Sometimes the Things We Resist Become the Things That Change Us

What moving to America taught me about assumptions, growth, and starting over

USA Flag. Artist: Lusine Tufenkchyan

If you are not a Medium member, follow this link to read my story for free.

It's been a while.

The last time I wrote here was back in March, when our family was standing at the edge of a life-changing decision.

Back then, I promised I would come back and tell you what happened once we landed.

Well… I am back.

And trust me, I have stories. A lot of stories. Some exciting. Some confusing. Some completely ridiculous. And most of them begin with the same realisation:

America is big.

No. Let me correct myself.

America is BIG.

Life sometimes presents us with opportunities that seem too big to fully understand while they're happening. Moving to the United States was one of those opportunities.

Even today, months after arriving, there is still a small voice somewhere in the back of my head asking: "Was this really the right decision?"

The funny thing is, I think that's completely normal. The bigger the decision, the more room there is for doubt. And yet, every day I find another reason to believe that this adventure was exactly what our family needed.

Now, before my American readers get offended, let me confess something.

I was never a huge fan of America.

There.

I said it.

For years, America existed in my mind as the country that sells dreams. The land of endless opportunities. The place where everything seems possible. And honestly? I wasn't sure I believed any of it.

I thought it was mostly marketing. A very successful marketing campaign, perhaps. But still marketing. After all, I had never been there. I didn't know any Americans personally. My opinion was built entirely on stories, movies, news, and assumptions.

Then came our relocation preparation.

Before our move, we had six hours of cultural coaching. Six hours. Imagine sitting in front of a screen for six hours while someone explains a country you've never lived in. The coach covered everything.

Schools. Healthcare. Housing. Culture. Communication styles.

By hour five, I thought I had heard it all. Then he asked a simple question. At the time, our visa situation was still uncertain. We were stuck somewhere between hope and frustration. Waiting and wondering and trying not to get too excited.

The coach looked at us and said:

"Imagine you're sitting on the plane. Your visa has been approved. Your tickets are in your hands. You're on your way to the United States. What are you doing?"

My husband and I looked at each other.

"Smiling," we answered.

"Exactly," he said.

"That's America."

And somehow… Somehow, with one sentence, he managed to shake years of scepticism.

To this day, I still don't know whether that man was a cultural coach or one of the greatest salespeople I've ever met.

Because for the first time, I stopped thinking about America as an idea, and started thinking about it as an opportunity.

Fast forward a few weeks.

We land in California. It's late. We're exhausted. The kids are tired. And we know the company has arranged a rental car for the family. In my head, I pictured something practical. Something similar to what we had in Germany. Maybe an SUV. Maybe something the size of an Audi Q5. Reasonable. Normal. European.

Then we arrived at the parking space. And there it was.

Not a car. A ship. A Ford Expedition. I am convinced this vehicle has its own postal code. It was enormous.

The children loved it immediately. I stood there wondering whether I needed a special license to operate it.

That was the moment I started realising that Americans and Europeans have very different definitions of the word "family car."

And honestly? That was only the beginning. Because a few days later, someone introduced us to Costco.

If you've never been there, imagine a supermarket, a department store, a furniture shop, an electronics store, and a warehouse all living under the same roof.

Then make everything bigger. Much bigger.

Need toothpaste? Here's a year's supply.

Need paper towels? Take enough for a small village.

Need cereal? Would you like one box or an emergency reserve for the next six months?

My husband, who is definitely the "let's have fun with this" person in our family, decided we needed popcorn. A lot of popcorn. The problem is that when you buy popcorn at Costco, you're not really buying popcorn. You're making a long-term commitment. I'm fairly certain we now own enough popcorn to last for the entire duration of our assignment in the United States.

At some point, I wasn't sure whether we were shopping for a family of four or preparing for the apocalypse. And yet… Standing there with an oversized shopping cart, driving an oversized car, and learning to navigate a very oversized country, I found myself laughing.

Then came the bill. My first Costco shopping trip cost almost an entire month's salary from my first job in Germany. I nearly needed a second cultural coaching session to recover from the shock.

And yet, when I looked at what we had purchased, I realised something:

Most of it would probably last forever. Or at least until we move again. Maybe that's the secret.

America isn't pretending to be big.

It simply is.

The houses. The roads. The stores. The ambitions. The dreams. The possibilities.

Everything seems to operate on a different scale.

And while I'm still figuring out what all of that means for our family, one thing has become clear:

Sometimes the biggest growth happens when you step into a world that feels much bigger than yourself.

And trust me. This story is only getting started. Of course, Costco wasn't the end of our cultural surprises. Not even close. But it became one of those moments we still laugh about.

That, in many ways, summarises our first months in America. Everything feels bigger. And sometimes even the emotions.

What this all is about

We arrived almost two months ago. Some days we still feel like visitors. Some days we feel surprisingly at home. Some days, we question whether this was the right decision. Most days, we know it was.

Because growth rarely happens when life stays comfortable. Growth happens when you step into something unfamiliar, when you become a beginner again, when you exchange certainty for possibility.

This move is not only the story of relocating to another country. It is the story of a working mom who put her career on hold for a while. A wife who chose to support her husband through an important chapter of his professional journey. A family learning how to build a new life together.

And perhaps most importantly, it is the story of challenging my own assumptions.

For years, I had an opinion about America—an opinion built on distance rather than experience. Maybe I was right about some things. Maybe I was wrong about others.

But life taught me something important:

Sometimes the things we resist the most become the very things that help us grow.

Sometimes, the place you never imagined living becomes the place where your next chapter begins.

Sometimes, the opportunity you hesitate to accept becomes the experience that changes you.

So if there is one lesson I am taking from this adventure so far, it is this:

Don't let your assumptions become your limitations. Stay curious. Stay open. Give people, places, and opportunities the chance to surprise you. You may discover that what you thought was the wrong path was simply a path you hadn't walked yet. And if nothing else, you'll gain a story worth telling.

Trust me.

I have a feeling this American chapter is going to give me many more.

For those new here: I'm Lusine — an HR professional and mom of two, currently on a career pause as our family steps into its next global adventure. I share life through the lens of HR and motherhood.

Thanks for reading me!

With love, Your HR Mom 💛