My Lost Year as a Moscow Expat

I think a lot about the ‘right way’ to be an expat.

If I were to construct the picture of a ‘good expat,’ they would be someone who speaks the language, has relationships with local businesses, gets involved in the national holidays, delves into the culture through museums and festivals, and uses their free time to explore their adopted home.

I only excel at one of those things, and I’ll let you guess which one. (Hint: The best kind of man is one with his name embroidered on his shirt.)

I’ve been a bad expat this year. I’ve lived in Moscow for a little over ten months, but I don’t blame people who think I’m still based in Tbilisi or Kyiv. If you looked at my digital footprint alone, there’s little to show. I have published just a handful of posts, none of them specific to Moscow. Most of my Moscow Instagram photos are from my visit last June, not from my time as an expat. It’s most noticeable on Twitter, where I enjoy keeping a running commentary about Moscow public transportation.

It became very obvious to me, sometime in late winter, that I was being a bad Moscow expat. My Russian was only improving because I was surrounded nine hours a day by a dozen three year olds who repeated themselves constantly (I can now say key phrases like “I want Mommy,” “I don’t like it,” and “By myself!” with perfect toddler fluency). I had planned to spend my March vacation in Murmansk, chasing the Northern Lights, but flipped last minute and booked tickets to Cyprus when I realized how much I needed sunshine and warmth. And I had crossed zero museums off my list — not even the Museum of Soviet Arcade Machines.

I felt guilty. Why shouldn’t I have? I was living in one of the most dynamic, intriguing cities in the world, and I was… hanging out in Starbucks. Was I just burnt out on being an expat? Was I having a crisis of identity? Maybe I was just always a ‘bad expat’ all along, and it was just finally becoming more obvious in Moscow.

Well, no. The truth was — I was busy. Expat life really is just… life. And I had a whole bunch of things going on that were in no way related to Russia. I was working a full-time job, and then I kept adding extra on top of that. Also, I kept freelance writing for much of the year. I only stopped when I started teaching adult classes in the evenings twice a week. And I worked on two professional teaching qualifications this year, the Delta Module 1 and Module 3. Each required a ridiculous amount of time, leading up to a total strangling of my social life for several weeks before their deadlines.

I had certain time investments I had to make this year, to move myself along financially and professionally. And I got what I needed back from these investments, so I don’t regret them. They just cost me a thrilling expat life in Moscow.

Ok, so I could forgive myself for being a bad expat this year. I am not happy that I moved to a place that I was ecstatic to be and then got so caught up in work I couldn’t enjoy it. But since working on my career seemed like a better move towards stability than trying to hook an oligarch, I had to make the tough choices. But in June, all those obligations finished. My freelance contracts ended, my exam and paper were done, my evening classes were over. I suddenly had time.

When I move, I usually work up until the last minute. In Kyiv I was doing paperwork until 8pm my final night, and then I went out with my friends for ‘one last drink.’ I got home just to catch a few hours sleep before having to board a transatlantic flight. There was no breathing time before I left. But in Moscow I had a whole week between my final day of work and starting the Trans-Siberian. I was going to do so much, I decided. I was going to make up for how busy I was during the year. I was going to pack the week with museums and cocktail bars. I was going to go to parks and enjoy the Moscow summer that had lured me here. I was going to be a good expat — no, the best — even if just for one week.

And Monday morning of my last week, I dutifully drew up lists. Which museums I would go to when, which cocktail bars were open when, what other administrative work I had to fit in this last week. I was very organized. In my bed. In my pajamas.

Listen, guys, if you didn’t make time for something all year, there’s very little chance you’re going to make time for it your last week.

So let’s not be surprised — I didn’t make it to the Kremlin. I skipped the art gallery. I didn’t cross every cocktail bar off my list. Instead, I went back to the Starbucks where I spent hours working on my paper, where a few baristas actually knew me by name, and I wrote and I read. I binge watched Stranger Things with the Russian guy I was dating. I woke up at 6:15 on my last full day in Moscow and spent a few hours wandering around Red Square and trying not to cry.

And then I went shopping at H&M.

You know, it’s true — I didn’t make the most of my time in Moscow. But I made the most of that year in the way I needed.

There are a lot of different ways to be an expat, and I’m not sure if I will ever feeling like I’m doing it ‘right.’ But having time this week, I thought about this year and all the things I did do. I went to Dagestan and didn’t get kidnapped to become a mountain man’s bride. I saw ballets at the Bolshoi, the Kremlin, and the Mariinsky. I took a Moscow river cruise with my book club. I went camping in an art park with a team of runners. I skated on Patriarch’s Pond and thought of Koroviev, Behemoth, and Azazello sneaking around. I introduced a Russian guy to American style pancakes, complete with Canadian maple syrup I brought from home. I did finally go to the Museum of Soviet Arcade Machines, and I was damn good at most of the games (except the submarine ones. Can’t shoot a torpedo to save my life.) So looking back, it seems like I didn’t do half bad after all.

And if that wasn’t enough — well, I have three weeks on the Trans-Siberian and a hefty copy of War and Peace to get through. I’m ready to pay my expat penitence.