OPINION
Ten Takes On Life In America
Observations from returning to the United States after living abroad
In late 2023, Ellemeno graciously published my ambivalent feelings about returning to America. Now that I’ve been back stateside for a full year, I’ve been asked how it’s gone in refamiliarizing myself with a country I departed before the first iPad was released.
Here goes a David Letterman-style “top 10" list of things that stood out during the first year of my return.
[#🔟] Americans are so friendly. Polite, hospitable, and kind to strangers. Easy chit-chat between strangers breeds an informal familiarity that bonds us. The trope that Americans are phonies misjudges the genuine authenticity of our chirpy “Have a great day.” We actually mean it. I’ve truly enjoyed the small and easy connections I’ve made with strangers in the day-to-day.
And more than just nice, Americans love to feel helpful. [#9️⃣] Customer service in America is truly next level. Granted, the “please rate my performance with this survey” after every interaction is a bit much, but it is effective. Preemptive ice water refills. Short response times. Creative problem solving. American service tends to be familiar and informal rather than cloying or obsequious — more like a friend who’s your advocate or an agent who’s on your side. The quality of American service has always been high, and the bar has risen further, with the high tide raising all boats, raising the standards everywhere.
But, [#8️⃣] the whole tipping culture has gone horribly wrong. Ubiquitous but insidious tip tablets bully customers and ruin otherwise pleasant retail experiences. I get it. In our almost completely cashless society, it’s not like people are carrying around pockets full of five spots for the tip jar to cover the barista’s Spotify subscription, let alone their rent and utilities. Street buskers resort to ineffective and sad Venmo QR codes. Meanwhile, bars and restaurants deliberately lowball their staff’s hourly wages, promising to make them whole by means of the 20–22–25 percent gratuity shakedown they present customers with as they pick up their sacks of bagels and tubs of cream cheese at the counter — tips neither the customer nor the staff are entirely confident aren’t being skimmed by the owner to balance their books. The whole tipping mechanic feels so inefficient. But, that service quality though.
Americans have a soft spot for tip earners, though, as I’d venture to guess that most adult Americans have worked a service job somewhere down the line. Trump secured Nevada by promising federal tax-free tips, which the Vegas ecosystem cheered on heartily. While I can’t understand the justification of a tax windfall for employees in the front of the house while stiffing the back of the house, in either case, it was a smart move to promise more take-home pay to service employees because [#7️⃣] life is expensive. Hoo boy.
Visiting the US from living abroad used to feel cheap and we’d stuff our return luggage with booty from Target and Costco on every visit. Not anymore. On January 1st, the Bay Area bridge tolls went up to 8 bucks. In 1990, the same Dumbarton Bridge toll was a humble 75 cents. Coming home from the A’s game meant passengers knew it was their duty to cover the driver and each throw in a quarter. At this rate, when I’m my parents’ age, the toll will be $75.00. Day-to-day sticker shock is real but I’ve learned how to rationalize it: I normalize prices by thinking about them in terms of their equivalent “# of minimum wage hours.” Kind of like the Big Mac Index, if you know what that is. For example, my $20.00 turkey avocado on sliced sourdough doesn’t outrage me so much once I compare it to the California state $16.50 minimum wage — a familiar ratio to the $4.25 sub at the Cheese House for lunch when I used to earn $3.35 per hour.
But, holy moly, [#6️⃣] healthcare costs are out of control. When our 6-year-old split his chin open on the pool deck one Friday evening in 2010, the local Singapore private hospital billed us $85 for emergency medical attention from a plastic surgeon who got called in, stitched him up, and sent us home before bedtime. That next Monday morning, I marveled to my office co-workers about the bill, and they were suitably outraged. How dare KK Hospital charge so much! As a point of comparison, a weekend ER visit to a local hospital earlier in 2024 followed with an invoice in our mailbox indicating their first bid of $29,000. No, that is not a typo.
As another comparison, living in the Netherlands, we experienced their doctors’ “take two aspirin and call me in the morning” style approach to triaging virtually every patient complaint. While 80% of people’s symptoms retreat on their own, the remaining 20% that don’t get to punch their ticket to be seen by a specialist and plead their case further. In comparison, my son aptly called the American system the “medical industrial complex” where every medical appointment results in at least two new ones, creating an exponential pyramid scheme of explosively expensive medical investigations and interventions. Our “test for everything” culture is most certainly a byproduct of the extremely high legal cost of medical malpractice. As a doctor, why wouldn’t you refer your patient to a specialist to rule out the 1-in-1000 chance it’s that unlikely but horrific thing? May as well be safe than sorry, as it’s no skin off their nose.
Observation [#5️⃣] is the premium-lane-ification of almost everything. Amusement parks. Stadiums. Concert venues. Hotels. Even highways. There’s always a velvet rope and a VIP area with private bathrooms, cold drinks, and a hot towel. Did someone say lounge? What’s in your wallet? The pervasive monetization of everything has led to class-oriented differentiated customer experiences that are not as prominent elsewhere, particularly in Europe.
As these things compound upon each other, the result is a stratified population in an era where big tech has further accelerated the formation of tribal bubbles. Profit-hungry algorithms have enhanced societal divisions, and it’s no wonder that [#4️⃣] we’ve become so polarized.
It’s strange, right? We are kind to each other on the one hand, yet divided as mortal enemies on the other. This is the unsettled state of America today. And, such an incredibly frustrating paradox. This paradox is what motivates me to try to crack the code with a civic innovation to give politicians more incentives to collaborate to nudge us toward a more plural society.
I love this term “pluralism” which is a bit wonky, yet aptly describes a truly beautiful concept: different groups of people can coexist peacefully (and mutually thrive) while maintaining the right and freedom to pursue their own beliefs. A pluralistic America is a dream I can get behind, and if you think about it, is a more contemporary aspiration than the mirage of a “united” states.
And even though Bridge Pledge may not pay my bills and doesn’t occupy 100% of my attention, I confess to being relieved to have an answer for [#3️⃣] the favorite first question an American asks when you meet: “So, what do you do?” It’s not hard to see how this question, given the thread between the high cost of living and increased social stratification, acts as a means to size someone up professionally and becomes integral to the cocktail party calculus of whether to invest in a casual connection or not. One’s perch, therefore, matters. The nefarious byproduct is that people’s personal identities become inextricably intertwined with their professional ones. I’m grateful to be in my F-U fifties and have fewer fucks to give, but damn, this line of questioning wears me out, and I find these incessant lowkey professional appraisals annoyingly tedious. If someone isn’t asking me, “What do you do?” it’s otherwise, “How do you like being retired?” which arguably triggers me even more. Sure, I’ve eschewed W-2 income, but that hardly means I’m laying around nibbling bon bons.
I’m not the only one spinning plates, though, because [#2️⃣] the hustle culture is real. Americans hustle because we have to. It is a lot to be able to survive, let alone thrive, at the adult table where the stakes keep rising. As a parent of young adults entering the “slightly-lower-density nest” phase of life, I see my generational peers gradually decelerating into a lower burn-rate lifestyle and finding balance in adjusting to the next life phase with intentionally fewer plates to spin.
But, in the meantime, for our kids’ generation, it is the opposite. They are ready to ramp up, but [#1️⃣] it’s a truly hard time to be a kid or young adult in America. I’ve seen Zoomers doing their darndest to find themselves, find their people, and find gainful employment in a decent vocation to launch themselves into the world while overcoming pandemic delays, addictive devices, uncertain futures, and much more. I have empathy and sympathy for young adults coming-of-age as they face the complex and multi-faceted headwinds of the not-so-roaring 20s.
As a Gen Xer in my 50s, I wouldn’t want to trade places with someone in their 20s right now. I wouldn’t mind going back to my own 20s, however, as I find myself nostalgic for America in the 1990s — the last decade of humanity that wasn’t dominated by technology. So much so that in March 2025, I’m publishing a memoir that recounts life between 1990 and 1995 by retelling stories of a convoluted post-college quest to obtain a career in professional sports.
The book (pre-order on Amazon for $4.20) is a love letter to Gen X and celebrates the improvisational superpower that we learned as kids and that should never be lost or forgotten. (Cringe self-promotional product placement, right? See observation #9️⃣ though.)
That’s it. Those are my 🔟 takes after a year back in the States.
I lacked inspiration for a clever or pithy conclusion, so I gave the task to ChatGPT. I asked the chatbot to read my essay and write a concluding paragraph. Here’s what we got:
Returning to America after so many years has been a whirlwind of rediscovery — an experience filled with both admiration and frustration, nostalgia and resolve. It’s a country where kindness and hustle coexist with polarization and economic stratification, creating a paradox that’s as inspiring as it is maddening. My journey has revealed both the beauty and the challenges of life here, from the quirks of customer service to the weight of systemic inequities, all against the backdrop of a society shaped by relentless change. As I reflect on this past year, I find myself both grappling with and embracing this complexity, driven by a renewed sense of purpose to contribute to a more pluralistic and compassionate America. While the road ahead isn’t simple, I remain hopeful that we can shape a future that balances our individual aspirations with a collective commitment to coexistence and equity — a dream as ambitious as it is necessary.
Wow. I’ve got no words other than what absolute word-salad garbage. I don’t know what’s worse: this fake summary or the preceding drivel that apparently inspired it.
This essay is a follow-up to this essay from November 2023:
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