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I like to tell people I moved abroad for a dog. I came to Amsterdam for the first time in December 2022 to dog-sit an adorable Maltipoo named Pretzel. I fell in love with the city: amazed at how smooth public transit was, obsessed with the efficiency and how things “just worked,” and in awe of how international it was. I spent those first three weeks pretending I lived there. And when I returned in the fall of 2023 to watch Pretzel again, the feeling nagged at me that maybe I could.
With my German passport, I didn’t need to get a visa. As a freelancer, my work was both remote and flexible. And I wanted to experience something different. Save for college, I had lived in D.C. for my entire life. Truth be told, I was sick of living in a city that revolved around politics, constantly being asked, “What do you do?” as if it were a badge of honor. And yes, while I know I could have moved somewhere else (anywhere else) stateside, I was keen for an adventure and a new way of life.
So, in February of 2024, I hopped on a plane to Amsterdam to try out living there for real. There were a lot of factors that determined whether and how long I would stay: if I could find housing (I got extremely lucky), if I could withstand the rain (you get used to it), and if working a nocturnal lifestyle was sustainable (as a night owl, I actually prefer it). But as the months moved on and I started to really build a life for myself, there was one thing that kept me from officially settling in: how the election would go.
If Kamala Harris won, I knew I would be enticed to go back to the U.S. In my mind, her election would allow us to get back on track as a country. Not to mention, I wouldn’t have to live in constant fear of an erratic president who would make my job a lot more fast-paced and depressing.
But if she lost … I wasn’t sure. I had lived through one Trump presidency already, and I couldn’t help but worry about how much worse it could be this time around. Why would I return to such chaos when my life in Amsterdam was, for the most part, so stress-free?
When the election happened, I was devastated—and resolved. A decision had been made for me: I would stay in Amsterdam for another year, if not more. (“I think we lost Hannah,” my grandma likes to say.) But it felt like a shock, the realization that more than half of my country was willing to let a convicted felon be in a position of power again.
This worsened around and after the inauguration. By then, I’d come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t moving back anytime soon. But even knowing that, I still felt like I was between two places. For one, my job as a homepage editor at Slate certainly requires me to be aptly tuned in to what’s unfolding in America (many of my American friends, understandably, try to avoid the news). Being an ocean away, I know most of the policies won’t affect me directly. But it really hit close to home, literally. Or at least, what had once been home.
I grew up in D.C., and my mom works as an environmental lawyer for the federal government. From a young age, I knew about government shutdowns—though I was disappointed to learn they didn’t mean school was canceled too. I went to high school downtown, just a few blocks from the White House. I knew all about how Congress works: how our city is unfairly treated in decision-making and taxed without adequate representation.
Now, watching everything essentially get flushed down the toilet is upsetting, even from thousands of miles away. I know so many people who have devoted their lives to civil service, oftentimes committing to mundane tasks that make sure our government functions correctly. They know how to navigate the bureaucratic BS that keeps—or maybe, kept—our country running.
Here, people treat America as a circus. So many of my European friends send memes poking fun at us. I get it because I joke about it too, but what I’ve realized in the past few months is that I may not consider myself a patriot, but I still care about my country’s descent into chaos.
It also feels wrong to be catastrophizing America when things aren’t so perfect here either. In the Netherlands—and many places in Europe—there’s a general shift to conservativism too. There are also refugees from Ukraine, who are here because they don’t really have a country to go back to. When I meet them, I feel the guilt of knowing I could go back, but they don’t have a choice.
And then there’s the weird tension of why I can be here in the first place: My grandfather was born in Hamburg. He and his family left on his birthday, Aug. 5, 1938, just three months before the Nazis ransacked Jewish homes as part of Kristallnacht. My German passport is a reparation of sorts, allowing me to live my life here because he couldn’t.
I wish I could be like some of the expats I meet who no longer care about the U.S. and are OK with it burning itself to the ground. But for me, it feels hard to fathom a world without America—even considering whatever it is now, it will also always be the country that saved my family.
People are constantly asking me how long I’ll live abroad. I don’t have an answer.
I was recently back in the States, seeing family and celebrating my (other) grandpa’s 90th birthday. Beyond some minor creature comforts that I’ve gotten used to living without (dryers, ice water, air conditioning), being close to family is the main thing I miss the most about the U.S.
For those who are considering a move abroad: Leaving will provide relief. But even though you can run away from America, you can’t run away from being American.
