How a Lotto Ticket Helped Shape My Identity as an Aussie Abroad

When I was in my early twenties, I learned an important lesson about patience - one that, up until recently, I’d prided myself on following pretty diligently.

It was back in my uni days when I was living on the Gold Coast. Once a week, I’d commute to Brisbane to intern at a marketing agency in Fortitude Valley. There was some big multimillion dollar Tattslotto draw coming up, the kind that they’d advertise on the news and everyone would buy a ticket for, even if you never did Tattslotto. I was on the way home from the office and had a bit of time to kill, and since I’d never won anything in my life, I thought – why not?

So there I was at the newsagency, second in line, waiting patiently for the person ahead of me to finish buying their ticket. When my turn finally came, I stepped up to the counter, wallet in hand, my request for a QuickPick lotto ticket on the tip of my tongue – when, out of nowhere, some self-important d*bag in a business suit cut in front of me and stole my turn. And my lotto ticket.

I was fuming. Quietly, but nevertheless fuming. I was too taken aback to say anything (and to be honest, a little too timid). I couldn’t believe the nerve of the guy. He simply bought his ticket and walked away without so much as a sorry, or a second glance back. And when I finally was able to buy my ticket, I was filled with a bitter aftertaste that accompanied me all the way on my train ride home.

It was only that night, when the lotto results had been announced and I had circled 5 of the 6 winning numbers – not exactly the jackpot, but enough to make a casually-employed uni student very happy – that I realised that the guy cutting in front of me had been a blessing in disguise. Had he not, it was entirely likely that he would have gotten his hands on the lucky ticket, instead of me.

And so, as I used my winnings to book myself a holiday to Hong Kong, I told myself something that I’ve repeated as a kind of mantra many times since: Be patient. Learn when to let things go. It will all work out in the end.

Forever grateful to the guy who “stole” my lotto ticket and helped me end up in Hong Kong ;)

For the most part, this positive outlook worked out for me. It got me through my tumultuous twenties, a life-changing move overseas to England, a breakup or two, and a string of unfortunate incidents that led to a second life-changing move overseas - this time to Spain.

Fast forward a few years later, and here I am, desperately struggling to hang onto the peaceful optimism this lesson used to bestow upon me. And as much as I want to be able to apply this kind of benevolent stoicism to all aspects of my life, I can’t deny that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to do so.

Part of it is, undoubtedly, something that comes with age. The older I’ve become, the less patience I have. I’m a working mother who barely has time to sit down to enjoy my freshly-made coffee, let alone put up with any shit. So yeah - when someone cuts ahead of me at the line in the bakery, you can bet I’m going to say something. (At the risk of sounding like a complete Karen, you have no idea how gratifying it is to be able to loudly comment “What’s the point in having a line?” in a language that’s not your own - and have a store full of locals nod in agreement. It’s a true slow clap moment 😂.)

I’m sure it’s partly just pure old cynicism, too. I don’t religiously follow the news (it’s just a little too depressing for that right now), but I know enough about history and the current state of the world to realise that not everything works out fine in the end. It’s not so easy to maintain a sunny outlook when we as a species keep making the same mistakes that we were supposed to have learned from.

But could part of it be cultural too? I sometimes wonder if living in Spain has made me more irritable. Things here are notoriously slow - the trains, the customer service, virtually any kind of administrative process. And while it may be a stereotype, I have seen my fair share of hot-tempered locals blow up at the slightest inconvenience. Could some of that be rubbing off on me?

It’s kind of ironic, because when I first met my husband, one of the things he appreciated about me was how easygoing and calm I was - something that countered his fiery, impulsive nature (wow, now we’re really talking stereotypes). But in this case, they were true. I taught him how to pick his battles and not get worked up about the little things. And he taught me to stick up for myself and speak up when I felt that things weren’t fair. Because I also appreciated those qualities in him - the very traits I felt were lacking in myself.

But somewhere along the way, those lines began to blur. I don’t know if it happened gradually, or if I can pin it down to a specific moment - maybe the day I snapped at a shopkeeper for admonishing my daughter (he was completely out of line, btw!), or the time I asked the barista - whose enthralling conversation with her co-worker was clearly the bigger priority - to prepare my coffee a bit faster, please.

What I do know is that I’ve changed. And while part of me misses the laid-back, unflappable Aussie version of myself, I also recognise that, in addition to exposing you to new cultures, living abroad also changes your culture. It shapes you, often in imperceptible ways, until one day you wake up and realise that you’re not quite who you used to be. Not entirely Australian, not entirely Spanish. But a little bit of both.

This is something I don’t think gets talked about enough, especially among women who move countries. So many of us arrive in our new homes with a wide-eyed sense of adventure, only to find that adapting is more than just learning the language. Instead, it’s almost a complete identity overhaul. It’s the slow, sometimes unintentional, and continual job of asking yourself: “Who am I here? Who do I have to be to survive here?”

And sometimes that means growing a thicker skin. Or speaking more bluntly. Or allowing yourself to feel frustration and express it, because if you don’t, you risk being taken for a doormat.

Living in Spain has made me a little louder. Slightly sharper. And a little less apologetic. It’s not necessarily a bad thing - but it is a different thing. And as all of us who are living abroad long-term know, that’s the reality of migrant life - after experiencing a completely different world, you may never fully belong in any one place again. 

And maybe that’s where a new kind of patience comes in - the patience you need to extend to yourself. It’s okay to not be the same person you were, or to completely understand person you’ve become. But if you can take a bit of the good from both, and give yourself permission to keep evolving - to be softer in some moments, fiercer in others - then maybe that’s what resilience really looks like, as an Aussie living far away from home.

How has living abroad changed your outlook on life, and how you see yourself? Let me know in the comments below.