Living In Community

Different Cultures (And Why Cold People Are So… Cold)

So here’s what I totally didn’t expect to learn at church today: apparently, the weather has been controlling our personalities this whole time. Yep—cold climate people tend to be task-oriented, while warm climate folks are all about community. Mind. Blown.

At first, I was like, “Okay, neat fact, what’s next?” But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how true it is. In our Western culture (aka, Task-Oriented Central), we’re so focused on productivity that we’ve forgotten how to actually be with people. Like, really be with them. Not just side-hug-and-go.

There’s a book called Foreign to Familiar by Sarah A. Lanier that explains all of this beautifully. Hot climate people are community-first. Cold climate people are calendar-first. And if you’ve ever tried to interrupt a Norwegian’s perfectly scheduled Tuesday afternoon, you’ve probably been met with a look that could freeze lava.

Take Norway: people there are probably born with to-do lists. Now look at Chile: you show up three hours late to a party and everyone’s just glad you came. Honestly, that sounds like a dream. Meanwhile, in the U.S., being late is basically a felony, and making small talk with your neighbor is grounds for social anxiety.

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Walking Alone (With Coffee for Emotional Support)

Here’s a fun social experiment: next time someone asks, “How are you?” actually tell them. Like, give them the real answer.

Watch them panic.

We’ve turned “How are you?” into the verbal equivalent of a nod. If someone responds with anything more emotional than “Good, you?” we short-circuit. Oh no, feelings! Abort mission!

These days, my personal community is basically two humans: my husband and my best friend. They know all my secrets. Well… most. Okay, the ones I’ve worked up the courage to say out loud. Letting people into that inner circle is scary. Like, rollercoaster-in-the-dark-while-holding-a-taco scary. What if they don’t like what they find? What if I cry and make it weird? What if they also cry and now we’re both sitting in a puddle of feelings with no napkins?

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Ancient Wedding TMI

So our pastor casually dropped this nugget during the sermon: in ancient Jewish culture, weddings lasted seven days. Not only that, but the “wedding tent” (yes, that tent) was right in the middle of the party. Imagine Grandma sipping wine two feet away from your… marital bliss. Pass the trauma.

Compare that to today: our weddings last maybe an hour, the reception is three hours tops, and then the couple sprints out the door like it’s the last chopper out of Saigon. Privacy, please. No tents. No witnesses. Definitely no Grandma.

It’s hilarious how much we value our independence—and how uncomfortable we are with public displays of… well, anything deeper than a TikTok dance.

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The Challenge (Or: How to Human Again)

So here’s the real kicker: life isn’t meant to be a solo sport. We’re wired for community. For deep, meaningful connection. The kind of relationships where you can say, “I’m not okay,” and someone says, “Pull up a chair. Me neither.”

But how do we build that? I mean, we barely have time to eat lunch sitting down. Making room for real friendship—messy, vulnerable, no-filter friendship—feels like trying to fold a fitted sheet. Doable? Technically. Easy? Never.

Still, maybe that’s the challenge. To find people who won’t flinch when you take off your emotional armor. To ask, “If I show you the real me… will you stay?”

And maybe, just maybe, if we all dared to be a little more open, a little more warm-climate in our cold-climate lives, we’d remember what it really means to do life together— sans awkward wedding tents and all.