Great Floating Tribe

Is there something wrong with me ?
Around 1.5 years ago, I moved from France to Korea, Seoul.
I had planned the process carefully, with my spouse: the reconnaissance trip, selecting THE apartment, the visas, immigration registration, bank accounts and SIM card… Even the cat’s passport.
“Moving is always a flurry of activities, emotions, and lists – so many lists,” as Janese Carstens said on her former blog, The One Spot for Trailing Spouses.
But I had also prepared carefully for the “cultural” aspect of the move.
I had tried to imagine my life in Seoul. I had read about Korean culture, started Korean language classes, talked with friends who had lived in Korea, watched the highly recommended K-dramas to get a few references and make sure I would “hit the ground running.”
Still, after a few months, I woke up every morning with a weight on my mind. I couldn’t help feeling that I was failing.
Something was wrong with me.
A few French compatriots invited me for coffee and helped me decode some of the behaviours I didn’t understand. They gave me useful clues to get my bearings. I had a great support program with a coach.
But I still couldn’t help feeling like a stranger here.
I can be a chameleon. I can adopt some behaviours “on the outside” and still feel awkward on the inside.
And there is something else I recognise now.
That voice asking, “What’s wrong with me?” is familiar. It is the voice of my "inner Judge", self-sabotaging me.
It takes the emotional strain of living in a culture I don’t fully understand yet and turns it into a judgment about me.
Luckily, there is one place where that voice becomes quieter: when I am home, in my apartment. When I close the door, I feel relieved. Home is my safe place. There is no fear of making a mistake. No code to decipher. No need to adapt or try to be someone else.
And there is my cat, Simeone. Since childhood, there have always been cats at home. Their quiet, independent presence has always meant home for me.
Simeone has absolutely no interest in whether I am adapting successfully to Korean culture. His ability to be in the present, and the feeling that he is quietly watching over me, quiet the nagging, self-judging voice in my head.
For a while, I don't have to adapt. I just feel at home.

One of the worst cultural gaffes I've ever made happened in Japan. 🇯🇵
I was visiting someone's home and, after using the toilet, I happily walked around the house still wearing the toilet slippers.
For those unfamiliar with Japanese customs, there are special slippers reserved exclusively for the toilet. You put them on when you enter and leave them there when you come out.

Except that I forgot to take them off. 🙈
Once I realised it, I felt terrible. Even if nobody realised it, I felt completely ridiculous. I wished I could disappear. That feeling is still with me today, years later. But why should I beat myself up for it, especially years afterwards ?

When you move into a new culture, you try hard to adjust, to fit in. "When in Rome do what the Romans do". You observe the local rules, change your behaviour, adapt your communication style. You try to learn the codes and use them. We call it "code switching" or "style switching". You make gaffes, feel awkward, try to do it better the next time.
This is a painful process, but it's just the beginning. It's "surface adaptation". Inside, you still stick to your old perspectives and mindset. Like a chameleon changing its colours to blend into its surroundings. Underneath the skin (the visible part), nothing has really changed.

Real adaptation goes deeper. It's when you start questioning your assumptions, looking at things differently, and becoming more comfortable with not knowing.
It's also where you start to grow and change.
I remember my ski teacher telling me that if you fall, it means you're learning and progressing. If you never fall, you're probably not progressing much.
It's the same with cultural adaptation. You experiment, you try, you fail, you miss, you feel ridiculous. And you try again.

The key is not to get caught in the drama of every mistake, letting your inner judge beat you up, but to embrace the messiness of the experience. Laugh at it, even (if you are able to laugh at it, it means you are not caught in the drama anymore).
Because that's how you learn, and that's how you grow.
If you feel awkward, you're on your way. 😊

Now let's laugh together: what's the worst cultural gaffe you've ever made?



Photo credit: Minol Song on Pexels

One week – here I am, one week living in my new country.
My new ex-country.

What does it change in my gaze, to be here only for a while?
On one hand, it makes my eyes wide with wonder: I want to understand everything, discover everything, hold onto everything—even time as it slips away.
The question that rises every morning: Where do I begin?

On the other, it sharpens my focus: I pay attention only to what truly calls me. I evaluate, I choose. I say yes to some experiences, but I also say no to others.
The question that nags me every morning: What have I come here to find?

And then, there is yet another direction my gaze turns—within, into myself.
My encounters with these unfamiliar people and this unknown culture echo within me, stirring memories, reflections. Or sometimes, nothing at all.
The question that lingers every morning: Who am I becoming?

One week, and already my new life is changing me.

One week of elsewhere
Benedicte, april 1st 2025

That’s it. The honeymoon is over.

You’ve moved. You’ve settled into your new apartment, your new neighborhood. You’ve met your neighbors. You’ve started your first language lessons.

But the frustration — and the judgment — are increasing.

Why do they do it like that here?
Why can’t I speak my mind?
Why can’t they make a normal baguette? 🥖

You start judging the local culture against your own. Your own culture is still your reference: We do it right. They do it wrong.

For people who have never moved abroad, their culture is everywhere, but it is invisible to them. It feels obvious. It’s only once the water is taken away — or you are taken out of it — that you start to see it and miss it, like a fish out of water. The familiar "normal" environment is no longer there. The things you took for granted become visible, and the absence of what was familiar becomes painful.

This is when discomfort and stress start to grow, and the voices of your inner Saboteurs begin to kick in, intensifying your negative feelings and derailing your adaptation process.

Denying the problem or blaming others is a normal reaction. It’s a form of self-protection. We all have moments like that, but it’s important to move beyond them. Until you become aware of your inner sabotage and learn how to respond to it, you may get stuck there.

The PQ or Mental Fitness approach can be a helpful way to face this — whether you are adapting to life abroad yourself or supporting someone through an international move. It offers a way to notice what is happening internally, create more space to respond, and move forward with greater awareness.

Ethnocentricity is a normal phase of adapting to another culture, but it brings its share of discomfort, frustration and negativity. And unless you address the self-sabotaging thinking that is judging everything, running unconsciously in the background of your mind, you are in trouble.

Permanente courte, pantalon fleuri, grande visière contre le soleil, opinions bien affirmées…
L’Ajumma est un personnage haut en couleur, qui prête facilement à sourire ou à la caricature. Mais derrière la caricature se cache une histoire de résistance.
Ces femmes sont aussi les mères de la Corée, celles dont les vies modestes ont silencieusement contribué à la réussite du pays.

Je suis française et je vis à Séoul. J’aime observer ce que les gestes et les comportements du quotidien racontent d’une société. L’Ajumma m’intrigue par ses contradictions : derrière un personnage haut en couleur, qui prête facilement à sourire ou à la caricature, se dessine quelque chose de beaucoup plus sérieux sur la Corée, son histoire et la façon dont une génération de femmes y a contribué.

L’Ajumma est pour moi une belle illustration, un beau symbole.

Cet article est ma façon de rendre hommage à ces femmes dont le courage et la dédication a contribué à construire la Corée moderne — et qui, aujourd’hui encore, continuent à la faire tourner avec une détermination à toute épreuve.

Mon nouvel article sur mon blog : Éloge de l’Ajumma — Hommage à une génération.

Éloge de l’Ajumma 🧡 | The Great Floating Tribe Le personnage de l'Ajumma m’intrigue par ses contradictions : derrière un personnage haut en couleur, qui prête facilement à sourire ou à la caricature, se dessine quelque chose de beaucoup plus sérieux sur la Corée, son histoire et la façon dont une génération de femmes y a trouvé sa pl...

Summer ends. And for many of us, it means leaving again.
Leaving family behind. Going back to wherever “home” currently is. Not knowing how you will find them the next time (not even being certain if you will be back...). Life happens; places and people change, sometimes in unexpected ways.
The Japanese word 𝑁𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑖 reflects this feeling very well : the nostalgia of something coming to an end, mixed with the uncertainty of whether we will experience it again.
In this article, I wrote about 𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑖, about leaving my father this summer, about the very different ways we experience goodbyes, and about something I am learning: sadness does not necessarily mean that leaving is wrong.

Our bodies leave first. Our feelings follow a few steps behind.
We leave a part of us behind, but still feel fine, still whole.

Nagori or the end of summer | The Great Floating Tribe Nagori is a Japanese word for the nostalgia of something coming to an end, and the uncertainty of experiencing it again. A reflection on the end of summer, leaving people and places behind, and allowing ourselves to remain attached even as we move on.

Here is another article that I wrote about 6 months ago about the practice of Nemawashi in Japan.

Nemawashi – When It Looks Like Nothing Is Happening | The Great Floating Tribe I thought I understood influence. That was before I moved to Japan and learned about Nemawashi. Before Japan, I would ask: are we moving fast enough? After Japan, I ask something else first: are the right people already part of this — before we move at all? Japan gave me…

What Should a Leader Wear during the Hot Days of Summer?

I have found that the answer depends mostly on where you live and work, not really on who you are.

This year, with the heat waves hitting many countries, summer was something to survive. We complained about the heat, hid indoors with the air-conditioning (if you're lucky – not me in Paris), and count the days until September.

It brought back my memory of Japan, when every year, as summer approached, I found myself asking the truly important question: "When does Cool Biz start this year?"

I didn’t want to make the “gaffe” to drop the jacket and wear short sleeves one day early!

As I researched this year's CoolBiz dates, I've learned about the new "short" controversy. Nowhere else but in Japan !

In many Western countries, the debate around workplace attire has largely disappeared. In Japan, however, the issue still becomes national news.

If clothing is merely personal expression, changing it is easy. If clothing is part of the social fabric and a strong signal about professionalism, changing it becomes a cultural negotiation. A national debate on how to adapt to climate change.

Read more in my new article on my blog.

What Should a Leader Wear during the Hot Days of Summer? | The Great Floating Tribe This is about my observations about suits, ties, and Cool Biz in Japan. In many Western countries, the debate around workplace attire has largely disappeared. In Japan, however, the issue still becomes national news. If clothing is merely personal expression, changing it is easy. If clothing is part...

The more I use AI, the more my own voice matters.
Two years ago, I started experimenting with generative AI out of curiosity.

This year, it became part of my writing practice.
Not because I wanted AI to write for me, but because I discovered it could really help me find and amplify my own voice.

So from now on, you'll find this short note at the end of my articles:
"This article was originally written by my own brain with the help of my finger-tips, then reviewed and improved with the help of a generative AI tool. It was then reviewed again and edited by me, to ensure that it is reflecting my personal voice, point of view and opinion."

Partly, this is to comply with the evolving guidelines around AI in Korea. But mostly, it's because I believe transparency matters.



https://greatfloatingtribe.com/the-more-i-use-ai-the-more-my-own-voice-matters/

𝑷𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕. 𝒀𝒆𝒕 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔. ⭐

A few weeks ago, I was packing to go on a business trip to Japan. I was pondering what I should wear. It might sound like a trivial question, but in Japan it isn't.

In fact, I know a coach colleague who once received a complaint from a client because she was wearing boots while facilitating a workshop. Not because the workshop was poor. Not because participants were unhappy. Because of the boots.

In any culture, wearing the appropriate clothes is a strong sign of showing up as a professional. It signals that you understand your role and indicates competence. But nowhere is it as true as in Japan.

Find out more in my new article in the series "Lessons in Leadership from Japan", on my blog.

“The Cloak does not make the monk… Or does it? | The Great Floating Tribe In any culture, wearing the appropriate clothes is a strong sign of showing up as a professional. It signals that you understand your role, your competence and what is expected about you. But nowhere is it as true as in Japan.