I grew up on the shores of Lake Erie, in a town just south of Buffalo, New York. Ice was something we chiseled off a car in winter, not something that’s dropped into a drink. For me, life on a tropical island was a pipe dream.
In high school, I was the geeky kid, always excited to read stories in Time and The New York Times about exotic, far-off places. I knew early on that I wanted a job that would allow me to experience global events firsthand.
A semester abroad in France cemented my ambition. I lived with a family who also rented to an American expat. He talked casually about his Swiss ski holidays, escapes to Greece and Turkey, and his favorite cafés in Paris.
I already knew then, at 21, that was the life I wanted. Why work in “boring” New York or Chicago when I could aim for Paris, Hong Kong, or London?
After working as an editor in New York City for several years, my then-wife got offered a job in Singapore. It was the golden opportunity we both wanted. What we thought would be a posting of just a few years turned into decades. We divorced in 2011, but both stayed in Singapore, building our careers and lives.
Singapore was the jolt my career needed
I’d always wanted to be a photojournalist, so in 2000 I decided to pursue it full-time. My location made me a standout. Asia was entering a travel boom, and magazine editors needed photographers on the ground. To paraphrase the cliché: I was in the right place at the perfect moment.
I’ve shot for National Geographic Traveler across Australia, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and India — Singapore was the perfect base. I could be ready to go anywhere in Southeast Asia with just a few hours’ notice.
My photography career eventually gave way to something more permanent and corporate, although still rooted in Singapore. I became a content director, producing and directing videos across the region.
It was a natural evolution for a writer-photographer in a world rapidly shifting to digital content.
Living overseas for 28 years changed me
But it has come with a cost. My mother grew older, got sick, moved into a managed care facility, and then passed away suddenly.
I made every effort to visit twice a year, especially in the summer and around Christmas. But there was always a tinge of guilt and remorse that I wasn’t there more.
On one of my last trips back before she died, I remember her saying, “Haven’t you been in Singapore long enough?” She was always supportive of my choices, but as she approached 80, and her health declined, she wanted me closer to home.
She was getting the care she needed in the nursing home, but there was no substitute for a visit from me, my presence — complete with stories about my life overseas.
Was I selfish? Perhaps, but I also would never trade the life I have.
Will I return to the US?
Probably, although I’m not sure, because everything is different. I remarried three years ago. I have a 9-year-old daughter from a previous marriage and a toddler son with my wife, Jamie. Both kids have US passports and deserve an American identity and a place to put down roots. They’ve been to the US to meet their cousins and my oldest friends, but have never had the chance to live there or fully experience life as Americans.
Recently, I told my daughter that she’d visited Manhattan when she was a toddler. Her response: “Where is that?” It was a stark realization.
They should know the country that shaped who I am.
Would I recommend an expat life to someone? Absolutely. I got the life I dreamed of. And despite the challenges and distance, it gave me everything I hoped for when I was that kid, growing up near Buffalo, reading about the rest of the world.
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