I think I'm beginning to adapt to this place in ways that I never believed I could. The fact that I like it here makes winter so much more bearable, and actually enjoyable. I think that's coming from a lot of work on my part, but I see it this way: Sweden's winter is approximately 6 months long, so if I'm going to spend half of each year cold, I might as well enjoy it, what a waste of life it would be otherwise. I am choosing to take pleasure in the water-droplet-pearl-necklaces strung on bare tree branches, and the dragon smoke breath that puffs out against the freezing night. I think I've learned to slow my heart rate, so that I don't burn up in all my jackets when I entered a heated building or train. I have trained myself to avoid the panic of a scarf-induced claustrophobia and to sleep under a blanket in a warm room. In Germany all of these adaptations seemed so strenuous that I just stressed about them and they became my downfall.
Yesterday I headed to an underground party kind of far out from where I live, and decided that I'd take my converse out for a spin, because boots are so uncomfortable to dance in. I told myself that I'd only be freezing in them for a few hours on the journey there and back, and that dancing in comfortable shoes would be worth the frostbitten toes. I surprised myself when me feet weren't cold, not even in 3°C, covered in nothing but thin red canvas. In a way, they felt warmer than in leather boots. I was walking on ice with them and felt no unbearable cold or pain. I think I can start trusting myself a bit more, that I am able to adapt, and that it doesn't have to be a chore.
This afternoon I dawned them again and took such great pleasure in their soft padding sound as I skipped down the concrete stairs at the metro station. Not the heavy, clumsy clonking I've grown used to! That is how to enjoy winter, to really see the minute things to appreciate. Actually, that's just how to appreciate life in general; those tiny pleasurable details can make a huge difference.
The light is coming back, slowly but surely. Although the sun still rises very late, and sets very early, there is clearly more of an extended blue glow during the twilight hours of 3-4pm. I am glad to be staying in Sweden throughout February, even though that is supposedly one of the hardest months. I'm glad to not flee into the warmth of what I used to call "home." I want to witness the entire transformation of the world from Summer through fall and winter and exhale with joy at the coming of spring. I want to feel that bubbling happiness that gathers in everyone's stomach, to hear the sudden symphony of birdsong, to wonder at the pink and white crowned trees in full bloom. No, I won't be leaving this place. Even now in the sodden misery I am so in love with this it. Each mossy rock whispers to me in kinship. Each fallen, half-decayed birch smiles at me in peace. The beautiful blue eyes that whip around under woolen hats and blonde fringe tease me and the fact that everything is moderate sanctions all worries. Lagom. Not too much, not too little.
Hanna has been asking me if I find Swedes strange, as they definitely have a different social behavior than Americans. I don't find them strange at all, rather on the contrary. I feel more like I've grown up as a Semi-Swede stuffed into an American social pool, as unfitting as stuffing a potato into a sausage skin. Swedes are moderate, polite, avoid conflict, don't get personal, don't make small-talk, respect people's space, are generally not too social in public places like bus-stops, metros, benches, etc. They are polite and friendly if you ask for help or directions, or when they serve you, but they don't masquerade around in this fake-happiness that Americans do. I like to be social, but I also really like to be alone and to have my space without feeling the judgement of eyes around me or the annoying pokes of small-talk questions.
Everyone doesn't have to be your friend here, and that's so nice. You can sit next to somebody in completely silent peace and not feel like you owe them a smiling contest. Good friends aren't made that way, anyway. I think people in the States are easily lured into false friendships and relationships because people plaster their faces and actions with fake glee. Kind of like my mom... She's an expert at wearing a sunflower costume whenever she meets somebody. I'm actually scared of her when I see her introducing herself to new people. You'd think she's like the philanthropist-of-the-year on cocaine. I hate it, because whenever I grumble about her, people are like, "What—but your mom is sooo sweet." And I'm like, "You fell for it, Sucker!"
That doesn't happen in Sweden. People are just chill and if you want to get to know them you have to work for it. But in the end, you see people for what they truly are in their neutral state and then you can make your decisions accordingly. Sometimes it is hard for me, because I'm used to smiling at people when I pass them on the street, and I feel a bit untrue to myself when I don't. I don't smile fake smiles. I smile when I'm happy and feel like sharing that happiness with people. I can't contain it sometimes, and that's when it feels like I have to swallow my own good emotions to fit into the Swedish model. But I guess then I have extra happiness to share with the people I truly care about...
But that's adaptation, and it's not causing me any heartache at the moment. I think I'm becoming Swedish quickly. When I'd been to Hawaii in July, I freaked out. I couldn't handle America. So unless I start becoming Swedish, I will lose cultural identity altogether. Yeah, I'm so not going back there anytime soon. Birches, Moss and Dementors it will be. Lagom.
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