Why Is It “Crazy Enough” in the Netherlands?

Today is a better day at work. I’ve returned after a three-day stay in Poland and found that my housing situation has taken over half of the lab’s discussions.

Just four days remain before I must vacate my current room or face lock replacement. I’ve been intensely searching for alternatives through agencies and friends, yet I’ve not found anything yet. 

Everyone around me seems more anxious than I am, though I’m certainly stressed. But I’ve come to know this pattern well: I tend to come up with a good idea at the last moment.

Or someone comes to my rescue in the nick of time. In short, I always manage to land on my feet one way or another.

During my recent trip to Poland, I encountered a few random individuals, as often happens during journeys. I slept soundly at the Eindhoven train station, a place where nighttime travel in the Netherlands is scarce. In the morning, three people—a Spaniard and two Canadians—approached me, offering a taxi ride to the airport.

With plenty of time before our flights, we chatted. And I learned about the perspective of a Spanish woman who had lived in the Netherlands for over a decade. This was due to challenging labor market conditions in her home country.

She shared an insightful observation: the Dutch live by the principle of “behave normally, as it’s already crazy enough.” According to Van Oudenhoven (2001), this kind of blunt, egalitarian directness shows up repeatedly in cross-national studies of Dutch organizational culture.

This is in contrast to more hierarchical or indirect communication norms elsewhere. They may be reserved, but at least now I understand the ideology behind it. 

Why Does the Netherlands Have Open Windows but Closed Doors?

The Netherlands is a land of open windows but closed doors, which can make you feel quite isolated. According to van der Horst and Messing (2006), Dutch homes are notably reluctant to use curtains.

Residents widely explain this visual openness as reflecting a cultural norm of having “nothing to hide.” At times, I do feel lonely and at times, not so much—especially when I’m in Poland.

It appears to me as a dull, gray spot that I’m reluctant to return to. However, upon my return, amidst the wave of problems, I do catch glimpses of goodness that brighten the picture.

Every such glimpse improves my understanding of the Dutch. It’s important to know how to connect with them. I’ve noticed a pattern: the quieter the nation, the deeper they are.

The Dutch rarely engage in small talk, but when they do, it’s about meaningful topics. According to Coupland (2003), small talk usually serves a social bonding function rather than an informational one.

This may explain why a culture less invested in that ritual skips straight to substance instead. Recently, I spoke with someone from the personnel office, discussing a few questions I had.

Among them, I wondered whether I could wear dresses around the department. This was because nobody else does despite having a wardrobe full of them. Turns out, it’s allowed, and the rest isn’t, simply because it’s worn out.

However, the conversation shifted from clothing to fears. We spent an hour and a half sharing stories, including a shared childhood trauma of losing a friend to murder.

Interestingly, it didn’t affect me in adulthood, but my counterpart, she still fears the dark and desolate places. This fear extends to anything but a car for transportation, including bicycles and walking. 

Who Is “The Lab Psychologist”?

This moment taught me that the Dutch easily open up about personal matters. This happens if you maintain a calm demeanor and follow their cues. Since then, I’ve discovered another local peculiarity—the Lab psychologist.

People confide in him about their fears, depressions, dreams, and problems in corridor conversations. When a third person arrives, the tone changes, but this only confirms that I mean something to them.

On a different note, I’d like to express my sorrow over the passing of Steve Jobs. He deserved a long and peaceful old age, which sadly wasn’t granted. Earlier, I mentioned Thelema, and Jobs was a prime example.

He found meaning in every failure, turning mistakes into advantages. He lived by the principle of doing what he was passionate about and felt the calling for. He refused tasks that left him indifferent.

According to Wrzesniewski, McCauley, Rozin and Schwartz (1997), people who experience their work as a “calling” tied to personal meaning. They report greater satisfaction with both their work and their lives, rather than valuing external reward alone.

Nothing could break him, not even the seven-year battle against pancreatic cancer. This was a feat considering most don’t last more than a month.