who offered sessions in English

Exactly what I needed!

She would see me on Monday afternoons at her studio in a historic building in the heart of Lisbon.

To get there, I had to climb six flights of stairs, and when I arrived at the top, I would often struggle to catch my breath while greeting her with “Olá, tudo bem?” or, more often, “Hi, how are you?”

We had agreed that the sessions would be in English, which I felt more comfortable with than Portuguese—afterall, the latter was the language partly responsible for the situation that had brought me there in the first place!

Those four or five months turned out to be incredibly beneficial.

I learned a lot about myself, my ability to overcome challenges, and I left Portugal feeling absolutely in love with the country—one that would grow to feel like a second home.

Many years later, I found myself holding virtual sessions with my therapist again during another difficult period. By then, my Portuguese had reached a C1 level—especially after moving to Lisbon a second time for my Master’s degree—but when it came to introspective work, my chosen lingua franca had remained English, with occasional bursts of Portuguese and Italian.

Today, I’m the biggest supporter of doing therapy in a foreign language

… Even when you don’t speak it at a high level!

It can be beneficial in so many ways:

First, it allows you to distance yourself from the norms and values typically associated with your culture.

I’ve written before about the values I gained and others I let go of when I started dating my American partner and began spending considerable time in the U.S.

People who live or travel abroad often refer to the therapeutic effect of being catapulted into a place where they are no longer bound by the expectations and assumptions of their home culture.

Doing therapy with someone from a different cultural background amplifies this feeling—you can explain the values tied to your upbringing to your therapist, negotiate new ones, and feel less confined by the norms that shaped you—norms that, for many people, can feel limiting.

As summarizes in her post:

Second, you can redefine yourself anew.

Living abroad and choosing to do therapy in English gave me the opportunity to create a new version of myself.

Speaking English and Portuguese during that pivotal period of my life allowed me to patch together pieces of my personality that felt more aligned with the person I was becoming in these new cultural contexts.

As mentions in her experience as an expat in France:

“For those who, like me, have lived in different countries and interacted with diverse cultures, multilingualism adds colorful tiles to the identity mosaic.”

Referring to studies such as those by cognitive scientist Lera Boroditsky, she adds:

“Various studies have shown that each language represents not only a channel of communication but, above all, a way of thinking and seeing the world.”

For me, each language I picked up along my journey carries a distinct emotional and cognitive imprint:

I associate speaking English with confidence and self-empowerment.

Portuguese with romanticism and a mind-wandering quality.

And Italian with humor and straightforwardness.

Finally, it’s a way to reconcile with your new cultural context.

in her article Why Most Expats Fail: Living Abroad Won’t Solve Your Problems shares why, in her opinion, most people who move abroad eventually throw in the towel. She says:

“They cannot adapt to their surroundings, letting others' opinions influence what they do. The number one reason is that their internal world is crumbling. They are essentially running from their problems instead of embracing them head-on.

It is never the country; it is always you.”

In my case, speaking English in my therapeutic setting was a way of patching things up with my Portuguese experience. English became the bridge—not my native language, weighed down by solidified norms and habits, and not the language of the brand-new context I was in.

The good news is that one doesn’t necessarily have to speak three languages to experience this!

You can create a language of your own—a blend of your mother tongue and the new language—where you intuitively pull words from either system, choosing those that best capture your current experience.

Regarding this, I found interesting the approach that proposes in her essay The Myth of Untranslatable Words:

“In (my) ideal world, language unites, brings people together, lost-in-translation moments are opportunities to connect, to go beyond the spoken, signed, written word and to simply, communicate. Yes, there is nuance and cultural significance but rather than calling them “untranslatable words” and marvelling about how there is one word for this or that in another language but not our own, perhaps the solution is to start incorporating these words into our every-day vernacular when we are looking for that one, perfect word. Translanguaging!”

Overall, I’m incredibly grateful for the experience of doing therapy in a foreign language.

I truly believe that speaking another language can be a form of therapy in itself—it allows us to step outside the boundaries of our native culture, redefine ourselves and our values, and explore aspects of our identity we didn’t know.

Now, I’m curious to hear from you:

Have you ever tried, or would you consider trying, therapy in a different language?

Leave a comment

Or

That’s all from me this week. I’ll see you again next week!

Yours,
Caterina

Let me ask you a question:

While the COVID-19 pandemic was undeniably a challenging time, it also provided a unique opportunity to study how different countries and cultures responded to a shared event.

What emerged was a striking contrast in how governments and societies organized their efforts to cope with this crisis.

These differences often stem from each place’s unique culture—that set of shared beliefs, values, and behaviors of a group that shape how we perceive the world and respond to events.

The concepts of culture and cultural differences (or similarities) are central to the field of (cross-)cultural psychology.

Below, I’ll introduce three key theories to help you interpret behaviors through a more scientific lens—whether in response to global events like a pandemic or during everyday interactions in your travels and life abroad.

Let’s start!

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1. Individualism vs. Collectivism (Hofstede’s Cultural Dimensions Theory)

This is perhaps the concept in cultural psychology that has gained the most popularity outside academic circles.

One of the main dimensions in Hofstede’s cultural dimensions theory, Individualism versus Collectivism, highlights a core distinction in how societies operate.

In individualistic cultures, there is a strong emphasis on personal achievement and self-reliance. Individuals are encouraged to pursue their own goals and ambitions, often leading to a mindset that values competition and personal success.

By contrast, collectivist cultures emphasize group cohesion, loyalty, and interdependence. In these societies, individuals often prioritize group harmony, sometimes even sacrificing personal ambitions for the benefit of family, community, or society at large.

This dimension can help explain why some countries place high value on individual freedom, while others focus more on social harmony and adherence to community standards.

This dimension can be incredibly useful for understanding a wide range of cultural behaviors.

However, if we revisit our initial question—how societies responded to the enforcement of rules during the COVID-19 pandemic—you may be surprised to find that this dimension alone doesn’t offer a full picture.

Read on to see why.

2. Tightness Vs. Looseness (Gelfand’s Theory)

Cultural psychologist Michele Gelfand’s theory of loose vs. tight societies highlights how cultures vary in terms of social norms and tolerance for deviance.

Tight societies have strict norms, and deviations are often met with strong social disapproval. These societies value order, discipline, and security, which can lead to a more cohesive but less flexible environment.

Loose societies, on the other hand, have greater tolerance for diverse behaviors and norms, but can sometimes lack cohesion.

Now, you might be tempted to think:

“It sounds like collectivistic societies are tight, whereas individualistic societies are loose!”

However, that’s not entirely accurate.

In fact, while there are societies or groups that are generally collectivistic and tight (e.g., Japan, Singapore), there are also countries that are collectivistic and loose (e.g., Brazil)!

Similarly, there are individualistic and loose countries (e.g., the United States, New Zealand), and individualistic and tight countries (e.g., Germany)1.

To go back to our example, results revealed that nations categorized as loose—like the U.S., Brazil and Spain—experienced significantly more cases and deaths from COVID-19 by October 2020 than countries like South Korea, Taiwan and Singapore, which have much tighter cultures2.

3. The Big Five Across Cultures

Setting aside the topic of the pandemic, another valuable theory that helps explain people’s behaviors across cultures is the Big Five by Costa and McCrae.

The Big Five is the most widely supported and recognized theory in psychology for explaining individual personality. Often referred to by the acronym OCEAN, it encompasses five key traits: Openness, Conscientiousness, Extraversion, Agreeableness, and Neuroticism.

Although originally developed in the United States, this model appears to describe personality structure effectively across diverse cultures—from Zimbabwe to Peru—suggesting it has strong potential for universal application.

However, the authors also point out that while these five factors are universal, it does not imply that they are equally salient in every culture or that there aren't additional personality traits unique to specific cultures.

For example, when using the assessment on Chinese populations, an additional factor was identified consistently, labeled Interpersonal Relatedness. Harmony, “face” (a person's public image and reputation) and relationship orientation are the main characteristics of this trait3. This indicates that culture-specific factors beyond the Big Five can also exist.

Additionally, studies of adult personality development in the United States suggest noticeable changes in all five factors between adolescence and about age 30: neuroticism, extraversion, and openness tend to decline, while agreeableness and conscientiousness increase. After age 30, these trends continue, though at a slower pace4.

In other words, when it comes to personality traits, 30-year-olds resemble 70-year-olds more closely than 20-year-olds!

Closing notes

Identifying patterns across cultures is a fascinating exercise. It can also enhance our cultural sensitivity, allowing us to adapt our behaviors to different situations and people.

However, there are also several caveats to consider:

• First, even though the field of cross-cultural psychology strives to broaden its predominantly Western-centric focus, much academic research is often WEIRD, that is, based on samples from Western, Educated, Industrialized, Rich, and Democratic countries;

• Second, it goes without saying that culture does not account for every behavior! Genetics, individual personality, and various environmental factors also significantly influence people’s actions;

• Finally, when exploring culture and cultural differences or similarities, it's important to proceed with caution as there's a constant risk of reinforcing stereotypes or biases about specific cultures.

Thank you for reading this issue of Freedom Focus! Before you leave, I’d love to know:

• Were any of these theories familiar to you?

• How confident do you feel in your understanding of different cultures?

• Are there other topics in cultural psychology you’d like me to explore?

Let me know in the comments or send me a DM!

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And if you enjoyed this article, don’t forget to tap the 💙!

Until next time!

Yours,
Caterina

A few days ago, I was talking with a younger friend about traveling and living abroad…

At some point, she mentioned that, although she would like to live abroad as an expat or digital nomad, she doesn’t currently have the chance to do so.

I was surprised.

My friend is young, already in a solid career with plenty of savings in the bank, and …

Read more

When I first read this quote from the famous content creator Dan Koe, it resonated with something I had experienced years before.

I had just moved from Italy to Portugal to start a master’s degree, after spending a year there during my bachelor’s.

A few months into the program, I found myself browsing exchange opportunities on my university’s website, in awe.

One option, in particular, fascinated me: a year-long exchange at a university in Latin America.

The following night, I told my mother about it over the phone. She got mad:

“You just moved to another country, and you’re already thinking about going somewhere else?”

From a parent’s perspective, she wasn’t wrong.

I couldn’t seem to find peace. And even though the program came with a scholarship, I had been relying on my parents’ financial support throughout my university years—something very common in Southern Europe.

With some disappointment, I set the plan aside and tried to quiet the fire inside me—the one that pushed me to keep chasing the unknown. I decided to focus on enjoying my experience in Portugal, mindfully.

A few months later, I discovered that a classmate was about to leave for a year abroad: he had just won the Latin America scholarship.

I felt a shiver of jealousy run through me.

And I started questioning myself:

“Will I ever have another opportunity, or did I just miss my chance?”

My fears of “not being able to travel enough” grew

I began to worry that I wouldn’t have opportunities to travel more and got mad at myself for putting my plans aside and relying on my parents.

In the meantime, the jealousy I felt toward my friend faded, and it became genuinely enjoyable to hear about his adventures in Lima, Peru.

After all, my time in Portugal wasn’t bad either.

Those years became the most meaningful of my life, and I certainly didn’t let the time go by without making the most out of it.

And yet, the following year, that burning desire to travel came back and woke me up again.

This time, I would have done anything to listen to it.

I started researching opportunities to travel abroad that I could afford as a broke student

A few months later, I came across a 10-day fully funded exchange related to the topics I was studying in my master’s—such as the integration of ethnic minorities—with participants from five other countries.

The exchange would take place in a country I had never considered before: Georgia.

Within ten minutes, I had submitted my application.

A few days later, I was informed that my application had been accepted. I would soon travel to Georgia and spend 10 days deepening the topics I was passionate about.

A dream coming true!

Georgia ended up being a wonderful, intense experience — the kind whose sweet memory and impact would eventually lead me to choose a digital nomad lifestyle a few years later.

After that, I decided that nothing would stand between me and my desire to travel.

I needed to do something to gain more independence.

So I started working at a restaurant to fund my next trip.

After returning from Georgia, I decided that, even as a full-time student, I would find a job that allowed me to work a few hours in the evenings to fund, at least in part, my next adventure.

I began working at a restaurant almost every night.

At the same time, I kept looking for other funded opportunities.

After a month or two, I found a volunteer program that covered food and accommodation (you lived with a local family), but required you to cover your flight and other expenses.

That was exactly what I was looking for.

A few months later, during my university summer break, I found myself in Brazil, volunteering at a public school and living with a caring local family.

That year, I came back to Portugal from Brazil with a full heart

…feeling that my travel yearning was being properly nourished.

However, instead of placating my desires, traveling was fueling the fire.

Surprisingly, my fear of “falling behind”—the feeling that I wasn’t traveling enough in life—was still there.

Like a determined adventurer, I continued searching for opportunities, though this pursuit never prevented me from fully enjoying the present.

In the following year, 2019, I made the decision to vacate my room in Lisbon before the summer and embark on a 10-day trip through Extremadura, in Western Spain.

During this journey, I had planned to stay in hostels, work on my Master’s thesis, and rely entirely on bus travel.

Afterward, I returned to Portugal for a brief period, couch-surfing at friends’ places, and then went back to Italy before setting off on a new adventure—a traineeship in the United Kingdom.

That was only in 2019. While my frustration with the status quo and my fear of not traveling enough eased, I haven’t stopped traveling or challenging myself with new experiences since (except during the COVID-19 pandemic).

Have you ever turned seemingly negative emotions, like frustration or disappointment, into fuel for achieving a goal?

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