Being a Foreign in a Strange Land

Last year, while traveling, I developed social anxiety—something I never expected from myself. If you know me personally, you know I’m not an anxious person. But suddenly, even simple tasks like going to the grocery store became overwhelming. Even now, leaving my house can feel like a challenge.

One of the reasons I applied for the Race was because I was done with Canada. I didn’t want to be part of its individualistic society anymore. I longed for warm climates, warm cultures, and warm bodies of water. I thought that by leaving Canada, I’d find a culture I resonated with—one where I could belong to. But the more I travel, the more I realize that, for better or worse, Canada is my home.

I used to think language and culture weren’t barriers between people—we’re all human, and deep down, we all want the same things. And while that’s true, the way we express those desires is vastly different. The way we speak, the way we carry ourselves, the unspoken rules of what’s polite and what’s offensive—these things shift from place to place in ways I hadn’t fully grasped before.

Here, I feel exposed. I walk around knowing everyone can tell I’m a foreigner, like I have a giant sign on my back shouting, “I’M NOT FROM HERE.” I’ve had to confront how people view me, and it’s made me realize that while I thought I didn’t cared about others’ opinions, being a foreigner brings a whole new kind of vulnerability. I can’t even complete the simplest tasks—like ordering tea—without fumbling through with uncertainty. Back home, even when I didn’t care what people thought of me, I at least understood the social norms. Here, I’m relearning the basics of how to act.

With this invisible sign on my back, I’m hyper-aware of my actions. I don’t want to give people another reason to stare. I overthink everything because I don’t have someone beside me constantly saying, “Hey, that’s weird” or “We don’t do that here.” So I just guess. And honestly, it’s exhausting. Being in a different country means constantly being “on”—always scanning my surroundings, reading social cues, and trying to navigate the unknown as smoothly as possible.

This experience has forced me to let go of who I used to be—someone who was socially competent, someone who knew how to fit in. Right now, those things aren’t realistic for me, and they probably won’t be for a long time.

And yet, in all of this, I feel even more certain: we weren’t made for this world.

“For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile, we groan, longing to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed instead with our heavenly dwelling so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now the one who has fashioned us for this very purpose is God, who has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.

Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. For we live by faith, not by sight. We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.”

2 Corinthians 5:1-8

This season has begun to strip me of my reputation, pulling away from so much of what I used to rely on—familiarity, social confidence, and even my sense of belonging. And yet, I’m reminded that my true home isn’t a place on this earth. My home is with Jesus.