The World Doesn't Revolve Around America

What living abroad has taught me about empathy, community, and our inability to decenter ourselves

Since moving to Romania, I've become frustrated by something I never noticed quite so prominently when I lived in America: how difficult it seems to be for Americans to step outside their own experiences. We talk endlessly about empathy, compassion, and understanding, yet we often show remarkably little curiosity about how other people live, what they struggle with, or how our own behavior affects them. We seem to assume that our experiences are universal, our concerns are the most pressing, and our way of doing things is the standard against which everything else should be measured.

The Center of Everything?

Many American friends have expressed genuine concern about my decision to live in Romania, apparently imagining that I've moved to some impoverished, third-world country where ordinary conveniences are difficult to come by. Many seem bewildered that I would willingly leave America. It's interesting that these opinions rarely come from people who know much of anything about Romania. They simply assume that life here must be inferior because... it's not America.

Meanwhile, Romanians are often quick to criticize their own country, sometimes with a degree of embarrassment that I find sad. They do have legitimate complaints, and Romania has plenty of problems. But I've found their national pessimism considerably less annoying than the American conviction that we're somehow the pinnacle of civilization. I don't need Romania to be better than America to appreciate what it offers, and I don't need America to be worse. I'm simply uncomfortable with the assumption that we already know the answer without bothering to learn anything about the question.

I've seen a lot of videos of Americans discussing how difficult the cost of living has become, and I too am concerned about the economic crisis. Housing is unaffordable, groceries are expensive, and people are struggling. I also agree that there are grossly predatory systems at work, and that the wealthy have accumulated enormous power at the expense of regular people. But it's astonishing is how rarely Americans seem to consider the global context when discussing their circumstances.

I hear people complaining about paying $4–5 per gallon for gasoline, while here in Europe we're paying prices close to $10 per gallon. Americans are understandably upset about rising grocery costs, but how many stop to consider that disruptions to global energy markets and shipping routes, associated with Iran and the Strait of Hormuz, affect people all over the world? In hundreds of accounts, and I can't recall a single person mentioning the international context. Even crazier is the absence of the obvious next thought: If things are getting this expensive for us, I wonder how people elsewhere are managing?

The suffering is real, and the complaints are often justified, but the perspective seems to stop at the American border. We're so accustomed to thinking of ourselves as the center of the story that we hardly seem to wonder what the rest of the world is experiencing at the same time.

The Illusion of Self-Reliance

One of the saddest differences I've noticed between rural Romania and rural America is how differently people think about security and survival. Here, growing vegetables, raising chickens, preserving food, and making things from scratch aren't trendy lifestyle choices. They're skills that regular people have grown up with and continue to practice without giving them much thought. Resilience is just part of everyday life here and it exists alongside the expectation that neighbors will look after one another... because they already do.

It is common to hear Romanians describe the communist years and food shortages. People recall relying on their neighbors for a cup of rice or sugar, and giving it when they had it to give. Those memories aren't nostalgic accounts of an easy life, but it's clear that depending on one another was essential to surviving. There seems to be an underlying assumption among Romanians that when things get difficult, you help each other.

I can't help but contrast that with the American obsession with prepping I grew up around. We spend fortunes on emergency supplies, security systems, survival equipment, and weapons, often driven by the belief that when everything falls apart, people will try to take what we have. So many Americans talk about the possibility of economic or social collapse as though the people in their communities will transform into enemies overnight. Rather than imagining how a community might pull together, the conversation so often revolves around how to protect ourselves from everyone else. Even our vision of self-reliance seems to depend heavily on purchasing the right products. I can't help wondering what the difference between our cultural approaches reveal about the kinds of relationships we've built, and what we've come to believe we can expect from one another.

Empathy Without Consideration

One of the contradictions that bothers me most is how Americans claim to value empathy while often being so bad at practicing it.

We've become very comfortable discussing our mental health diagnoses, sensitivities, boundaries, and personal needs. And I understand the value of that. As someone who has spent years working my own trauma, I know how important it is to recognize your own needs and learn to advocate for yourself. I would never argue that people should abandon those things. But somewhere along the way, I think we've confused recognizing our own needs with expecting everyone else to organize themselves around them.

I find it particularly frustrating is how comfortable Americans can be with placing burdens on other people while being oblivious to the idea of equal contribution. We seem to have developed an extraordinary ability to explain why we need something, why our circumstances are difficult, or why someone should accommodate us, without giving nearly as much thought to what we're asking of them. And when someone does help, we offer enthusiastic gratitude, as though being appreciative is the same thing as being considerate.

I've observed this repeatedly while helping other immigrants navigate life in Romania. One American acquaintance has continued asking for extensive assistance with immigration matters, despite knowing that professional help with these things can cost hundreds of euros. She knows the people she's asking have their own financial pressures, responsibilities, and limited time. Yet the requests keep coming, justified by... plenty of warmth and appreciation. And I now find this to be so American. Just because someone is perfectly lovely and expresses genuine gratitude, they can be completely blind to their inconsideration. Gratitude acknowledges what someone has given you. Consideration measures what it might cost them to give it.

Of course, people should help one another. I've spent years organizing gatherings, connecting people, sharing resources, and trying to build the kinds of relationships that make life easier and richer for everyone. But community isn't simply having people available when you need something. It also means noticing when someone else needs help, recognizing when you've been taking more than you've contributed, and sometimes choosing not to ask because you understand that another person's time and labor are valuable.

I think Americans have become so focused on the importance of having our own needs met that we've neglected the equally important responsibility of contributing to the well-being of others. We want understanding, accommodation, generosity, and community, but we don't always seem to recognize that these things require something from us, too.

Full circle back to empathy. Genuine empathy isn't simply being able to identify someone's feelings or offer sympathetic words. It's being able to step outside your own experience long enough to recognize that another person's circumstances matter just as much as yours, even when acknowledging that means accepting some inconvenience yourself.

Learning to Step Outside the Center

I see this same lack of perspective when Americans express concern about my safety in Romania. I've repeatedly been warned about Russia, often by people who know very little about the region or what the historical situation actually is. I'm certainly not dismissing the geopolitical threats facing Europe, particularly given how unstable international relationships have become. But I do find it interesting that Americans are so confident in their assessments of danger elsewhere while living in a country experiencing profound political division, recurring shootings, widespread civilian armament, and serious uncertainty about its own future.

There's also remarkably little recognition that America itself plays an enormous role in the landscape of global instability. We talk about international conflicts as though we're simply observing the world's problems from a position of relative safety, rather than living in a country whose political, military, and economic decisions have consequences for people everywhere.

Recognizing these habits has been also led to catching myself doing the same things.

I've become much more conscious of how often my first instinct is to respond to a Romanian telling me about their experiences by explaining how we do things in America. Sometimes I catch myself preparing to share a similar story from my own life rather than simply listening to theirs. And I'm acutely aware of how often I ask something of another person without first considering what else they might be carrying. I have developed habits that feel natural when you've spent your life in a culture that constantly reinforces the importance of your own experience. But I'm reaching for a new level of curiosity and consideration. Not every conversation needs my contribution, not every experience needs to be related back to something familiar, and not every need I have has to be pointed out to someone else.

I don't believe Americans are uniquely selfish, and I don't believe Romanians are universally more considerate. I've encountered plenty of generosity and selfishness in both places. But I do think American culture has become unusually preoccupied with the individual, and we've allowed some genuinely valuable ideas about autonomy, self-expression, and personal well-being to overshadow our connection to one another.

Living abroad has challenged me to examine assumptions in ways I never had to when I was surrounded by people who largely reflected them. It's made me more aware of how much I don't know, how many ways there are to build a good community, and how often my own perspective is only a small part of a much larger picture. And that's what I think is worth considering. The world is full of people whose struggles are just as real as ours, whose experiences are just as meaningful, and whose ways of living have something to teach us. We don't have to diminish our own experiences to recognize theirs.

We just have to stop assuming we're the center of everything.