Tag Archives: Cross-Cultural Experiences

#70 A proper winter, and an improper amount of complaining

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After last Christmas, temperatures here in Berlin dropped and never really rose again. Daily snow, frozen lakes, and icy streets turned into routine. So did people going to the hospital with broken bones after slipping on ice. Public transportation became a nightmare—if not absolute s***.

People’s faces shifted from the usual grumpiness, the don’t-look-at-me attitude, to full-on I’m-going-to-kill-someone expressions. Many fled Germany because, for them, it was “too much to handle,” life-threatening even. They went somewhere sunny to stay alive.

I have to admit that, for a while, I was starting to get dragged into this collective incapacity to live through winter (and I am freaking Brazilian-Italian!). But then I thought: fuck this mentality. Let me appreciate the beauty of this time of year.

I usually enjoy life the most when I’m on my own—it’s just how I am, and I love that about myself. It’s one of my biggest strengths. That was the first breakthrough that helped me reconsider the season. I could finally enjoy my alone time even more, thanks to the slowness, the quietness, and the stillness winter brings.

The second breakthrough came when I stopped complaining to myself.

Social complaining in Germany is unavoidable—it’s almost a way of socializing—so in that sense I go along with conversations. When I’m on my own, though, I actively avoid it. It’s not a New Year’s resolution or anything like that; I just try to catch myself early when I fall into that pattern.

It took me a while to fully understand what scientists have been repeating for years, but when I complain alone, I reinforce a story in my head—and that’s not good (nicht gut!). I spiral into deeply depressing thoughts and start feeling like I’m drowning in them.

So I made a real effort to internally flip the narrative. Suddenly, what had been a dark, shitty day turned into a cozy one, with dimmed lights and the freedom to do whatever I wanted—or nothing at all. Especially my alone time turned into bliss. To be fair, it has always been blissful for me to spend time alone. I find the opposite incredibily difficult. But this winter, I’ve been slowing down even more.

There was a third breakthrough… there was one. But I forgot it.

To close, I’ll repeat one of the mantras that comes back often in my writing: self-compassion, self-compassion, self-compassion is the key. It doesn’t matter if you’re surrounded by amazing people—if you’re shitty toward yourself, you’re creating the conditions to rot in misery. And that’s not what we want.

We want self-compassion. Not denial. Not lying to oneself. Just appreciating our existence as it is. Easier said than done—it’s a life-long quest for all of us. But practice makes perfect.

#23 A cross-cultural journey leading to authenticity

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I recently had a conversation with a German friend that brought up an interesting topic highlighting cultural differences and perspectives.
We started talking about ethics in customer service and sales, then expanded the conversation to the importance of being authentic and honest. From his point of view and upbringing, being one’s true self and saying what one thinks is essential and non-negotiable. Today, I agree with him 100% on this viewpoint, but back then, I was caught up in the mechanisms of the main cultures I was exposed to as a child and adolescent. I probably wouldn’t have even been able to acknowledge its importance.

We were drinking tea, and he picked up a mug to make a point:
“In Germany, I would sell this (the mug) to you by saying, ‘You can drink from it.’ Maybe I would additionally mention the quality of the material, but that’s it.”

Yes, I thought, that aligns with my experience with Germans—a very essential, functional, and honest approach. That’s one of the main reasons I like living here: I don’t lose sleep trying to interpret the hidden meanings of something someone told me the day before. They say what they think and think what they say, most of the time.

“In Italy and Brazil, that wouldn’t work,” I replied. “Marketing is a powerful component in selling any product, and you need to deliver a story that touches the heart to catch someone’s attention.”

That’s not exactly what I said; I’m paraphrasing a little. We were speaking in German, so I probably said something even more basic, but that’s what I was trying to communicate. However, as I wrote this paraphrased version, I noticed the issue again in the words “to catch someone’s attention.”

From my experience, in Latin America and Mediterranean countries, emotions and feelings are deeply embedded in communication. Some might perceive this as dramatic, while others might call it passionate. The challenge, however, is that one can easily get carried away by emotions and stories. Trying to convince an audience—or simply “to catch their attention”—by leveraging emotions is a tricky endeavor. It can often blur into manipulation, where pleasing others, telling white lies, or navigating situations through embellished stories (whether true or not) becomes a common practice.

This approach often shifts the focus toward meeting the expectations of others rather than adhering to the values that are meaningful to oneself. As a result, it sometimes feels like everyone is playing a role rather than being their authentic selves. And yet, I recognize that these are cultural traits of the societies and communities I’ve been exposed to. Of course, there are ways to develop ethical practices within these cultural frameworks, but I’d argue that it’s challenging to stay authentic—or, to put it less abstractly, to remain connected to one’s core and true self.

The greater danger is that, in constantly trying to meet others’ expectations, we risk losing touch with our own needs. Personally, I feel I’ve grown closer to understanding my own needs in the five years I’ve lived in Germany than in the thirty-three years I lived elsewhere. Perhaps this is simply part of my natural maturation process, unrelated to the cultural environment—one can never be entirely certain. Still, I believe living here has significantly influenced this journey.

I say all this without resentment or regret about my past or roots—or at least, I hope that’s true.

To close, I hope I haven’t hurt anyone’s feelings with this anecdotal and spontaneous reflection. I realize cultural differences are a slippery slope and are often prone to stereotyping. If I’ve fallen into that trap, I apologize in advance.