The Mushrooms Aren’t the Point: Why We Reach for Familiar Things When We’re About to Move Abroad

There was a post I saw recently in a move-abroad Facebook group that stayed with me longer than I expected.

Someone who was contemplating a move to France asked a simple question. They loved a particular Trader Joe’s frozen mushroom blend and wondered whether there was something similar they could find in France. It wasn’t an emotionally-charged question or a life-or-death one…just a small, practical detail from someone clearly in the middle of planning something big.

The responses were…mixed.

Some people were kind and reassuring; others were helpful and specific. And then there were the comments that went in a very different direction. Comments that implied the question itself was evidence that the person wasn’t ready to move abroad. That if you cared about frozen mushrooms, you were missing the point of living in France entirely. That you should either fully embrace local markets and wild mushrooms or maybe not move at all.

I found myself thinking: The mushrooms aren’t the point.

What’s really happening in moments like this has very little to do with food, and a lot to do with how the human mind tries to cope when it senses a major transition ahead.

Before you even move abroad, the waiting begins. You wait for paperwork, you wait for approvals, you wait for answers that don’t always arrive when you expect them to. And all the while, your nervous system is registering the fact that something enormous is about to change.

Moving to a foreign country is not just a logistical event; it’s a psychological one. Even when you’re excited, even when you’ve wanted it for years, and even when you’re convinced that it’s absolutely the right decision.

Your mind knows that your environment, your language, your routines, and your support systems are about to change. On some level, it registers this as uncertainty, and uncertainty often feels like risk.

So, in moments like this, the brain does what it’s designed to do: it looks for safety.

Sometimes that safety shows up in big questions. Where will I live? How will I work? Will I be okay here?

And sometimes it shows up in very small ones. Can I still buy the things I like to eat? Will anything feel familiar when I arrive?

When I moved to France in my early twenties, I didn’t yet have the language or self-awareness to articulate this, but I absolutely lived it. I remember stuffing my suitcase with things that, in hindsight, make me laugh: Mountain Dew. Cookies & Cream Pop-Tarts. Makeup I was convinced didn’t exist outside the U.S. Medications I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find the equivalent for. If I could have brought string cheese, Twinkies, and Chick-fil-A with me, I would have found a way.

At the time, it felt practical, sensible, even. Now I can see that it was also deeply emotional.

Those items were anchors: they smelled like home, and tasted like familiarity. They gave me a small sense of continuity when everything else around me felt new, confusing, and slightly overwhelming. In the early days abroad, when your language skills are limited and your confidence takes a hit, those familiar comforts can feel surprisingly grounding.

There’s one thing that often gets forgotten in these conversations: bringing comfort foods from home doesn’t mean you aren’t open to discovering new things or adapting to a new life abroad.

Some of the harshest comments in threads like the one I read assume that caring about familiar items means you’re rejecting the culture you’re moving into; that if you ask about Trader Joe’s mushrooms, you somehow don’t appreciate French markets, seasonal produce, or culinary traditions.

But human adaptation isn’t that black and white, and it doesn’t usually work that way.

Most people moving abroad are doing two things at once: they’re opening themselves to new experiences while also trying to regulate the stress of enormous change. These impulses aren’t in opposition; they coexist.

In the early days, discovery often happens alongside homesickness. Curiosity walks hand in hand with longing. You might marvel at the quality of produce in a French market and still miss the comfort of foods you associate with safety and familiarity. Both can be true.

Over time, the balance shifts.

One of the joys of living abroad is how your tastes evolve without you forcing them to. You start discovering things you never looked for before. Fresh mushrooms from a local market that taste richer than anything you remember buying frozen. Seasonal ingredients that shape how you cook. Frozen food shops like Picard that become oddly reassuring in their own way.

But that transition takes time, and it’s rarely helped by shame.

What struck me most in reading the kinder responses to that mushroom question was how much more supportive they were when they acknowledged the emotional layer underneath. People calmly explained what was available in France, offered alternatives, and reassured the person that they’d be ok. Some even pointed out that yes, you can find frozen mushrooms, and yes, you can also prepare and freeze your own when they’re in season.

That kind of response doesn’t just answer the question; it calms the nervous system. It says: you’re not ridiculous for wondering, and you’re not weak for wanting familiarity. You’re allowed to look for different ways that help you arrive abroad with a little more ease.

And that matters more than we often realize.

Because the truth is, focusing on small details when big things are happening is totally normal; it’s a coping mechanism. When the world feels uncertain, the mind narrows its focus to what it can grasp. It reaches for the known, the predictable, and the comforting; it’s a form of self-preservation.

I still bring comfort items back with me when I travel. Jalapeño Cheddar Cheetos. Chick Fil-A sauce. Everything but the Bagel seasoning (though I recently found something here that I consider an acceptable substitute). These things no longer carry the emotional weight they once did, but they still make me smile…they remind me of where I come from, even as my life has firmly taken root elsewhere.

Discovering new culinary delights and holding onto familiar comforts are not mutually exclusive stages: they overlap, weave together, and evolve at their own pace.

If you’re researching a move abroad and find yourself asking questions that feel small or oddly specific, it may help to pause before judging yourself for it. Often those questions are less about the item itself and more about reassurance. They’re about wanting to know that you won’t lose yourself entirely in the process of change.

And if you’re someone who has already lived abroad for years, it’s worth remembering how fragile those early stages can feel. Not everyone asking questions is resistant to change; many are simply trying to steady themselves before stepping into something unknown.

Moving abroad asks more of us than we sometimes admit. It stretches our identities, challenges our assumptions, and humbles us in ways we didn’t anticipate. And in the middle of all that, it’s okay to want a familiar flavor, a recognizable routine, or a small reminder of home.

The mushrooms were never really the point.

What matters is how we respond to one another in these moments: with curiosity instead of contempt, with reassurance instead of dismissal, and with the understanding that behind most practical questions is a human being, just trying to find their footing.

And that kind of response can make all the difference at the beginning of a life abroad.

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Living abroad has a way of bringing all kind of emotions to the surface, often in ways we don’t anticipate.

If you’d like ongoing reflection and perspective as you navigate that process, you can follow Thrive on Through on Facebook & Instagram, where I share daily insights on life abroad.

I’m also working on a 21-part video series, designed for people in the early stages of moving and settling in: the questions, the adjustments, and the parts no one really prepares you for.

If you’d like to be among the first to know when it launches, staying connected is the easiest way.