Reflections on Culture Shock
The cost of living in a bubble.
A few weekends ago, I visited my friend Ryan in Michigan. On Sunday, we ventured 45 minutes into rural Michigan to participate in a county fair. I was munching on an apple I’d picked from an adjacent orchard when a wave of culture shock hit me. I was surrounded by people who looked just like me, who drove a similar car to the one I drive, and who were from the same country, but who were living drastically different lives.
Driving home, I lamented how rarely I insert myself in an environment outside my cultural bubble—even when it’s only 45 minutes down the road. The grooves of my life are well-worn and familiar, but it’s tempting to stay in those grooves and conclude how important I am and how important Uncharted’s work is and how the universe orbits around my little Banks-centric universe. But my life needs regular Copernican revolutions to grasp just how big and varied this human experience is.