Our Culture Defines Us
… as does our generation
We’ve heard it all our lives: You’re part of the Boomers, or Gen Z, X, Y… whichever. Our generation most certainly defines who we are. We view life similarly to those in our generation. The older generation doesn’t understand; whilst the younger generation doesn’t have a clue. We share passions and pitfalls. Some, who are ahead of their generation, stand out: take Victoria Claflin Woodhull, Christine De Pizan, and Ada Lovelace for example.
But how does your culture define you and the way you view life? Do different generations from the same culture process events and survival similarly? How deeply does your culture define you even if you weren’t raised in “the old country”?
Because I’m a Hungarian-American, I only speak boldly about the culture that courses through my being. I know we are resilient and tenacious. I know we love horses as their blood runs through our veins. I know we appreciate a smooth wine because our orchards are world-renowned. I know we are clever and beautiful and proud.
Looking deeper into the culture of my ancestors, I realize they didn’t give themselves opportunities to heal generational traumas. For centuries, they were busy surviving. They were busy in wars with others and amongst themselves. We, Hungarians, just keep moving forward and pushing through the pains of life. There’s no blame here. It’s just the way we are wired.
“If we don’t know what we don’t know, we can’t heal what needs to be healed.”
Honestly, I didn’t even realize just how deeply my world was ingrained in Hungarian culture. Perhaps it was naïve of me. Perhaps some part of me was protecting myself — as it’s been done for centuries by my forefathers.
Let me backup a moment, if I may, to give you a bigger picture. My parents and siblings were Hungarian refugees. They walked across the border of Hungary to Yugoslavia in the dead of night. Mama and Apa holding a bunch of bananas, seltzer water, and my sister’s tiny 18-month-old hands (and body when she was tired). Mama was 8.5 months pregnant with my brother who was born in Rome, Italy. They stayed in Italy for 3 months before embarking on another journey of a lifetime to the United States. Here, they learned a new language, a new culture, and a new world. Apa was a doctor in Hungary and had to take his exams once again in English after he learned the language at age 30. Can you even imagine? My greatest challenge, as a parent, was to make sure there was food on the table. In the grand scheme of things it’s really nothing. (Yes, I know we aren’t supposed to compare our lives with those of others.)
Again, we Hungarians handle trauma by pushing through, suppressing the feelings, and surviving — with alcohol. We are exceptionally fabulous at surviving and drinking. Rarely will you meet a Hungarian who doesn’t indulge in an adult beverage. Most start drinking at an early age. I did. I remember grabbing a beer for Mama and a spritzer for Apa regularly. Of course, I made sure their drinks were cold enough or tasty enough for them before handing it off. And so, the alcohol tolerance started building. No one encouraged me to take those sips. No one discouraged me either. It was part of our cultural norm.
As a young adult, my parents and I were at the Hungarian-American Medical Convention in Sarasota, Florida. I was in awe at how normal it was for kids to bring their parents’ drinks to them, poolside. I can still see the interaction between the child and the bartender, “Yes, I’m going to take it directly to my dad right over there.” Dad waves a hand at the bartender, and the transaction is complete. Then, the twelve-year-old takes a few (or more) sips from the drink. And so, the cycle continues.
Hungarians are a bizarre dichotomy.
On one hand, we hide our feelings and show nothing to the outside world. We show our strength by not showing emotions. We show resilience by pressing through the grossness of the world and being rude to each other in public. On the other hand, we welcome everyone into our homes and give them the best we have to offer. We cook the best meals, offer our nicest clothes, and serve our guests to make them feel like royalty. Once you’re in, you’re family for life.
But we still hide our feelings, we still cry alone, and we still show the outside world that everything is perfectly wonderful as we’re falling apart on the inside. This is what keeps us going and keeps us from fully healing.
It took me quite some time to realize how the culture of my forefathers hindered my healing process in some ways. Though, I am eternally grateful for the culture as it kept me from falling apart in the midst trauma. I’m grateful my ancestors are strong, resilient, passionate, and survivors.
Once I realized the hindrances, it has been considerably easier to heal. Culture isn’t a reason to blame mishaps in life. Just because your culture is one to mourn the loss of a loved one for 6 months, doesn’t mean you have to do the same thing. Just like everything else in life, you have a choice. If you’re finished mourning in 2 days, so be it. If it takes you a year, then that’s just as well.
Ultimately, our culture defines how we respond to things to some extent. If it supports us in our growth, then embrace it. If it hinders and keeps you back, make different choices. Embrace the good of your culture and change that which no longer serves you.
