7 Years

Becoming Norsk

7 years ago I left the U.S. to live out my life in Norway. I had my newlywed husband by my side, a couple of suitcases and my cat with me. I traded a life of convenience for self-sufficiency. Fast food, processed foods and restaurants for learning to cook homemade meals from scratch. My car dependency for walking much more (and sometimes walking for just the fun of it). I traded bottled water for fresh tap water. Consumerism for minimalism, and a culture of broad class divisions for flat hierarchy.

Everything I had known until that point, I left and tried to figure out in my new country.

Within that first year, I finished college, married, moved, began language classes, became pregnant and then held a newborn scared out of my mind thinking, "what the hell do I do with this?" It was a lot of change at once and I would not recommend anyone to voluntarily tackle so much at once. I never planned on things happening that way, they just kind of fell into place that way.

I have learned to truly appreciate the sun and to soak up the sunlight when I can. The winters here are far too long to not appreciate the sun when it comes back. I still struggle with this and feel physically and mentally exhausted when the sun is gone.

I no longer need to convert kroner to dollars in my head to get an idea of the price of things or the need to convert kilos to pounds though other parts of the metric system are still confusing. I've learned if you're going to survive in this country, you have to wear the appropriate clothing. I'm fortunate enough to have taken advantage of living in close proximity of other countries and traveled. The welfare state and healthcare are all wonderful things, of course some things can improve, but I'm a big fan of socialized medicine or in other words, if I were to get sick, not worrying about losing my house. I feel pretty darn privileged living here.

My life is different here than in Kentucky in some ways. I'm living out the American dream, but in Norway. I'm comfortable. I'm a suburban mom, which I never in all my life would have thought that's where life would have taken me. Sometimes that part, the comfortable domesticated part makes me feel deeply uncomfortable, ironically. Maybe it's the middle class bliss and impostor syndrome taking over that makes me feel undeserving. I don't know. For the most part, these are all fantastic things and my experiences in the last 7 years have helped me grow in many areas. Many of which I write about openly and often, which may also lead my readers to think I see Norway through the lens of rose tinted glasses.

I love Norway. I love this country, I love the lifestyle here, I'm so in love with my husband and I love raising my children here. Knowing I share some of the same values as the culture and the environment here is an added bonus and it eases so many of my mamma worries. However, there are some things that well, mildly suck. I think the one point I will bring up soon enough is something everyone who moves abroad can relate to and that's loneliness. Everyone who moves abroad experiences this. It's a feeling of out of sight, out of mind. Sometimes you see the world, your own personal world moving on without you in it. Sadly, that's the way it is sometimes. It comes in waves, ebbing and flowing, but it passes. It does pass and then it comes back again.

I think friends become especially important to us living abroad. Friends become your family. I can't stress that statement enough because your village gets smaller. The friends you make abroad become your village.

A few years ago I watched the movie Brooklyn, which by the way if drama is your genre, go for it. Great film. There was a quote that stood out to me because it is so, so true: "You'll feel so homesick that you'll want to die, and there's nothing you can do about it apart from endure it. But you will, and it won't kill you... and one day the sun will come out and you'll realize that this is where your life is."

I think a lot of us can relate to that statement. I personally don't feel homesickness often. Special holidays make me feel that way, of course. July 4th and Thanksgiving are two of the loneliest holidays here. Not Christmas or Halloween. Why is that? Because you wake up knowing it's special to you, but no one around you shares any of that. The day is just another usual day to everyone else except you while they do celebrate Halloween and Christmas, of course, here.

And perhaps, someone dies while you're living abroad. Here's something not written in a warning label about moving abroad and that's how alone you feel while grieving. I have a husband, but he didn't grow up around my loved ones and he only knew the ones who have passed from his visits to America. He is extremely supportive of me and I am so grateful for that, but it is not the same as being around family and mourning and I was one of the lucky ones who made it home in time for the rough parts. Some are unable to make it or don't have the funds. I've compared those times I've returned home for family deaths to being in a prison. When I have to try to choose if I want to come home to say my goodbyes while my dear family members are on their deathbeds, or if I want to make it in time for the funeral. It's difficult to time, all of it.

For me, personally, coming out of this last year I feel a mixture of being fragile and strong, shaken and hardened. The loss of family also means the loss of a place I held dear, a place I have my most cherished childhood memories and the place I considered my home and that's gone. It's now a place I can't return, but that's how it is I suppose. It's one of life's hard truths. I truly feel like I went to America to deal with many rough experiences with the loss of loved ones, then come back to the normal routine of it all and not have someone to mourn alongside if that makes sense. I think this is a quite normal experience for those of us who live abroad or for anyone who lives away from their family for that matter. However, with grief comes resilience. Sometimes resilience is that tiny beam of light at the end of the tunnel that never seems like it will end.

So there you have it. I've been here 7 years and after this time I feel like I'm quite knowledgeable about life in Norway. My life is settled here. But now I found it time to open up to my readers about one aspect of life abroad that's a little more serious and one of the sadder aspects of living abroad. I don't write this as a warning or a determent, but as something to help readers in similar situations.