9 Everyday American Habits That Quietly Fell Apart After I Moved Abroad

Abroad, My Defaults Unraveled… One Habit at a Time

What No One Tells You About the Subtle Shifts That Redefine Your Life Overseas

Back when I lived in the U.S., mornings were a race to the rat race…

I’d nuke yesterday’s coffee in the microwave, flip on the TV for background noise with the illusion of being informed, grab a granola bar… and bolt out the door.

Efficiency was the religion. Caffeine was the sacrament.

But somewhere between a sluggish kettle in Kyiv and a sleepy café in Tbilisi, where the server paused mid-order to show me photos of her family’s country house in the mountains outside the city, I stopped rushing.

Currently, I’m living in Saranda, Albania.

I’ve got my own espresso machine, gifted by my Italian landlords who clearly took pity on my sad attempts at “American coffee.”

These days, I fire up my espresso machine and let it do its thing… no rush, no multitasking.

Because it’s not just about getting caffeine in my veins anymore.

It’s about the ritual. 

The calm act of doing one simple thing with your full attention.

This isn’t some dramatic story of culture shock or a bureaucratic meltdown at immigration.

It’s about the small stuff.

The quiet rewrites that creep into your life when you finally stop sprinting through it.

You don’t realize it’s happening until you’re reading a paperback in a Bulgarian park instead of doomscrolling.

Maybe you catch yourself saying “Bon appétit” in France like you’ve been doing it forever.

These aren’t some grandiose revelations.

Just small rewrites that sneak in and quietly say, “Hey… you’ve changed.”

And that’s the real kicker of expat life. 

You think you’re just swapping currencies and time zones… but what you’re really doing is unknowingly rebuilding yourself one ritual at a time.

1. Slower Mornings Are Now Sacred 

In the U.S., mornings felt like a race I never signed up for.

The alarm blared, I hit snooze twice, nuked some day-old coffee, and dashed out the door with a half-burnt toaster waffle.

Rinse, caffeinate, repeat.

Then I moved to Ukraine. My first apartment in Obolon didn’t even have a microwave.

No kettle either, just a Turkish coffee pot on an old, weak Soviet electric stovetop built during the Brezhnev era.

The water took forever, the grounds needed filtering, and by the time it was done, I’d gone from irritable zombie to introspective monk.

The ritual was the reward.

Now in Saranda, I fire up my espresso machine, let it hum to life, and actually feel the morning.

I don’t rush into the day, I rise with it.

Lesson: Don’t underestimate the power of a slow start. It sets the tone for everything.

2. Screens Don’t Dominate My Day Anymore

Back then before the smartphone and social media, breakfast meant flipping through the TV news with one hand and shoveling cereal into my mouth with the other.

Distraction was the default.

But then I moved to France.

Sitting at a café in Strasbourg, I noticed something.

No one was glued to a screen.

Not the couples, not the friends, not even the solo diners.

They were either deep in conversation or alone with a morning paper… reading.

People were present… with their actual faces.

It felt radical. And contagious.

Now, when I meet friends in Albania or France, my phone stays in my pocket. I don’t even think about it.

Meals are for connection, not content.

Note: Want more meaningful interactions? Put down that damn screen! 

The world’s more interesting in 3D anyway.

3. Impulse Shopping? Practically Gone

Back in the States, I could justify buying a glow-in-the-dark garlic peeler at 2 a.m. “Because, obviously, I need this.”

Living abroad changed that. In places like Georgia or Bulgaria, shopping became an experience… more human, less hypnotic.

You walk to the baker, chat with the vendor at the covered outdoor bazaar, pick up only what you need, and that’s it.

No ten-minute Target runs that somehow cost $143.

I still shop, sure. But I don’t chase dopamine hits with credit cards anymore.

Note: When you slow down and shop locally, your wallet and your mind feel a whole lot lighter.

4. I Walk Almost Everywhere Now

When I lived in the U.S., walking was reserved for parking lots and guilt-filled zombie walks on treadmills at the gym.

In Kyiv, it became essential.

• Need groceries? Walk.
• Meet a friend? Walk.
• Exist? Walk.

I used to dread walking. Now I crave it.

There’s something therapeutic about strolling down cobblestone streets in old town Tbilisi or weaving through a sleepy Macedonian market before the morning rush.

No buzz. No hurry. Just the calm before everyday life kicks in.

Daily walks and DYI calisthenics became my thinking time, my mental reset, and let’s be honest, my replacement for a gym membership.

Lesson: Walking isn’t just exercise… it’s mindfulness in motion.

5. I Cook From Scratch, and Love It

Back in the States, I had takeout menus stacked in a drawer and a landline I knew by heart. Pizza? Thai curry? One quick call, 20 minutes, done.

But then I landed in France, and suddenly I wanted to cook.

• Maybe it was the giant mounds of fresh herbs.
• Or the tomatoes that actually smelled like tomatoes.
• Or the cheese handed over by a man who wouldn’t sell it unless it was perfectly ripe.

Either way, I found myself buying seasonal produce and Googling how to make “Ratatouille” with the enthusiasm of a man discovering fire.

Cooking became a joy, not a chore. And unlike takeout, it didn’t come with a side of regret.

Lesson: If you want to eat better, fall in love with your ingredients. The rest follows.

6. Even Greetings Are Different Now

In the States, I could walk past a stranger and toss out a “Hey, how’s it going?” like I actually expected an answer.

Guess what? I didn’t.

Abroad, greetings are an art form. In France, it’s cheek kisses. In Spain, it’s polite buenos días before you even ask for bread.

In Georgia, it’s a handshake that lasts long enough for existential dread to kick in.

It forced me to slow down, to be present, to realize greetings aren’t just filler… they’re the opening notes of human connection.

Note: Start your conversations like you mean it. People notice.

7. I Talk Less… and Listen More

When you’re not fluent, you choose your words carefully.

My Russian in Ukraine was basic at first, so I spent a lot of time listening, and I mean really listening.

Funny thing is, I started learning more than just vocabulary.

I noticed body language, tone, subtext.

It turns out, people say a lot when you’re not waiting to interrupt with your next clever comment.

Even now, in places where I speak the language better, I’ve kept that habit.

I let people talk. I ask follow-up questions.

It’s wild how much more interesting the world gets when it’s not all about me.

Truth: Listening isn’t passive, it’s a active superpower.

8. I Read Physical Books Again

Before I left the States, I took bookstores for granted. This was pre-Kindle, back when wandering the aisles and judging a book by its cover was half the fun.

Then I moved abroad, and almost overnight, everything went digital.

Bookstores turned into rare unicorns, especially in places like Albania or Georgia, where finding an English title feels like a black-market treasure hunt.

Now I scour secondhand stalls in bazaars, dig through random market tables, even check out sketchy park benches with mystery sellers.

If I spot a book in English, I grab it!

It doesn’t matter if it’s a 1980s thriller or a how-to guide on industrial beekeeping.

I read in parks, cafés, trains or on my balcony during power outages.

And flipping real pages? It slows your brain down in all the right ways.

Note: Unplug and pick up a book. Your brain will thank you.

9. I Actually Take Breaks

Lunch in America was often inhaled at my desk between emails. In Europe, that’s a crime. Okay, maybe not legally, but spiritually? Absolutely.

In Spain, lunch isn’t a meal, it’s a pause. In France, it’s a ritual.

In Georgia, it’s a reason to open a bottle of wine.

The first time I joined a two-hour lunch with no phones, no rush, just people and food and laughter, I felt weird.

Then I felt human.

Now, I block time for breaks like it’s sacred. Because it is.

Truth: Breaks aren’t optional. They’re where life actually happens.

The Habits That Changed Me More Than I Expected

I didn’t move abroad to reinvent myself. No checklist, no big plan…just life unfolding.

But somewhere between the chaos of Tbilisi’s markets and quiet mornings in an Albanian flat overlooking the Ionian Sea, my routines had quietly evolved.

Nothing dramatic.

Until one day, “normal” felt slower.

Better. More mine.

What tiny habits changed you abroad?