Culture 3; Oxford Dictionary: 0
January 2026 has taken me from Westbury to Invermay, Melbourne to Singapore, Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok, Pattaya to Los Angeles, and soon Las Vegas. And if there’s one thing the Pursuit of Grace keeps teaching me, it’s this:
Grace arrives when you tune into people, not when you judge the differences.
If you tear through life half‑glass‑empty, getting your knickers in a twist because things aren’t like they are at home, you disconnect. You don’t give grace. You don’t receive it. You just move through the world like a closed door.
But if you tune in — really tune in — to the small human moments, the quirks, the pride, the theatre, the language, the misunderstandings, the humour…
then suddenly the world opens.
And grace flows.
Take the Hilton bar at LAX.
The staff run the place like a mini‑empire. There’s hierarchy, choreography, and a whole internal language that only makes sense if you’ve been sworn into the order. You ask for a Diet Coke and a bowl of peanuts, and the head barman presents it with the body language of someone announcing a lunar landing.
Inside my head I’m thinking:
“Dial it back a bit, mate. You’re just pushing a very large glass of Diet Coke in my direction, not launching a rocket to Mars.”
But here’s the Pursuit of Grace moment:
instead of rolling my eyes, I noticed the pride.
The ownership.
The joy in the performance.
And when you notice people — really notice them — you connect.
And connection is where grace lives.
Earlier that day, I said to an Uber driver, in full Australian sincerity:
“It’s a beautiful Southern California day.”
She looked at me with a beaming smile that said, simultaneously:
• Who is this freak?
and
• Why is he reciting Shakespeare in my back seat?
Americans don’t pair “beautiful” with “weather.”
Australians do.
Neither is wrong.
It’s just culture bending language to its own purposes.
And then there’s the word that will forever divide our nations:
piss.
In Australia, it’s a Swiss Army knife.
It means everything except what Americans think it means.
So when an American says:
“I was so pissed.”
An Australian hears:
“Mate, you were hammered at work?”
And our instinct isn’t to correct them.
It’s to encourage them.
“Good effort, brother. That’s gold‑medal stuff.”
Because that’s the Australian way — we meet the world with humour first, judgment last.
And that’s the Pursuit of Grace:
When you stop demanding the world be familiar, you start seeing the people in front of you.
And when you see people, you give grace.
And when you give grace, you receive it.
Grace isn’t a lightning bolt.
It’s a Diet Coke pushed across a bar with rocket‑launch enthusiasm.
It’s an Uber driver smiling at your accidental Shakespeare.
It’s the shared laughter of two cultures misunderstanding each other in the most human way possible.
Grace is everywhere —
but only if you’re tuned in.
About Jason Bresnehan
Jason is a writer and recovery advocate whose work explores the intersection of Catholic faith and the lived experience of addiction. His books and essays weave scripture with the rhythms of everyday life, showing how grace can surface in the most ordinary encounters.
Through A Catholic Gospel Journey – Through the Lens of Alcohol Recovery and related projects, Jason offers reflections that connect the Sunday readings to the struggles and victories of recovery. His approach is rooted in clarity, rhythm, and respect for tradition, while remaining accessible to those navigating the challenges of addiction and renewal.
Founder of the Hadspen Foundation, Jason is committed to building frameworks for spiritual recovery that are both repeatable and personal. His writing is guided by discernment, narrative cadence, and the belief that doctrine should support—not overshadow—the human story.