Too Friendly for America

Our time living in Mexico has changed my personality, probably for the better.

Leo’s first flight occurred mere weeks after he was born, a busy and rushed-feeling trip to Mexico City that was necessary to register his birth with the U.S. consulate and order his American passport. But we knew that we’d also be traveling with him at least one more time this year, a grand and likely quite long jaunt to the United States so that he could meet all of the family and friends who haven’t yet had a chance to visit us. That trip is in its final days right now, and we return to Mexico shortly.

There’s a lot I can write about the differences in how Mexico and America treat infants and children, and it’s a subject I probably should tackle here sometime in the future. What’s seemingly universal, though, is that most people respond with an almost supernatural level of joy when a baby smiles at them, and our son is indeed a very happy, smiley baby, beaming his chubby grin at any and all who make eye contact with him. His unrestrained joyousness has led to a surprisingly large number of pleasant interactions in virtually every place we’ve gone during our time in the United States. What I didn’t anticipate is that I, too, have become friendlier, and it’s without a doubt a result of living in Mexico.

New York is very much a mind-your-own-business sort of town, and when Andrea and I first moved there, I encouraged her not to talk to strangers. Don’t chat with randos in elevators, don’t engage with people on the subway, and definitely try not to make small talk with people who approach you on the sidewalk. Random friendliness felt almost aberrant to me, the kind of behavior shown by people who either are going to be the victim of a serial killer or who might be the serial killer themselves. I was wrong! Our neighbors unexpectedly became a hugely important part of our life in New York, and the community and relationships we built there easily eclipse what we’ve so far been able to establish in Mexico.

There’s no doubt, though, that Mexico has generally made me friendlier than I used to be. We live in a town where it is an expectation of daily life that you will say hola, buenos días (or tardes or noches, depending on the time of day), or buen provecho, to practically every person you run across. To not greet those around you is so rude that one might think you’re snubbing them, or perhaps are just a dumb gringo who doesn’t know how to be polite. That type of casual friendliness is at odds with the American experience.

We’ve lived in Mexico for almost a year and a half, long enough to change us in rather serious ways. Andrea recently commented that she thinks I’ve become less of a black-or-white type of person, which I think is directly connected to living in a place where things are often ambivalent. People will show up when they’re going to show up, nothing happens when it’s supposed to, and it’s unfortunately very characteristically Oaxacan to have a lackadaisical attitude about commitments, obligations, and timeliness. Adjusting to this is imperative; If I hadn’t become more go-with-the-flow, I probably would have had a nervous breakdown not too long after our move. Friendliness is a different thing altogether, though. To become friendlier feels more like a shift in personality. I have been changed, and my personality, in a way that feels rather profound.

It’s disconcerting, though. Now that I’ve become friendlier with strangers, I am one of those weird randos saying hello to people I don’t know whom I pass on the sidewalk. It doesn’t help that my impulse is also to address everyone in Spanish, a decidedly unsafe thing to do in this particular era of American history. But it’s impossible not to see this as a net gain for my personality. Becoming more friendly and laid back as a result of moving to Mexico is almost a stereotype, but it’s a better state of being than tense and unfriendly. It does raise the question, though—what would happen to my personality if we moved back to the U.S.?

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