I don’t do this every year, but this time, when the end of July rolled around, I found myself calculating that I’d been living outside of the United States for almost 20 years.
For someone who, in their early twenties, did not want to be associated with being Greek due to all the judgment and family interventions it entailed, one trip—and specifically one moment during a day—changed that entire perspective.
I was always fascinated with traveling to Europe, not only to visit Greece. I lived in Dublin for a semester and I remember debating, "Do I even want to go back home?", but I did.
The following year I went on a 14-day bus tour that started in the Netherlands and continued through France, Monaco, and Nice, and ended in Spain, all under the guidance of an amazing tour guide.
I couldn’t help but feel mesmerized by the beauty, charm, culture, and history of each place I visited, thinking that I was walking in places that had been around for thousands of years.
That travel bug—it sank its teeth deep. So deep that one winter during my college days, throwing caution (and my budget) to the wind, I took out a personal loan for a Winter's break course with Hofstra University, all for the chance to live in the middle of Athens in Syntagma Square.
January of 2006 would turn out to be legendary.
There I was with 35 fellow Hofstra students living in the Aster Hotel. We had classes Mondays through Thursdays from 8 am - 12 noon at the Goethe Institute. The remaining free time was ours for the taking.
I distinctly remember the pathway I took from the hotel to the institute. It was lined with clementine trees. There were numerous statues - celebrating someone of historical influence - and one day as I walked to class I felt like lightning struck me.
I had never felt so free in my entire life—it was absolutely exhilarating. I don’t know how else to describe it, but at that very moment, I made a decision that would change the entire course of my life.
I was leaving the United States, I was going to live in Athens, Greece, and I had never been so sure of anything else in my life. It wasn’t just a fleeting idea; it felt like destiny.
True to my word, I did leave right after graduating, but not straight for Athens as I’d imagined.
Life, or the universe—perhaps a cosmic joke or twist of fate orchestrated by the gods themselves wanted me to learn a thing or two before I reached my destination, courtesy of the arrow of Eros.
In a way, I had to appreciate the poetic justice—ending up in Cyprus, the island of Eros' mother, Aphrodite. In retrospect, it was what I needed to gear up for my eventual move to Athens.
I spent more than a decade in Cyprus before I took yet another leap of faith to Greece, this time entirely on my terms, driven by what the Greeks call “Καψούρα” (kap-sOO-rah) – a burning love that defies words.
In my case, it was a burning love for that feeling I experienced only in Athens.
From NY → CY → GR, I packed my bags expecting to broaden my horizon, but some truths awaited me that only living abroad could illuminate, proving that some lessons are not just learned, but lived.
Here are 11 unexpected things I learned living abroad:
1. I Had An Identity Crisis
What blindsided me most about living overseas wasn't just finding my place in a new culture—it was the unexpected quest to rediscover my own identity.
When I landed in Athens, I was grappling with the remnants of a fractured identity.
The previous chapter of my life in Cyprus—a 12-year saga marked by a romance gone sour—left me disconnected from who I was. I no longer recognized the person I had become; I had morphed into someone else in an attempt to fit into a place where I felt unwelcome and purposeless.
The idea of returning to New York, my technical "home," crossed my mind, but running back to New York felt like a retreat I couldn’t justify; it would mean sliding back into an old version of myself I no longer related to. I also felt that if I returned, the likelihood of me ever crossing the Atlantic again would be slim to none. Moving to Greece seemed like my only forward.
Although my upbringing in America was deeply infused with Greek culture, I could not fully identify as American. My time in Cyprus complicated my identity further—they didn't see me as truly Greek. Instead, they labeled me often referring to me as “Kalamarou” a dismissive form of 'the Greek' or more commonly, the “Amerikanou”—the American.
Upon arriving in Greece, my identity conundrum deepened. I felt foreign in a country that I was ethnically rooted in. My American upbringing clashed with the local culture, and my Greek, influenced by a Cypriot dialect from 12 years of immersion, marked me as an outsider once more.
People's inquiries about my Cypriot accent threw me into a deeper introspection—Who the fuck am I?
The truth hit me—I had to navigate all these versions of 'me' to actually piece together the real me.
2. A Vacation Mindset
When I initially moved to Cyprus, it was with a clear purpose. Coming fresh from the hustle mindset synonymous with New York, I hit the ground running—the immediate goals were finding a job and securing a place to live.
But when I touched down in Greece, I caught myself in a completely different gear. My mind had Greece filed under ‘vacation’, so for the first two weeks, I lived up to that label. I ate without restraint, explored with the zest of a tourist, and spent money like I was playing with vacation dollars.
However, this vacation mindset was a temporary bubble that was bound to burst. And when it did, I was swamped by a wave of emotions—I felt “alone”, “scared”, and “nervous”.
In Cyprus, I had an anchor. I had the support of a partner and his family. in Athens, I was on my own. Here, I faced the stark realization that my grasp of the Greek language was inadequate.
You see, in Cyprus, thanks to its English colonial past, you can slide by on English alone. You didn't need to speak Greek or even understand the Cypriot dialect to live and work there.
Greece presented an entirely different challenge. Not being proficient in Greek isn’t quirky—it’s a handicap. This new challenge highlighted just how unprepared I was, transforming my initial 'vacation' into a very real, very permanent reality that I had to face head-on.
3. Thinking I Knew Greek Better Than I Actually Did
I never realized how fragmented my Greek sounded until I started living outside of the Greek-American bubble in NY.
Listening to my friends and even my parents back in NY now, I cringe; we butcher the language. We concoct "Greeklish" words, toss English terms into Greek sentences, and sprinkle Greek words into English dialogues. And the kicker? I genuinely believed I was proficient in Greek.
The truth hit hard: my Greek was elementary at best when I left the United States. In Cyprus, I managed to scrape by, but landing in Greece, it became clear that my conversational "Greek-ish" was woefully insufficient.
Casually tossing around Greeklish without a concerted effort to properly learn the language actually feels disrespectful. I had to completely immerse myself to truly learn the language — not just expanding my vocabulary but grasping the local vernacular.
In my first year in Athens, I depended on a local friend who would bluntly correct my Greek pronunciation—whether it was grammatically incorrect, mismatched in context, or delivered with a Cypriot accent, which provided him endless amusement.
4. It Wasn’t Easy Making New Friends
Wow, making friends was not easy at all. Cultural and mentality differences run much deeper than I originally thought.
Back in NY, I left a close-knit group of lifelong friends. Our friendship was like a competition to see who could most humorously roast the others—all in good fun, of course.
We were direct and tight; we were a crew. So, when I moved, I naively believed I’d easily blend into my partner’s squad, which seemed similar to my group back home.
That wasn’t the case. There was a lot of stereotyping on both ends. I didn’t anticipate how my directness would come off. Where I was blunt and called it like I saw it, in Cyprus, folks preferred to beat around the bush and sugarcoat things.
Conversations were layered with fluff and manipulation I wasn't used to. It took me years to grasp this, and my straightforward American approach just couldn’t initially wrap around it.
Adapting to local behaviors and comments without offending anyone—or being offended—took much longer than expected.
When I moved to Greece, however, I stumbled into familiarity. I began to feel and behave more like myself.
It felt easier to be accepted. People were kinder, more polite, hospitable, and genuinely curious about why someone who had lived most of their life in America would move to Greece.
I started to feel at home and part of a large community. Even my neighbor, essentially a stranger, became my friend.
5. Comparing the Cost of Living Out Loud
I confess I was guilty of this until I made my move to Greece, and it dawned on me how ludicrous the sums of money that we Americans casually mention sound to others. No other country on Earth has a market as expansive as America's, nor does any other country produce as many millionaires annually.
To the rest of the world, such realities seem entirely disconnected, all the more so when you consider that the average Greek citizen's net income is about 960 euros per month.
No other nation boasts a market as colossal as America's, nor does it churn out millionaires at such a staggering rate. Hearing this kind of talk, the rest of the world can't help but feel it's somewhat out of touch, especially when you consider that the average net take-home pay in Greece is around 960 euros per month.
From my American lens, the comments made sense initially. I'm well aware of how costly the basic standards of living can be back home in NY. Yet, proclaiming to Greeks that prices are "cheap" in Greece isn't just false when you factor in the average earnings of a Greek citizen—it also inadvertently paints one as the proverbial spoiled American.
This revelation also allowed me to reflect on my unique position as a Greek-American. Fortunate to have access to the American market while enjoying the lifestyle Greece offers, I've come to appreciate the privilege and perspective my dual vantage point affords me.
I've also learned to keep my mouth shut when it comes to comparing the cost of living.
6. US Tax Collection Worldwide
When I moved abroad, the last thing I had on my mind was US taxes. I had no clue that the United States expects its tax share from domestic & foreign income, no matter your global location. It's one of the only two countries where taxes are citizenship-based, not residency-based.
A few things to note:
🤦 Turns out, simply living overseas doesn’t automatically exclude you from paying state taxes — it depends on the state you lived in prior to moving abroad.
The IRS is nosy about your bank accounts abroad, especially if you've got more than $10K stashed away. If that’s the case, you are required to fill out an FBAR (Report of Foreign Bank and Financial Accounts) when you file your taxes because they want to know about it.
As a US citizen abroad, though, I can offset foreign-earned income with:
The Foreign Tax Credit (FTC)
The Foreign Earned Income Exclusion (FEIE)
The Foreign Housing Exclusion
Sound complicated? It did to me too, and I wasn’t diving into that mess without a clear plan.
Unlike Cyprus, Greece & the US have a tax treaty to stop double taxing on income, and receiving a social security pension based on which country you contributed to the most.
Either way, I’m paying taxes somewhere. I get to choose which of the two countries I pay, and in my case, I’m sticking with the IRS because I have the most history with them, but I’m filing in both countries.
To manage all this, I use two accountants who are both specialized in this arena: a US tax accountant for citizens living abroad and a local Greek accountant well versed in dealing with my dual citizenship tax status.
For any American living abroad, I’d point you towards Greenback Tax Services. They’ve been a solid help with my expat tax situation.
(Disclaimer: This link contains affiliate links to the service I mentioned. If you click on it and make a purchase, I may earn a small commission at no additional cost to you.)
7. Realizing How Little I Know About US Politics
I never really followed politics closely. To be honest, I barely understood how voting worked. I didn’t believe that my vote counted and did not pay as much attention as I probably should have to US politics.
That was until I moved abroad and noticed that people outside the United States know way more about what’s going on in US politics and foreign policies than I did.
Talk about a wake-up call. Suddenly, I was the embodiment of that "ignorant American" stereotype, and it stung.
Living in Cyprus and Greece, collaborating with European teams virtually, and consuming news from a global perspective offered me a new lens through which to view America’s image internationally. My interest in US politics has since spiked.
I've realized the importance of understanding the US's role on the world stage and I felt a pressing need to grasp the nuances of this geopolitical "game."
My interactions abroad have also opened my eyes to the pervasive distrust people have towards their own governments—a sentiment I was rather oblivious to in the context of the US government.
It's taken living abroad for me to shake off my naivety and start peeling back the layers of my own government. The irony? I've unraveled more about politics while outside the US than I ever did back home.
Could be I'm a bit older, maybe a smidge wiser, or maybe it's about finally having the headspace to question things. Or perhaps it's seeing past the smoke and mirrors I never even knew were there.
8. A National Healthcare System Works
The United States has us convinced that socialized healthcare is unachievable. I’m not saying it’s perfect—no system is. The U.S. system is not only complicated, but it’s a business, and it makes you feel like every health interaction is a commercial transaction.
Unlike in the United States, I don’t have to agonize over the choice between preserving my life and paying my rent. I don’t have to jump through hoops to see a doctor or navigate a maze of referrals to finally get to a specialist months later.
I got seriously sick while living in Greece—yeah, the big C: Cancer. My doctors projected such a casual air about it all, they practically infused me with their fearlessness.
My oncologist encouraged me to embrace our food and disregard the stigma of vomiting and feeling nauseous. He would say:
“Eat food. We Greeks have the greatest cuisine. You need to throw up? Okay, then throw up. And? So what. Just make sure you’re eating our amazing food. None of this bullshit Boost Protein Shakes.”
What also sets this experience apart from that in the United States is that I have the luxury of calling up my doctors on their personal cell phones—yes, directly!
I text my surgeon and he answers. No secretary or automated call systems to take my calls. Just a direct line to the person in charge of my health. We’re even friends on Facebook. It’s human to human.
Before I was diagnosed with cancer, I had major surgery in Athens. I really don’t understand the complaints some Greeks have. I felt incredibly well cared for at the public hospital. The doctors and nurses were attentive, making rounds constantly, chatting with me, and making sure I was fine.
I spent two whole weeks there to recover, including the surgery, the pain meds, the anti-infection meds, and one night in the ICU—ask me how much I paid. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I walked out of there 14 days later, after a life-altering surgery, without any debt or dread of an impending massive hospital bill.
“If they are free then the hospitals must be in bad shape.”
Having been to the public hospital more times than I care to count, the aesthetics of the place are the least of my concerns.
When you’re in dire need of medical attention, the absence of fresh paint on the walls or plush chairs in the waiting room is completely irrelevant.
Yes, there's a wait time in the emergency rooms, but it's not due to staff lazily passing the time—it’s because there are often more patients than medical personnel can assist. How do you predict how ‘busy’ the emergency room is going to be on a given day?
Most Americans I know think Greece is technologically behind. Um, no. They are not. They’re ahead when it comes to a centralized electronic health system. They can seamlessly send prescriptions to my phone and inbox.
I can walk into any pharmacy, have them scan the code or input the prescription number, and exit with my medications, all without a financial exchange.
I can't recall ever paying out of pocket for prescriptions. And those injections for my white blood cell count during my treatments, boxes upon boxes of specific syringes, were gratis.
The takeaway? I'm unequivocally done buying into the myth that socialized healthcare can't be achieved.
9: Greek Food Is A Love Language
The food—oh, the food! It tastes like what real food should taste like. Every bite of a juicy tomato or a peach has me thinking, "This is the freshest fruit I’ve ever tasted," and I feel that way every single time.
Here, cooking at home isn’t just about fueling the body; it's a way to nourish the soul. It’s an event. Gathering as a family, really connecting and communicating in real time—that’s what mealtime is for. It's an act of honoring your guests, demonstrating love and care not just to family and friends but extending warm hospitality even to strangers.
It’s intrinsic to the Greek ethos never to leave anyone behind. If you’re living alone, rest assured, that the little Greek grandma next door will check on you and ensure you're well-fed. In Greece, food is a love language.
My grandfather, my favorite person, was tough as nails—a personality carved from a hard life. Even in his sternest moods, often expressed through anger, I was never left hungry. He might have been yelling, but there was always a plate of food in front of me. For him, sharing food was his way of expressing love, sympathy, remorse, and forgiveness.
I didn’t fully realize this until I started living abroad.
Being fully immersed in the culture here, it's clear: food isn’t just meant to be eaten; it's meant to be enjoyed. It's about savoring what nature has offered, appreciating the hands that prepared it, and relishing the food as much as the people and moments you share it with.
10. Sunshine and Beaches Change Your Attitude Towards Life
The landscape and climate here are exactly what you'd picture when you think of a Mediterranean paradise. Honestly, I feel like I don't need to see any other place because I’m living in what is, to me, the most beautiful spot on Earth.
Winter in Athens? It's not really Winter, not like I knew it. I lived in NY, and went to school upstate, where it snowed for two months straight. I remember trudging through snow slush every day on my way to class—classes that were never canceled.
Back then, snow days were a real thing, but it had to be a foot of snow for school to be called off. And if your parents were immigrants, like mine, they'd still push you to go to school that day.
Weather impacts your attitude more than you might think. People can get so miserable when it's cloudy, cold, rainy, and faced annually with natural disasters—really, why would I choose to live with that?
In contrast, Greece basks in over 300 days of sunshine a year. There are folks here who swim all year round. Thanks to the climate, the vacation spirit thrives throughout the year.
Life here pulses more slowly, valuing the present moment. The hierarchy of priorities? It goes like this: Health, Family, Social Life, Work. That’s the order.
Here, having a coffee isn't about getting a caffeine rush. It's synonymous with spending quality time, engaging in deep conversations, undergoing impromptu therapy sessions, and enjoying a "happy hour" that, at minimum, is a two-hour standard.
This leisurely pace and emphasis on simple, joyful experiences truly reflect a life where sunshine and beaches aren’t just a backdrop, but a profound influence on my entire outlook on life.
11. National Holidays: Celebrating and Holding on to Traditions
Honestly, you wouldn't believe the number of national and religious holidays I get to enjoy every year. There's something profoundly beautiful and unifying about an entire country coming to life in celebration, compared to the U.S., where I've had to clarify that, yes, there's a Greek Easter that's separate from the Catholic Easter.
In Greece, Easter isn't just a holiday; it's the Super Bowl of holidays for us—the most celebrated Orthodox Christian event. The entire country buzzes with preparations, weaving holiness and tradition into the fabric of our collective experience. It's almost taboo not to partake.
I'll be painting eggs a stunning red on Holy Thursday. I'm not just dying eggs; I'm gearing up for the “Tsougrisma”, the ultimate showdown where you find out whose egg is the real MVP. (A Greek Easter tradition: You've got your red egg, and so does the other person. It's all about tapping eggs to see whose doesn't crack.)
Church isn't just for the devout; attending church services on Good Friday and Holy Saturday isn't just a suggestion—it's what you do.
And wow, does it turn into a spectacle: entire squares overflow with masses, a central church surrounded, as the holy light moves from one hand to another. With fireworks exploding like it’s Independence Day, church bells ringing, and the collective voice chanting "Christos Anesti" ("Christ has risen"), the atmosphere is truly electrifying.
Then there's the eating on Easter Sunday: Lamb isn't just on the menu—it's a staple. Whether you've been fasting for the 40 days—or pretending you did, you'll binge on every bit of the feast. It's a full-on sensory overload.
"Christ Has Risen" isn't just something you say; it's something you live, extending the greeting to family, friends, and even random folks on the street.
It’s this unique sense of cultural privilege that I find so charming—the fact that an entire nation pauses to celebrate the same holidays brings about a sweet, unified spirit.
Take this year, for instance: Easter Sunday fell on May 5th. Not only did we have the following Monday to recover, but we also scored Tuesday off—why? Because May Day (May 1st) hit during Holy Week, so in true Greek style, the government moved the holiday to give us a consecutive, extended break.
Greece just doesn't do holidays halfway. They're a big deal here, and not just in the sense of taking time off work. It's not necessarily the holiday itself but the culture around it—the way it reinforces their hierarchy of values: Health, Family, Social Life, Work- in that order.
Final Thoughts
Let me tell you: It is worth it. You won't regret it.
Stepping into a new country tossed me into a world where life buzzes differently. I am face-to-face with traditions and systems unfamiliar to my own, giving me a front-row seat to the varied ways people around the globe handle their daily lives.
This experience is unmatchable, offering me perspectives I can't gain from books or stories. I've unearthed a wealth of self-knowledge, revealing just how resilient and adaptable I can be when life throws me a curveball.
It sharpened my life skills like nothing else, teaching me how to make all sorts of decisions, navigate difficult situations not always with grace, and manage to keep my cool under pressure —that's the real-world experience talking, and those lessons stick.
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