Finding (You In) Neverland

North of the Sun

2013-05-06T23:15:00.000+02:00

You might have been wondering where I disappeared to. As it turns out, my time has simply been eaten away by new and wonderful things. I landed a great job, one which uses my medical background and which is challenging me with learning an encyclopedia of new skill sets.

I have also been working on a series of projects, one of which is coming to fruition very soon:

I am a writer with the Oslo International Writers' Group (OIWG) and this month we are launching our anthology, North of the Sun, South of the Moon: New Voices from Norway. Over the past year, I have been working on a heartfelt non-fiction piece and a poignant poem, both of which will be published in the book.

The anthology itself is divided into two themes: Adaptation and North, and includes a variety of styles from each of our writers, from fiction to non-fiction, short stories, and poetry. Our group is comprised of a wonderful, charming, and utterly talented group of writers, one I am proud to be published with.

This week, I have begun working with our group's leader, editor, and proofreader, Zoe Harris, to plan our launch party for the release of the book. Zoe is a talented and published author of both short stories and novels. I urge you to take a look at her blog and introduce yourself to the lovely Australian who is coloring the world with her words.

Our anthology e-book will be available on May 17th, Norway's Constitution Day and biggest nationwide celebration. The paperback will be launched on June 7th at my beloved American cafe in Oslo, Cafe Fedora. Owners Anthony and Nicole Juvera have been generous enough to assist us with the launch and have honored us by offering their select dinner and drink service at a heavily discounted price.

All the profits from our book sales will go towards the Norwegian charity, Utdanningsjhelpen. With Cafe Fedora's help, all tickets sold for the launch event will support the charity, as well. Utdanningshjelpen is a wonderful organization that offers educational support in the form of scholarships to children of developing countries around the world. We will be doing additional events in the near future with Utdanningshjelpen, and I will provide those updates as I have them.

The beautiful image above, titled The Wanderer, was painted by Brian Talgo, a charming and talented member of OIWG. This artwork will be the cover of the anthology, one of his many invaluable contributions to the book. The book will be published by Holland House.

Meet our talented writers:

Zoe Harris
Audrey Camp
Brian Talgo
Mauricio Ruiz
Evelinn Enoksen
Bree Switzer
Anna Maria Moore
(And for the big reveal of my name, which I have hidden all these years:)
Chelsea Ranger

I will post updates as information becomes available of our e-book launch and paperback launch. In the meantime, I hope you will help us to celebrate our words, join us at one of our events, purchase the book, and help us to raise money for a charity that gives the strength of words to children around the world.

Two Roads Diverged

2013-01-23T02:16:00.000+01:00

I am in awe of where the journey takes us, and even more so of how little we can prepare ourselves for the possible outcomes in each choice we make. I don't regret my choices. I fell in love with a Norwegian. I boldly chose to cast my world to the side in order to join his, to embrace his as mine. I have lived in Norway for over three years and can say without hesitation that living here, hardships included, has been one of the most rewarding paths I could have chosen. Funny analogy given my current state, but acclimating to Norway reminds me of marriage. It requires love and admiration, patience and respect, listening carefully, the cultivation of both what you are willing to give to it and what you need to do for yourself to be your best within it. It requires the choice to love it, all of it, even on the days when you aren't sure you can endure it. And when you think you have seen or learned all there is to know, it will surprise you with something new and beautiful, and you will fall in love with it all over again.

Norway is a beautiful country. It is a small country full of beautiful, interesting, and dynamic people who, at times, are difficult to get to know and, from experience, entirely worth the effort. Its culture is an ancient one, with a long and arduous history that peeks through the seams of society, a society rich in strength, patience, resilience, practicality, endurance, wisdom, experience, and a youthful sense of exploration. It is a country of trials, at least for someone coming from the land of the many conveniences I was blessed to experience. The weather can tug at your very being, from a darkness you can lose yourself within, a cold that can seep into your veins and seize your core, a steady rain that can, after days upon end, swallow you whole, and an awakening, a rebirth that can captivate your every sense and make you feel as if you just stepped through the gates of Heaven. It is a country of landscapes that take you high above the ground floor, both in actuality and in spirit. Norway is westernized, yet entirely different from the United States, full of nuances and subtleties that tell the true story of what its society, homes, families, attitudes, and beliefs are built upon. To me, it is nothing other than a love story.

I am a patriotic person and will always carry America with me, both in my passport and stamped on my heart, but I am also now tied to this beautiful, trying, and sometimes frustrating existence. Only I am tied to this existence with a key piece of my plan missing. Instead of a husband and a son and a large, closely-tied family, I am beginning a new journey with a beautiful son, a friend, and an extended closeness to a family I both love and feel I have barely gotten to know. It comes without explanation that I am sad. My heart hurts for those losses, for the changes I didn't prepare myself to endure.

I can't say that I transitioned well in moving here. All of us expats do it differently. I have friends whose waters barely rippled when they dove headfirst. I have others whose waves are greater than mine. My journey is my own and it is something I have to own, to take responsibility and accountability for, regardless of the advice I am given. And I am given quite a lot of advice. My family, friends, my ex, and his family all are wonderful and supportive people and, while I often feel lonely in the steps, I know I am not completely alone in those I choose to take. Their support, their advice, is always there for the taking. The decisions I make are not entirely mine either, as my friendship with my ex allows us the benefit of sound-boarding with one another, which we must do regularly and openly.

However, I am, due to various circumstances, under somewhat of a deadline to make a choice. It is not a lesser of two evils, but a decision between two great loves. I loved my career, independence, security, comfort and conveniences, support network, and the financial stability in my former life. I assumed those things would be founded just as easily in this new world and, as stated, didn't prepare myself for the alternatives. I didn't prepare myself for a 14-month long process of obtaining a residency permit. I didn't prepare myself for the immediate and ever-deepening financial strain that we would incur. I couldn't have known that my education and former career would offer me so little in terms of opportunity here. I didn't foresee over two years of being at home with my son, although I dearly cherish that I was given it. And I could not have predicted that a marriage I did not question would come to an end. As those things have all taken place, I am now alone, yet without a full sense of independence. I have acquired the language skills necessary to give me a place in society, but my comfort is far from fully-formed. I don't have financial stability or the conveniences that come with a career. I do, however, have a network of friends and family that make my existence here not only possible, but pleasurable. And I have a beautiful son whose laughter and joy gives my life a daily purpose and direction.

I don't want to be indecisive. I recognize that the choices I must make, namely whether to stay or go, must be mine to own. I do not want to be forced in one direction or the other, whether by circumstance or red tape or anything else standing in my way telling me that I can't or must. And when I take the time to review the options, the pros and cons, I find myself returning to the same questionable beginning and indecisive end. My son has only known life here. His father, my dear friend, is here. Their family, who are still a part of my heart and family, are here. The friendships I have built in the past three years are as rewarding and well-founded as any I could have imagined. I have very little other than that to secure a spot for me in the landscape. For me, given the option of returning to my family, long-time friends, stable career, mother-tongue, and vast modern conveniences, living here is choosing the path of more resistance. Yet I feel I have unfinished business. However mixed and muddled between love and pride, I cannot imagine my life with weakened and forever-distanced ties to this place. I haven't succeeded here by many definitions and sometimes I wonder if all the trials, both older and more recent, are signs telling me to return to my old life. My heart is not so sure that is true, in part because when I left the United States, I did so wholeheartedly, without question, and with a complete disregard for the possible worst-case scenarios. But I did it...and I faced some of those scenarios...and I am still here, still standing, still refusing to cave simply because I wasn't dealt an easy hand. Were I to leave Norway, it would be in no way wholeheartedly...not yet.

There is a reason Norway is considered, year after year, to be one of the happiest countries on Earth. I can't yet give you a list of all the reasons as to why that is, mainly because I have not yet been able to explore each and every benefit this country has to offer. What I can tell you is that living here enters your heart, it becomes a part of you. This country takes you away from many of the things you once thought you couldn't live without and it shows you what it means to live a pure, a rich, a less-complicated and simultaneously more-complicated life. It comes with faults and hardships and idiosyncrasies that, at times, are confusing and maddening. It pushes you, challenges you, both in its subtle and blatant variations, and when you conquer them, overcome, survive them, you wear a badge of pride. All of it, the good and the bad, comes with a charm that I find wholesome and enchanting.

Given all these wonderful things about Norway, I do miss home. I traveled with Baby C to spend 3 weeks at home over the holidays and was so happy, so at ease, so comfortable that I was actually frightened at how simple it would be to emotionally transition back into life there. Every comfort was at my fingertips, so much so that it was painstaking to board the plane and return to sadness, loneliness, and strain. My family, my friends, my career...are all just a choice away. Oh!, how I wish I weren't choosing something away in whichever path I take. How I wish "home" were an easier definition.

I am asking for guidance, not from you per say, but from the universe. Writing to you, telling you about this plane of indecision, is my way of sending a little energy into the world and asking for guidance. In the meantime, I could use a little silent support as we move forward with choosing a future that will affect so many people, all of whom I love and cherish deeply. An old favorite came to me tonight...a poem I spent many years living by...and it seemed to fit.

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Thank You, My Dear Readers

2012-12-12T19:08:00.003+01:00

This past month, Expats Blog hosted an international contest to decide their picks for the gold, silver, and bronze recipients of the award for Top Blog of 2012. Each country was honored with its own winners, all chosen based upon the quality of their content and the reviews left by readers. Over the past few weeks, I have reached out to friends and readers, asking for feedback on my contest page. Each review below means more to me than I can express. I have removed all names so that the messages can speak for themselves, but I am aware of who (most of) you are and I thank you so much for your kind and thoughtful words. Thanks to you, I have been given the Gold Award as Expats Blog's Top Blog in Norway. So much love and appreciation to each...

I adore and admire C's ability to pour such a pure form of emotion and self realization into words. Admittedly this is my first time reading, and, I have to say this is truly an inspirational piece of work. I especially enjoyed the 100 things I want to have, own, see, become, and realize in my lifetime. She says/realizes so many things that I've never known how or had the courage to say. Very inspirational!
Your comments are refreshingly insightful and thought provoking! Reading your posts are akin to a chat with a good friend.
Loooove this blog.. It is so addictive, so good. It HAS to win!!
C's sage words never fail to make me pause, smile or reflect, whatever she is in the mood for that day. While so many blogs and writers get stuck in the rut of what is comfortable or safe, C manages to live outside her comfort zone, whether that be in a whole new country and new language, which inspire so many of her stories, or just in new experiences. While she doesn't shun the comfort of the familiar, she encourages us to find the familiar in new places, new ways and new adventures. Despite being utterly different people, she speaks to me, and my challenges. ...and yes, now I want to move to a beautiful, northern, snow laden country, but upstate New York will have to suffice. Thank you for considering her work among the best. I know I already do.
Humaine and direct. Both rare.
Being an avid consumer of internet reading material both for work and pleasure, I am a highly accomplished skimmer. I can glean hundreds of pages a day for those little tidbits I seek. C's blog is one of the rare pages that makes you want to SLOW DOWN and take a little time with it. A 20 year expat in Norway, I have learned plenty about this country from reading C's words. She has a voice and perspective that are worth hearing. And worthy of your award.
Excellent. Best word I can use.
great one!
C is an amazing writer with so much wisdom to share and I am persistently inspired by her positive energy and her honesty. Her love for life and for Baby C never fails to brighten my day.
WONDERFUL! I am very proud of C. It is incredible how she can translate into words her experiences. Her blog is a joy to read. Love it!!!
In an ever more cynical world where dreams have become rare and ideals rarer, one can luckily find both in plentiful supply at C's well-written and thoughtful blog. Being an expat can be a trying and lonely ordeal. Sharing ones experiences can go a long way to lightening that heavy load. Well done, C!
C writes with passion. She has the ability and talent to shape words into tangible expressions that can inspire. Love to read her stories. This blog is wonderful.
Fantastic!!
C inspires me to celebrate and ponder this human journey at this point in time. Her openness and honesty is such a breath of fresh air for the soul. Her written descriptions and expressions are so vivid; I can quickly become absorbed in whatever journey she is exploring. Thank you, C, your courage through out your journeys is so inspiring!
I admire C's courage and openness in sharing her life's experiences and perspectives in this blog. An inspiration to all of us to keep moving forward and maintain a positive attitude regardless of the challenges life puts on our paths. A winner blog in my eyes!
C has a beautiful soul which she shares with us while giving deep insights that resonate with all who live the expatriate experience.
C is such an amazing writer with the ability to restore faith in the minds of those who rarely believe in anything but themselves. GREAT BLOG!!

I thoroughly enjoyed C's latest blog 'A Proverb to live by'. It is refreshing to hear someone articulate what we all have believed at some point.
C is a wonderful writer. She can organize words in a magic mode. I really like it. Thank you and hope to read more from your world.
I am very proud of C, of her fearlessness, of her insight, and of her honesty. Each time I read her next blog, I learn something new about her, her surroundings and even about myself. She challenges me to think outside the box. She is an inspired writer with a gift and an amazing capacity for love.
C has a way of describing her world that makes one want to shake their fist in the air and laugh at the same time. Her words capture your heart immediately and it's easy to remain transfixed long after the PC has been put away. Her experiences in Oslo are transcendent to anyone who has lived abroad but even if you haven't, it's a terrific way to absorb Scandinavia !
I've been following this blog for about two years now. C writes with an honesty that you don't see in many blogs. She tells the truth, reveals herself, and is inspiring.
C writes from her heart. Honesty, love, humor, insight, wisdom and entertainment - just a few of the feelings I get from reading her blog. I always know there will be a nugget for me in there. I look forward to reading her blog.
You are an amazing writer/blogger. I really enjoy reading your page girl so keep up the great work!!!
I love to read C's writing and hear her perspective. She's unique, and has a way with words. I am inspired by her posts. I hope she wins!
I love this blog. The variety, the wisdom, the wonderful style of writing, the pictures, and the love for this strange and difficult, yet wonderful, city we live in. I look forward to every new "chapter". Thank you, C!
C has a natural talent as a writer that draws you in no matter what type of reader you are or interests you have!
Wonderful blog to read.
I love it since the first sight!
C does a fabulous job of describing a world that I've not yet had a chance to experience. Oslo seems almost magical through her eyes. She makes my heart smile!
I believe C has an old soul. A beautiful, charismatic, charming and adventurous old soul. I love her willingness to put her most inner thoughts and dreams out there for the hopeful to see. Her blog is eloquent, funny, heart-filled and I love it!!!
Wonderful.. Just WONDERFUL!
Always thought provoking and emotionally mature. Reading this blog has brought much joy and challenged me to be a better person.
What can I say, C has such a wonderful way with words. She is a natural storyteller.
This site deserves to win! its an inspiration to me

I Am But a Small Voice

2012-11-18T01:50:00.005+01:00

Tonight I am alone, one of the rare nights I find myself in the silence of an empty house. There is no baby to chase after my attention, no dog to be walked, no guest at my door. Tonight is just me. I don’t seek these moments often. I work hard to be strong, stay positive, keep steady, keep moving. If I sit too long, I begin to feel sad. Like an injured athlete, I am “walking it off.” I know that grief is a process. I know that transitioning through its five stages can resemble a vortex, with each emotion starting, stopping, and circling one another over indeterminate lengths of time. I have drunk and vomited denial and bargaining. I have jockeyed anger. I have engulfed depression. I believe I have stroked acceptance. Sadness isn’t a stage. Sadness isn’t something you overcome. It holds your hand as you walk it off, even if you walk 500 miles.

My mind is predictable when my world is not. I require a lot of processing in insurmountable change. These past few weeks, months, have been no different. As processing goes, mine begins with a single word. I am not sure how this word appears in my mind, only that it is driven by something internal and that it sticks to me, hovering above my everyday experiences until the processing is complete. My companion, my word, shapes my thoughts into sentences, constructing a story that, once recognizable, will require immediate verbal vomiting onto paper (or PC). When I spot a word hovering, I often simultaneously recognize change within or around me. I am unable to determine whether change brings forth the word or if the word signifies a change materializing. Chicken or egg… The more chaos in the change, the more words will appear. These words devour my thoughts, isolate my communicative brain from its written ability, and freeze me in contemplation. Turmoil renders me verbally useless until my subconscious has walked it off.

I have spent the past months on one particular piece of writing. I am passionate about it and, as such, have devoted large amounts of thought and energy into how it will transform and be received in the end. When I began the project, my mind was a clean slate, fresh and energized, ready for research and thought transformation. I was at a personal best, happy and renewed. The project has grown bigger than I could have anticipated and the excitement of reaching a goal I’ve long hoped for drives me to my writing almost daily. However, recently, my mind’s clean slate has been scribbled on, quite carelessly mind you, with a substantial amount of…words. A series of recent experiences has left me hovering in unproductive verbiage. My recent days have been spent staring ahead, words racing, rarely forming any respectable sentences. My hovering words, my inability to produce efficiently, are symptoms of turmoil within and around me.

Three weeks ago, I was attacked. It was late in the evening and I was at the city center, on my way to catch a night bus home. Because the area was well-lit and well-populated, I did not feel unsafe walking alone. I was aware of my surroundings and yet, was caught off-guard when a strange man appeared beside me and seized my face between his hands. He stared into my eyes, clutching my face and drawing it towards his. He thrust his tongue into my mouth. I heaved my weight against him, giving just enough distance for my escape. Into a sea of drunken strangers I dove. I crouched among them at the bus stop, hiding. Within minutes, he appeared next to me, irritated. The hairs on my neck rose, my muscles tightened, my breathing became a pant. My body suspended in adrenaline. Seconds later, the bus arrived and throngs of people thrust forward, elbowing and stuffing into the centimeters of open space. I rushed to meet them, but was caught in his grip. He attempted to drag me behind the bus stop. I fought, he released, and I dove between the bus’s securing doors. He squeezed behind me, the weight of the doors pressing his full body against my back. I felt his hands on my hips, his head leaning towards my neck, his breath in my ear. Tunneling my way towards the rear of the bus, I slowly crawled out of his reach. Staring at me, realizing he could no longer target me, he stepped off the bus at its next stop. As I watched him walk away, I released the grip on my keys, the largest of which I’d held between my curled index and middle finger, protruding it forwards like the spear I feared I would need.

Three days later on an early evening subway, the hairs on my neck again rose and instinctively, I turned. Just behind me, eyes glaring, lips hovering over the nape of my neck…him. The subway rolled slowly to a stop, he took my hand and pulled me towards the open doors. The panic in my face must have been evident, because two men rose from their chairs and walked towards me. He looked at the men, they looked at him. An unspoken exchange ensued, causing him to drop my hand and step away. As the doors closed, he stood opposite me and, through the window, burned a hole in the glass with his indignant stare.

I didn’t report him. I have virtually no information to give, not his name, his job, where he lives. I can’t describe him. He is average in every way. He blends perfectly into society. I didn’t scream. I fought back, but I didn’t shout for help. I am not exactly sure why.

One week passed. Baby C and I, with our dog, left the house for our morning walk to daycare. Two men were entering our private cul-de-sac as we left. In his usual friendly nature, Baby C said hello to the strangers. They smiled, returning his greeting. They were civil, kind even, but I felt uneasy. Forty minutes later, I returned to an open door and a ransacked house. It would be nicer to say that my home had been subject to a CSI investigative search. It looked much the same, at least. My underwear drawer was opened, its contents publicly scattered. Footprints lingered on the bedroom floor, tracing each corner. My jewelry and wallet and purses were spread across my bed. My closets stood opened, the personal belongings sifted on the sheets I curl safely within each night. The carpet lining Baby C’s haven was marked with one large footprint. They stole my computer, among many other things. Even now, they could be sifting through photos of my son and I, whom they have each looked in the eye.

The police arrived in less than 5 minutes. It would seem more accurate to call them the Norwegian SWAT team, at least by appearance. Three colossal men poured from a large van and wasted no time securing their roles. One began collecting DNA and fingerprints, taking photographs, studying footprints. One circled the house, investigating entry attempts and studying footprints in the snow. The third cased the block to discover the same footprints surrounding each home. The likelihood of finding the intruders is slim, but I feel slightly better knowing I was bequeathed a sizeable Viking fraternity in hot pursuit of them.

These two are not the only recent encounters that are unsettling for me. Others weigh just as heavily, but are much less dramatic and are, for various reasons, not easily described. In my opinion, the link between the dramatic and less dramatic is that I feel violated.

Sometimes we meet people who are attracted to the best parts of us and sometimes we meet the opposite. In any encounter, uplifting or disrupting, I turn inwards, reflecting upon and analyzing my own contribution. I find it important to understand the inner me that is unconsciously displayed, to discover any measure of myself that may invite positive or negative interaction. I want to know the ways in which I affect or effectively help create my circumstances. Do not mistake me. I do not think I have asked for, invited, or deserved unwanted attention, and I am placing no blame on myself. This is not about blame. This is about understanding my accountability. I cannot very well believe that when I am displaying positive energy, I am thus surrounded by similar people, if I do not also accept that the opposite may be true.

I have always believed, said, and written that what you feel internally is what you project externally. I believe that what you project is what you invite and attract in others. When I am repeatedly faced with certain reactions from others, it is both my right and responsibility to search inwards for what I am cultivating within myself.

Several weeks ago, I wrote about attracting individuals who radiated positivity, strength, and energy. More recently, I have been interacting with (a few) individuals who seem to perceive me as either damaged or vulnerable, as though I requiring saving or am an easy target. The first step towards change is awareness. I am aware that I am encountering behaviors that make me uncomfortable and leave me feeling intruded upon. I believe something has changed within me and that this change has affected my external world, thus attracting particular people to me. So what has shifted? My thoughts…

I used to believe emotions preceded my thoughts and actions. If I was happy, I thought good things about myself. If I thought good things about myself, I treated myself well. If was sad, I thought negatively about myself. If I thought negatively about myself, I treated myself unkindly. This is my previous logic. I now give my thoughts the credit they deserve. We are not simple creatures whose minds are driven uncontrollably by randomly appearing emotions. And over the past months, I have focused on my thoughts. I have focused on creating positivity by remaining conscious about what I think and say to myself, what I think and say about other people, experiences, and existences around me. My thoughts drive my emotions. They drive what I feel, how I act and react, what energy I put forth. When I think positively, I feel positive, I react positively, I treat myself and others well. So what are the thoughts within me that have shifted?

The little voice… We all know her. She drudges up our deepest insecurities and guilt, our perceived failures, our inadequacies. Over the years, I have recognized that she appears when I allow her to and I have learned to shun her. Despite my efforts, I am not always immune to the little voice of self-resentment.

About a month ago, I caught myself aiming a joke at…myself. I voiced it to a handful of friends. It was meant to be humorous, to deflect from the stark reality of my situation, to lighten the load when anyone was digging too deep into “me,” to inspire a little confidence in the insecure moments of close friends. The joke went something like this: “Well, on paper I am not looking so great these days. I am a 30-year-old, nearly twice-divorced, barely-employed and career-less, broke, single mother who is living half a world away from her home and family.”

Ah yes, there she is. There is my trustworthy little voice, always willing to nudge en route for negativity. She loves grief. She thrives in its mess and madness. She can spin webs from it. Hence, it comes as no surprise that I have recently grappled with her judgment of my parenting, my womanhood, my marriage, choices, ambitions, dreams, financial stability, career moves, friendships, personality, appearance…the list continues. I find that the little voice always has something to say and, if I let myself, sometimes I believe her. The shift has been within the seeds planted by my little voice, seeds that I allowed to grow and began to accept about myself.

My joke, while intended to be harmless, was a harsh statement to throw inwards. It simplifies me. It suggests that my circumstances are nothing more than a direct result of my own poor choices. It deflects from the reality that what is on paper is not what constitutes a person. It belies the truth, which is that anyone’s determination of my success and failure reflects nothing about my success and failure unless I allow it. While it was a joke, it was also an outward expression of small, damaging thoughts I have been harboring about myself.

I believe the statements we direct at ourselves, joking or otherwise, are capable of becoming an integral part of our subconscious. I believe all statements pervade and exude from our being, unconsciously becoming what we believe about ourselves. I do not consciously believe I am damaged and vulnerable, but the little voice began to paint a self-portrait of my being damaged and vulnerable. She merely planted the seeds. I allowed them to grow. I believe I have been projecting that I am damaged and vulnerable, thus drawing in and attracting those who see me as such.

When I shun the little voice, when I choose calmness in chaos, when I create positivity inside myself, when I am centered, my outer environment tends to align. I am closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, wrapping my arms around myself, and repeating this phrase:

I am but a small voice
I am but a small dream
to smile upon the sun
Be free to dance and sing
Be free to sing my song to everyone

I hope you have the power to embrace your voice, to shun the little voice inside that serves only to dampen the best parts of you. Forgive yourself. Love yourself. Choose to sing your song with the best voice you have…your own.

A Proverb to Live By

2012-10-25T15:27:00.001+02:00

Call me unrealistic, idealistic and a dreamer and, to some degree, that’s the truth. The dreamer in me has always believed I could - and would - make a difference in the world. I don’t think one person is merely an insignificant blip among the masses. I believe every vote counts, every voice matters, every action has an effect, and every person has the capacity to change the world. Maybe it was Michael Jackson who said it first, but his words are some of the many I live by: “If you want to make the world a better place, take a look at yourself and make a change.”

My hands are always dipped in clay, always sculpting my life with that which rules my heart. I want to leave my mark, a positive footprint that will hopefully impact future existence for the better. It has nothing to do with notoriety. It has everything to do with creation, conservation, and exploration. As a child, I was an avid recycler. I joined the World Wildlife Federation to save the endangered species, one tiger and wolf at a time. I spent my hard-earned allowance to save rainforests from destruction. I worked at the Houston Zoo to learn more about different animals, their biology, and how each could be helped. And apparently (although I vaguely recall this), I wrote letters to politicians asking for their help in ceasing legal whaling off the coast of Norway. I know this only from the response letter, (presumably) from Al Gore, thanking me for my diligent efforts in such a just cause. I discovered his forgotten letter as I revisited and repacked my childhood boxes just prior to moving to Norway…a little foreshadowing?

Now I live in my beloved little Norway and while much has changed within me, some things never will. Yesterday I stood on Karl Johan with five individuals, four of whom are Chinese. We spent hours asking people to sign a petition for the UN Human Rights Commission, a petition against the illegal organ harvesting of Chinese prisoners. Many of these prisoners are innocent Falun Gong practitioners, imprisoned only for their belief in a spiritual practice that was outlawed by the Chinese Communist Party in 1999. To date, there is much evidence to show that Chinese prisoners are having their organs stolen and used for illegal transplants in China. I have the privilege of knowing one of these five individuals closely and have learned his story of extensive torment at the hands of the Chinese government. As such, this issue has grown dear to my heart and I stood by his side in support and petitioned for others to do the same.

It is a well-known fact that while walking the streets of downtown Oslo, you are often approached by various groups and organizations, gypsies and beggars, sometimes so much so that you begin to duck into shops and cafés just to avoid being accosted. Often these seeking individuals wander through those café courtyards, again asking for your participation, your time, your money. It can be exhausting, especially if you are someone whose heart wants to contribute, but whose pocketbook won’t allow it. Many who have repeatedly experienced this have naturally grown skeptical of and cynical towards anyone approaching them. I tried to counter this skepticism by offering an initial statement of “This has nothing to do with money. We are simply asking for signatures.” Often that left a curious pause long enough for me to explain our cause, for which most offered to sign in support.

At the end of our petitioning and educating, we had acquired a few hundred signatures. It was a successful day. Even still, I arrived home with a nagging sensation and, after some processing, realized that my discontent had to do with a handful of experiences during the petition. I want to preface this by saying that most people were entirely supportive and gracious. I should also say that the friends I worked with are far too kind and humble to ever complain about anyone ignoring their efforts. I, however, lack their boundless humility and feel burdened by some of the things I witnessed yesterday, so much so that I find it important to voice.

The first painful (and admittedly irritating) moment came as I approached three women. They were dressed impeccably, chatting loudly, laughing candidly. Before the words came out of my mouth, I was met with “No.” I spoke anyway, stating that we were simply looking for signatures and that our petition could save lives. There was no response, no declination…there was laughter. The three women rolled their eyes, laughed, and continued walking. I spoke English when I approached them and they mocked me in Norwegian as they passed. These were grown women, a good twenty years my senior.

Some time later, I approached a man I presume to be in his 30’s. He wore an expensive suit, carried a leather briefcase, walked with a confident and casual stroll. He smiled as I approached him and listened patiently as I explained our cause. He responded with, “And you think that my little signature is going to make a difference? I doubt it.” What was I supposed to say? No, absolutely not. In fact, we should scratch our efforts altogether, because each person’s signature really doesn’t amount to much, even when those collective signatures amount to a few hundred. Before the sarcasm in my head could translate audibly, he mumbled “this really isn’t my thing” and walked away.

The final comment came from a middle aged man. He had a gruff exterior even at a distance. As I spoke, he continued walking past me and, had I not begun to walk with him, would have continued without as much as a word. When he realized my persistence, he stopped and allowed me to finish. He looked at the information pamphlet I offered him, scanned my list of signatures, looked up at me blankly and said, “It is not really my place to get involved in what the Chinese government decides to do with its people.”

This cause is not mine to own, only to participate in, and I must maintain the same level of respect and humility that my friends uphold whether they are successful in obtaining signatures or are rejected. I am glad I didn’t respond, but yesterday’s events have kept my focus. I think some people are shy, some are ignorant about the topic, some are skeptical, some are cynical, some are busy, some are focused on important experiences within their own world and time constraints, etc. What the encounters left me thinking about was not the simply these moments, but the contrast between individuality and individualism.

Individuality is the particular character or set of qualities that distinguish one person from others. Basically, your individuality is what makes you you. Individualism, however, is the moral stance or social outlook that stresses “the moral worth of the individual.” In other words, individualism is a focus on oneself, the idea that whatever is in one’s own best interest is best overall, and I was asking people to behave in just the opposite manner. I was asking people to step out of their comfort zones and offer a small piece of themselves (a signature) for the sake of others.

Our society is a good one. It promotes individuality. I like when people feel free to express themselves, be themselves, honor what they feel inside by being true to themselves. Our society, unfortunately, also tends to promote individualism and this is where I find myself feeling conflicted. We should, in some way, be allowed to think of ourselves and our own best interests, but to what sacrifice? At what point does our trend towards individualism begin to inhibit the focus we could be placing on those people or things around us? There are a million issues throughout the world that could use our focus, time, effort, and money and, if you are a bleeding heart, it can be difficult to decide which to contribute towards. However, I think part of our individuality is made up by the ways in which we tend to others, offer a piece of ourselves to others, learn about and reach out to others. We shape ourselves to be better people – better individuals – by thinking with less individualism and more collectivism, with the importance of the entire society or state in mind.

My point is this: I am a bit of a bleeding heart and I don’t expect everyone to be like me. I didn’t expect that everyone I met yesterday would be willing to hear me or sign our petition. I do, however, hope for each individual to find a way to contribute to the world, offer a bit of themselves to someone or something in need of help, even when that someone or something seems so large that affecting it positively in any way appears slim. According to an African proverb, one of which I am reminded often, “If you think you are too small to make a difference, you have never spent the night in a tent with a mosquito.”

You are never too small to create change in the world, whether positive or negative, because all actions have a reaction and a consequence. I hope you will reach out towards that which touches your heart, try to affect it positively, and watch the change in yourself and in those around you as the positivity filters down the chain.

Please watch this video to learn more on forced organ harvesting in China...

And please visit this site, read the first page, and scroll down to sign the petition against forced organ harvesting in China...

Feedback Me, Please

2012-10-19T03:08:00.000+02:00

If you look to the left of the page, you will see a new little badge added to the column. This little badge says that I have been recognized as a Top Blog by Expatsblog.com. As of yesterday, I was also informed that I have been nominated for the Expat Blog Awards 2012. The winner will be decided in December.

One of the deciding factors in this contest is the reviews that are left on Expatblogs.com about my site. If you are a reader, follower, or fan of my blog, please click here and leave a review for me. I would really appreciate all the feedback you can muster. Feel free to be honest and not to "pump it up" for the sake of the contest. I am a big fan of honesty and if you have any suggestions or criticisms, I promise to take each one into full consideration. If, however, you have only praise to give, I would love to hear that too! Thank you for your support and for continuing to share in this journey with me!

A Farmer's Way of Life

2012-10-16T12:56:00.004+02:00

For most of my life, I have hidden a dark secret. I am a serial killer. I have tried desperately to rectify this problem, to avoid the torturous techniques that make me a threat to life, to act with more patience and care, to read books on how to be a better cultivator. I don’t want to kill, but there is a genetic lack of something in both my brain and hands, which forces me to be this way. Try as I may, I have neither inherited nor learned a green thumb…and hence, all plants I have purchased or have been given are dead.

Despite this challenge, I love planting, gardening, farming, seeing that (brief) moment when life flourishes at the hands of my hard work. I continue trying and one day, hopefully, will have a gold star for my efforts…hopefully still with the least bit of chloroform on my hands.

Several weeks ago, in my creative writing workshop, we were graced by the presence of Ann Kavli, a Norwegian (and half-American) poet, author, and painter, among other trades. She came to our workshop to discuss her work, offer suggestions, and read some of her beautiful creations. It was Ms. Kavli who brought me to unexpected tears with her poetry. I would like to share the poem of hers that so moved me:

Hvilke ord ble brukt da jeg ble født
jeg kan ikke huske
mors blikk da hun så meg for første gang
hva tenkte faren min da jeg ble båret til døpefonten
min mor døde i fjor
min far har ikke ord for slik hukommelse
noen husker meg
ikke
jeg

Afterwards, Ms. Kavli shared a poignant idea of creation, a vision I have carried with me and expanded into my own world over these past weeks. I asked her how she managed to divide her time between so many creative outlets, how she was able to decide between them and determine which to focus upon. Her answer blew me away. She said quite simply that she was a product of farmers and treated her creativity the way a farmer treats his crops. There was a pause during which I was fearful she wouldn’t elaborate, because frankly, I was completely lost. She continued, reminding me of the rule of thumb in farming, that a farmer never plants the same seeds in his soil two years in a row, because to do so would deplete the soil of its nutrients. It is with this idea in mind that she focuses on her own creation, cultivating different aspects of her inspiration, heart, and soul each year, so as never to deplete her own nutrients. I was astounded. It was the best explanation she could have possibly handed me.

I have pondered this idea over the past weeks, the idea of the various seeds we plant, and I have realized that while my green thumb may not yet exist in gardening, I am more than capable of farming myself and my life, especially when I tend to them with consciousness, patience, care, and love.

In the past month away from you, I have not been in hiding. I have very much been the forefront figure of my own life, planting the seeds for that which I would like to come to fruition. I have written on this blog for some time, often to the detriment of other outlets. The workshop and Ms. Kavli reminded me of those outlets. As such, I have begun sharing my poetry with you, both old and new. I shared some of the old and new at Oslo’s International Poetry Festival and have continued allowing the inspiration for new to emerge since. Before the workshop, my last poem was written around the age of 24. Now the words seem to flow freely, unobstructed, and I believe I have many people and experiences to thank for that. I have also independently chosen to focus on more journalistic expression by interviewing a friend, a refugee in Norway, and writing about his journey from tolerance to torture to tranquility. It is an article I hope to share with you one day, but as of now am searching for the best means by which to distribute it.

All the while, I have searched for an opportunity to work. I could have possibly found an 8-4 desk job, but with the beauty I am finding in life through my own growth, I am hesitant to hinder myself or my creativity by simply working for money. As luck would have it, when the time was right, the doors opened and I found myself welcomed into the world of two dear friends, friends whom I wrote about in the blog titled “Cheers from Oslo.” Anthony and Nicole, owners of Café Fedora (the American café in Oslo) decided to boldly remodel their original location and reopen its doors to the community, and they invited me to be a part of it. With all the inspiration I have found within the walls of their establishments, I couldn’t hide my excitement. Over the past two weeks, we have slaved for hours on end, turning off the lights only after being doused in dust and paint and sweat. The result is astounding, both in the utter charm of the café, the flood of patrons coming to share in its comfort, and the feeling of gratitude I have for my co-workers and new home-away-from-home. The painting, the labor, and the socialization with an ever-growing circle of friends have all been new seeds for me, and my thumb is happily throbbing with evolution. I will continue working at Café Fedora and with that, only one thing comes to mind: my cup runneth over.

Now it seems that little bees are pollinating my existence, carrying the fruit of one bloom to another and, without my direct hand, creating a hybrid of opportunities, some of which are currently in process and I am unable to discuss until I know more. I care not to plan to result, but rather to wait patiently, relish in my current state of bliss, and see what comes to life before me.

Ann Kavli was nothing if not correct. The seeds we choose to plant are vital, both in their probability of growth and possibility of depletion. I have realized that this analogy is not limited to our creativity, but can be applied in all aspects of our lives. In our relationships and friendships, we begin by planting seeds, hoping for roots to spread and foundations to be formed. If we choose our seeds carefully, we can begin relationships by nourishing our bodies and spirits, as well as those of the people around us, and we will all blossom upwards as consequence. Just as many gardeners will tell you that speaking to their plants helps them to grow, the seeds we plant with our words will alter the shapes within which we build or demolish one another. In all growth, we will be weathered and face trials, but just as a Norwegian spring proves that a winter’s hibernation can thrust forth the most beautiful forms of creation, so is it that we require times of stretch and release, give and take, engagement and dormancy. If we are not careful and repeat the same farming techniques time and time again, never looking to past years to see what alterations can best support future cultivation, we will find ourselves exhausted, diminished by our own lack of expansion and color. It is variety that gives us nutrition. We all, regardless of background, upbringing, and interests, require the opportunity to dip our fingers into the various pots within us, because we are simply not built of undemanding soil. Our bodies demand that we feed ourselves, our hearts demand that we accept and offer love, and our minds demand that we question and create. We may love regularity, continuity, and schedules, yet if we choose to live by one routine, we will never know our own strengths and possibilities.

It is with these ideas in mind that I offer you two thoughts, one being that happiness is a choice. Happiness is not a byproduct of experiences, things we are gifted, or love we are given. Happiness is a result of waking up to your inner self and deciding, sometimes daily, what seeds you will plant for your own nutrition and growth. Happiness is deciding that, no matter the risk of bad weather wiping out your efforts, the effort itself is both the joy and the growth. The second is this: Good things come to those who wait. Great things come to those who smile while they are waiting.

I hope you each find your seeds, plant them, and continue to smile as you wait for the buds to burst.

Bare Adam og Eva

2012-09-14T11:40:00.002+02:00

The smile that graces my face is infectious. I can tell, because I am meeting reflections of myself in the smiles of others, strangers on the subway, people in passing on the street or resting in cafes. These past few weeks have been inspirational and are becoming more so, in part because I am really taking care of myself. My sleep, after years, is returning to normal. My energy, after years, is exhilarating. My laughter, after years, is a steady stream. My inspiration, after years, is endless. And the words, after years, don't seem to want to stop flowing. I am writing daily again. I have joined a creative writing workshop through the Nordic Black Theatre and surrounded myself with fellow inspirationalists. We write, talk about writing, share what we are writing, and have a simple common goal...to write. After three years of struggling to redefine myself in this beautiful and trying country, I have realized that this is what I am meant to be and do and love and give. Low and behold, with all I have to share, my computer has decided to end our troubled relationship. I am now seeking for my next fingertip-lover and, when I find him (or her, let's not be electronically biased here) and begin to build our new relationship, I will again share my stories with you. My last post was a poem that I wrote when I was 10 years old. It is a tale of indifference. I would like to share with you my most recent poem, written this week. It is a tale of the opposite of indifference.

I hope you enjoy them and that your path, in all it's turns and weaves, sticks and stones, is a beautiful uphill journey, from the top of which you will have the most insatiable view of all you've ever dreamed.

It was all in the eyes
Stealing guilt from the aimless surprise
I gave into its cries
I reached over the roof of the city
And caressed sparkling lights rising from the depths of a midnight sky

It was captured through filtered lens
Grieving the angry rapture within
I cradled that illicit sin
I carried the brazen gift of eyes
Within my everlasting and seductive friend

It was on the lips of denial
Tasting of words slipped in hasty beguile
I gave it all back to you, helplessly on trial
At a wordless, forsaken, and translucent smile

A gift stolen and recovered
An obstructed and forbidden lover
The stare that touched your soul graced another
And the eyes that bore into me sat perched on a white chair's dancing plunder

It was all in the eyes
The words went untold and drew fold into lies
I stood in line to await the fate I knew
Would fall between man's weeps and sighs

You never knew, in that I reside
To fuel and abandon and withdraw in pride
Not frozen in fear, but ever timed to abide
That love's kiss can be given and shaken and will rise
To the occasion of a new lover's eyes

Sentimental Warfare

2012-09-09T21:25:00.002+02:00

Can't you see I'm fighting hard for you,
that I'm trying to win this war?
I'm unmasking all this evil so that we have pain no more.
In the middle of an endless crusade, a world without a floor.
We're falling down a bottomless pit; this apple has no core.
Every spy has a prince and every prince a spy.
Underneath your cape is just another lie.
A fairytale of shadows facing you and I,
an eclipse of eternity means we will soon all die.
Born full of guilt, in our cell we plea
that soon our people will someday set us free.
Torn between indifference and the sentence what we see;
tell me Madame Carrie, what's in store for me?
In a world that's caving in, in a maze am I trapped.
Set amongst those of sin, a lesson to be faced.
No fear outside, too much within.
It's all an endless battle.
Guess what?
You win.

A Birthday Wish to Baby C

2012-09-04T12:07:00.000+02:00

Baby C just reached his 3rd birthday, so in my true Mamma fashion, I am leaving a message for him here. With each major milestone, I have extended my tradition of creating something special for him, scrapbooks, letters, blogs, video messages, an astounding collection of photographs. If anything ever happens to me, Baby C will have all these pieces of his little world, all showing how much he is loved, adored, respected, seen, heard, and snuggled beyond belief.  I hope there is never a moment when he doubts all that exists in me for him.

My darling Baby C,

In the days you could but cling to me, and cling to me you did, I called you Monkey. Now you have legs and wings, you can climb and jump and roll and clammer away, and I call you Bug. In this place, I write to you and I call you Baby C. This letter is a celebration of you, of the little and big things I see, of the whole of my heart that you fill and carry with all you are and are becoming.

A few years ago, I spent a lot of time thinking about how slowly life passes, how an anticipated moment of time could drag its toes in swampy pools of mud before reaching the present. I would listen to older adults around me exclaiming their shock at life's blurred passing, that they couldn't figure out where all the time had gone. I used to think that was simply a sign of old age, that time blurs because you've forgotten half of it. Then I became a mom.  Your little, ever-moving legs are stretched so much higher than one year ago, with the strength of a boy instead of a baby and moving you at the speed of lightning in a hundred directions. Like your little legs, time now runs at lightning speed. The time that used to be my enemy, because I didn't understand how precious a moment could be, is now a friend I chase and desperately cling to. I try to hang on to time, because if I can catch her, she will be the only thing that can slow you down. You run, change, grow, blossom, engage so quickly that I can't take my eyes off you, so quickly that I simultaneously want to cheer you forward and shed tears at the speed of the race. You run so fast that, on more than one occasion, you have run straight away from me, across parks, into crowds of thousands, never looking back, always trusting that I am one step behind you. You are so trusting in each stage of life, never fearful of a stranger, never fearful that I won't be right there to catch your fall. I have realized that I must run with you, at your pace, because you have so much faith in me to be there that you will - and have - lost me in a crowd. This happened two days ago. You were there and then you weren't. The panic in the following 10 minutes was indescribable. Flash-forward images of the possibility of not finding you, of a life without you, and I couldn't breathe or see as I elbowed and shoved my way, tearing through the massive sea of thousands, screaming your name. All the while, you had run over 100 meters to track down the ice cream stand. I was lucky that a stranger recognized you and brought you back to me. My little guy, always on the run, racing with time, always in search of the sweetness in life.

If it's not a run, it is a ball.  If there was ever a child who could find enough happiness in the world with only a ball, it would be you. Before you turned two, you began to understand the ball, it's mechanics, what would be required of you for it to roll further, soar higher. It all began with a ball and a soccer field and, one week after your second birthday, I watched you sprint half the length of the field, dribbling the ball and scoring a goal. Now your enthusiasm has taken over and I can bribe you to do just about anything or go just about anywhere with me, as long as a ball is included in the process. I watch you sprint the length of the whole field now, dribbling the ball a few feet ahead without losing control, spiking it forcefully into the goal with your body angled back and your leg followed through until your toes are the height of your shoulders. When the ball catches the net, your fists reach for the sky, your head throws back, and you scream "GOOOOOAL!"

I used to have a favorite day of the week. Now I have favorite hours in the day, the space of time between when we arrive home until you go to sleep, the hours where we are dancing in the kitchen to Michael Jack-ston (your love of dancing and invention of baby-breakdancing keeps me howling in laughter...you are amazing), cooking together (you are the best egg whisker), sitting down for dinner and then going through your fiercefully set (by you) routine: wash hands, wash face, brush teeth, clean paci, put away toys, find bear, read books, turn on the stars and music, kiss goodnight. I never need to remember the order, because you are on top of it. You are so independent, so confident in your knowledge and abilities. You want to do everything yourself, from brushing your teeth to cleaning up your spills to reading your books. You can recite all your favorite books with a simple cue from me and you have hand motions to match almost every page. Right now, you are really excited about Goodnight Moon, Where the Wild Things Are, Down by the Station, Den lille larven aldrimett, Lille blå bil, Miss Spider's Tea Party, Wide-Mouthed Frog, and Brown Bear, Brown Bear. Some nights we have to read at least half of these before the yawn creeps up and takes over your smile. And on the nights the books are not quite enough, you lay across my lap, cradled like the baby I still see you as, and ask me to sing to you. You are particularly fond of Etta James and Bonnie Raitt. As bedtime routines go, as babies and sleep go, I think you must be the easiest child. Once the books are read and songs are sung, you wrap yourself into me with a long bear-hug, kiss me goodnight, and curl into bed...next to Bear, Monkey, Minkle, at least two cars, and three books, snuggled in two blankets. Then come the stars and the music box playing "Champs Elysees", and you say your goodbyes - "Ha det! Sov godt! Love you! Goodnight!"

On your first birthday, you called me Mamma for the first time. I had just left the room and you called after me..."Mamma?" I stopped mid-track and wheeled, tears in my eyes, staring in disbelief. I spent the rest of the day trying to coax the precious word from you again. I have heard that beautiful title now for two years and never does it wear on me. There is nothing that warms my heart more than hearing you ask for me, knowing I will be able to give or do something for you, that a hug or a kiss on the knee or a cup of juice will make your little world even better. I can pass by your bedroom at night and hear you sitting in the dark, giggling and talking to yourself, "Mammmmmaaa, hvor er du? Lille Mamma, hvor er du?" Sometimes I sit outside your bedroom door and pinch my nose to keep from giggling right back.

In you, I see a constant dose of laughter, a challenging and questioning of all that surrounds you, a curiosity of people and life, an energy and passion that exudes in your smile and stride and dance and hug. You love life in all it's smallest details and you teach me how to remember the beauty in simplicity. With you, I learn each day how to live and love like a child, fully and unconditionally. You have a sly grin and a sparkle in your eye, a daring and mischevious nature that tells me you will always go after what you want. And I hope you do. I hope you chase it all on your little legs and embrace it all with your little arms. I hope you remember that as fast as you run or hard as you may fall, I am just a step behind, watching and cheering you on, ready to hold your hand whenever you need a rest. I hope you always know how much I really love you and how proud I am of you. Happy 3rd Birthday, my little Bug.

Cheers from Oslo

2012-08-21T01:10:00.002+02:00

Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.

Wouldn't you like to get away?

Sometimes you want to go

Where everybody knows your name,
and they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows
Your name.

If you're a part of my generation, you probably know these lyrics and their significance. What is significant to me about these lyrics is that, like the show this song was born from, I often find myself gravitating to small, family-owned cafes, little homes away from home where I can study, read, people-watch, or socialize with those I bring to or meet at my secondary homes.

I went to a small college, a corner of my small city, which was tucked within bricked walls and gates, punctuated with gardens, azaleas, trails, a golf course, and hundreds of years of history. It was known for its intimate and beautiful setting, as well as it's exceptional educational standards. I loved that everybody knew your name. Across the street from my college was a house, purchased by a couple and refurbished into a community cafe. To call it a cafe seems mundane compared to what it was, because in actuality, it was a pillar in the community, a meeting place, a promoter for events and groups and charities, everything from poetry jams to Christmas parties to jogging circles. To those of us from that area, or who at least attended the local college or university, it was also where everybody knew your name.

On my loneliest of days, these are two of the places I have longed for the most. I have craved a place I could go in a moment of sheer boredom and find a familiar face with a broad smile to welcome me. I have searched and ached for my home-away-from-home cafe. After my first two years in Oslo, one of my girlfriends and I met for our usual mamma-perm coffee date. Often we would simply grab a coffee to-go, wander the city and the parks, or try to find a spot to hunker down if the weather was disagreeable. Never had we found our Cheers. Until this day, our ordinary mamma-perm coffee date-day, when my friend suggested that we visit a new cafe, one people were calling the American cafe in Oslo, Cafe Fedora.

Upon arrival, we were greeted with beaming smiles and a hefty dose of cheer by the two owners of the cafe, an American couple from New York City, Anthony and Nicole Juvera. With the two hours that passed, hours that were packed full of conversation and laughter with our newfound friends, I realized that we had found our Cheers. I have been there countless times since and each time, I have simply been returning to my second home to sit with friends, slow down, and settle into life with a good dose of laughter. Laughter is never lacking. Anthony and Nicole have now become my friends, both within and outside of the cafe. I adore them. I can rave about their cafes, their food, their hospitality, their welcoming and inviting natures, but what I can also rave about, which I have yet to find elsewhere in Oslo, is the cheerful, generous, and familiar way with which they greet each and every person who joins them. They open their doors for you as if you are entering their living room, to sit on their couch and prop your feet up on their coffee table (don't actually do this, though). They speak to you over the counter as they prepare your food and drinks, the way your mother would chat with you as she whips you up something special. They are the purest example of combining their love of what they do, their love of people, and their love of life into one space. If you haven't been and are searching for home away from home, this is your place. And no, they don't know that I am writing this blog on their behalf.

Anthony and Nicole moved to Oslo 5 years ago for work and, having had extensive restaurant experience, began offering an undergound Bold Soul Kitchen supper club in Grønland, which progressed over time into the opening of Cafe Fedora in Frogner. They have again broadened their scope in Grønland, recently opening a second location of Cafe Fedora in a shared location with Sawol, a great bar and nightclub that offers a large dance floor and wide array of bands and DJs. Because I can't describe it better, I will quote their website in terms of how they have chosen their menu:

"Our mission is also to show that American cuisine is diverse in flavor and history; there is so much more to it than burgers and fries. We are not professionally trained chefs, we cook because we love to eat great food and share it with everyone. Our flavors are influenced by the places closest to our hearts, New Orleans, NYC, Austin and Tucson. Our food is rich and hearty and made from scratch from the dressing on your salad to the pie on your plate as we learned from our mothers and grandmothers, without preservatives, phony flavors or pre-made shortcuts. If we would not serve it to them, we will not serve it to you."

As a further testament, I will say that I celebrated my 30th birthday this past week. I chose to have a dinner party at their Sawol location, outdoors on the balcony, with a specialty Mexican menu and a southern chocolate cake dessert that were both hand-prepared by Anthony and Nicole and utterly divine. We were given a long, covered section of the balcony, which, with the rain, dark, and candlelit environment, the incredible food, and beautiful peach bellinis provided by the bar at Sawol, was as enchanting as anything I could have imagined. It was by far the best birthday celebration I've had yet, no doubt in large part to what Anthony and Nicole create with their hands and their hearts when you are with them. I want to offer you a few photos and invite you to visit Anthony and Nicole, to share in their joy, partake in their food, and become a member of Oslo's Cheers. Maybe I'll see you there...

The menu was the following:
Chili toritos - Stuffed chili peppers with melted cheese and shrimp
Shrimp tacos with real mexican rice and beans

Homemade salsa and guacomole
Southern chocolate cake with cream cheese icing

Dance and Flow

2012-08-16T23:42:00.001+02:00

When you are floundering, splashing in an utterly helpless state, and yet choose not to fight, but to release, give yourself to the world, open your heart to gratitude and forgiveness, acceptance and strength, it is then that the tough moments will wash away with the tide, tumbling back into endless waters. You will soon find yourself standing on an empty shore, with the stability and clarity of looking at the whole and the beauty of the calm ocean before you. It is then that you will see the answers and not before.

Last week I wrote about a tough moment, a moment that had me spinning, questioning my abilities and capabilities and frailties. I was floudering. I gave it back, gave into gratitude, and within 24 hours, my world shifted. Before I could recognize what was happening, I was in the midst of the wheel, surrounded by people and things who were lifting me, giving me energy, and planting me right back into the middle of my sanity. It came to be an amazing weekend and every step of it overshadowed the discomfort I'd felt prior. By Monday, I knew exactly what I needed to do, exactly how I needed to handle the situation. I recognize now that responding to difficulty with positivity is simply a release of control, an allowance for the world to filter its experiences in the way it always does. I stopped seeking for the doors and they opened in front of me.

In one week, I have watched the influx of various people into my life, people from all over the world, some I have been friends with for years, some I am just meeting. This influx is poignant for me, because I am finding that, regardless of age or origin or background, the people surrounding me are reflective, spontaneous, happy, energetic, passionate, interesting, and uninhibited. I don't think this is an accident. I think the people we have around us in life are often reflections of ourselves, in various forms. If we are erratic and self-destructive, depressed and insecure, we will naturally gravitate towards those who share common qualities and they will naturally gravitate towards us. If we are, however, taking care of ourselves, asking more of ourselves, pushing ourselves forward, if we choose happiness and positivity, we will then see those qualities in whomever surrounds us. It is a powerful dance, to sit in the midst of your own change while witnessing the change and growth within the branches and extensions of your own being.

I have an insatiable need in my life for dancing. Dancing is my way to clarity. I don't have a studio, I have rooms, but I dance in them. When words fail, I find that dancing is purest expression I can offer through movement, exploration, the range of emotions that cultivate every grasp and pull. Often I find that dancing shows me how I am feeling, instead of my choosing to dance because of a feeling. Dancing gives me life and this past week was nothing less than a perfect extension of that. If you haven't heard of dance walking, I hope you will look it up and join the next time you have the opportunity. Superhelse hosted a dance walk through the streets of Oslo, down Karl Johan from Oslo S to the castle. I have always wanted to join one of these, as well as a flash (dance) mob, so early Saturday morning, I decided to go. Exhaustion and sadness had overtaken me and I knew it was time, time to dance and give all the energy and happiness I could muster back to the world. It ended up being an amazing experience with people of all ages, cultures, and races, all dancing through the crowds of people, music blaring, photos snapping, jaws on the floor, the whole nine yards. By the end, we were all laughing and cheering, jumping, fist pumping, drenched in sweat. It was perfect. I had a moment where I slowed to watch the people around me, this wildly mixed group of enthusiastic dancers, and I felt so blessed to live in a place where I can surround myself with everything and everyone different, yet feel so completely at-home.

It is this blend, this mixing of cultures and backgrounds, experiences and lifestyles, that I am utterly drawn to. I need "different" in my life. I crave all things unusual and outside the box. I am fascinated by people and their stories, and especially by those who love to tell their stories candidly and vividly, without reservation. I become enthused around those who are just as comfortable asking me the unusual and unexpected questions. Norway is not known for its openness. People who are first arriving in Norway often comment about the culture, the difficulty in meeting people, making friends, finding space in the conversation where you can transition from pleasantries into depth. I have found this to be true in some instances. What I am finding now is that I am asking, silently, for my world to be fully comprised of people who are comfortable in their awkwardness, enough so that we can talk and laugh about life, the reality and mess of it, the craziness that actually makes us more similar than we could ever imagine to be in our daily pleasantries. And Norway, while it has the opposite reputation, has offered this to me in abundance. The more I ask, the more I receive, and I believe that's how it works. As I have written before, what we put into the world comes back to us.

I suppose what I am saying is this: If you want it, ask for it. If you crave it, seek it. If you are plagued with unanswered questions, release it. And if it makes you happy, by all means, do it. Just choose everything consciously and with an open heart. The good will come. That is what I hope for each of us today.

Long Long Journey

2012-08-10T16:40:00.001+02:00

There will be a lesson in all of this. I don't see it yet, although I desperately want to, but I am looking for my signs. I know good things are coming, that the payoff will take shape in front of me soon enough, yet I can't help but feel utterly defeated at times. I try to simply allow life to happen with these thoughts in mind, riding the ebb and flow of life's gives and takes. And yet, my mind wanders to the sacrifices, the changes, the fact that the puzzle pieces seem more scattered than fitting, even after three years in Norway.

Today I was hit with yet another blow, another length of time I must wait for all my efforts to reach fruition. The details are not important, only that I am not there yet, I have another year of work ahead of me. I know, in the grand scheme of things, that this struggle is minor compared to the world's worth of problems that people and entire cultures endure. It's just that it doesn't feel so insignificant to me.

This is the part of being an expat that (for me) has been painstaking and trying, even on the easiest of days. I have met those with seemingly endless luck, who managed to gain residency in a matter of weeks, who landed a great job on the first try, whose kids were ushered into barnehage without a moment's wait, who finished language classes in one quick run, whose marriages didn't suffer the blow-after-blow bureaucratic game of getting dealt the tough hand. And I fully believe that these details really make the difference in how your life as an expat takes shape. Of course, the basics are of most importance: a home, food on the table, supportive people around you, a general strength and fortitude and positivity. But next in line of importance is how easily you are able to slide into society and that, like the creation of a child, requires the perfect alignment in a vast series of miraculous steps, most of which you will have absolutely no control over.

I despise envy, but on my worst days, I feel it. I envy those who make it look easy, even when it isn't. I envy those whose path seems paved in alignment, not with the crooked cobblestone I seem to be stumbling on. I envy those who don't seem to have to dig deep for the boundless energy their days will require. Such is my personal struggle, to release envy and anger, to simply accept difficulty and change with an open mind and open heart, to give the best and entirety of me to my son each day, to know that my strength will come only when I overcome.

So, my thought for today is this: as overwhelmed as I feel, I simply have to let it go. I simply have to accept it and focus on what I am grateful for.

I am grateful for my beautiful son. He tests and tries me daily. He makes me laugh and cry in joy and amazement. He teaches me about the simple pleasures, about humility, forgiveness, and unconditional love. And there is no substitute for the moments he asks for my hugs, as though it will cure all that doesn't seem right in his world.

I am grateful for silence, for the moments I am able to think, read, write, process, sleep. I am grateful that silence can be both deafening and healing, but always telling, in that it shows me daily what I really need by how I react to it.

I am grateful for love and support, that I am being given so much of it, even if mostly at a distance. I am surrounded in positive energy and thoughts, and on the moments when I feel loneliness the most, I turn to that energy to keep me pushing forward.

I am grateful for freedom, for the fact that I stand on free ground with a fair amount of freedom to choose the paths I will need to take in my life. I must simply learn the courage I will need to take all the steps towards achieving it.

I am grateful for understanding what it means to be an expat, to see my former home and life at a distance, with a new set of binoculars. I am grateful for the perspective and knowledge I have now that I did not and could not have had three years ago.

I am grateful that I don't know all the answers, because if I had, I probably would not have splashed into this deep blue sea with an open heart and closed eyes. Despite its unforeseen tides, I am supposed to be treading this water, in this way.

As for you, I hope your day is filled with light and love, that your energy is lifting you and pushing you forward, that you are happy and surrounded by luck today.

May It Be

2012-08-06T23:12:00.001+02:00

Change is inevitable. We may invite it or run from it, but whether it sneaks in over time through cracks in the walls or blows at once through the door like a tornado, we will have to face it head-on. The greatest part of change is that we have all the control. We never think we have all the control. How we view change, how we react to it, will make all the difference in whether we become and build bridges or walls.

An example was given to me last year:

A man awakens in the night to find that his house is on fire. He runs from the house and stands in the front yard, watching his home engulfed in flames. The flames reach so far as to begin burning the neighboring houses on either side. Two men from each of the other burning houses also run outside and there they stand, the three men, watching their homes, their possessions, crumble in ash. The first man looks up in tears, full of devastation, and begins to scream. He falls to his knees, realizing that he has lost everything. He painstakingly recalls all that he should have saved and he vows never to forgive himself for leaving his most beloved items inside. In his mind, he will never recover from the loss. The second man stands in silence. He allows the tears to fall, the awareness to sink in of all he has lost. But he feels relief. His family is safe and with him, so while he may have lost much, he has not lost everything. Things, he thinks, can always be replaced. The third man, much to everyone's surprise, begins jumping up and down and shouting in joy. He had been desperately trying to sell his home for so long. Now, he says, I will receive the insurance money that will allow me to leave and buy a new home. Each man faced a similar obstacle, yet viewed and reacted to it completely differently. In turn, how they move forward will likely be drastically different.

Such is the movement that carries me, always with this example in mind, towards my next bridge. I had hoped to be a blogger who would discuss Norway, it's intricacies, culture, sights, expat life. I had hoped to blog about parenting, motherhood, marriage. What I have realized is that this type of writer is not what I currently am meant to be. I am meant to also write about what it is like to take the drastic steps, to face big challenges, to push yourself beyond your own boundaries and comforts, how to pick yourself when you fall. Because while there is a lot in the world I have left to learn, these are things I am familiar with. I am versed in challenge...and I am still here. I have had requests from friends for the former topics to be covered in this blog, as well. Those are topics I will aspire to for you.

My husband and I have separated. There, I said it. It is intensely personal and private, yet it is important for me to put it out there, to acknowledge it. I have hidden from this blog, from writing, from social media, from friends, from family, all in an attempt to avoid this discussion. I have finally decided that opening the door to acceptance will allow many other great things to arrive on the doorstep, as well. So there you have it.

After the separation began, I decided to take some time to myself, time to regain my footing, to remember the girl inside who I'd abandoned long ago. And what I found surprised me. I found a beautiful girl who still thrives on adventure and laughter, a girl who knows how to romance herself, a girl who doesn't walk or run, but dances her way through life. I found the girl who reads books voraciously, til the wee hours of the morning and loves to be educated above all else. The girl is a social one, can meet any stranger and make a friend, can face intimidation without trepidation. She is enchanted by food, music, art, photography, writing, people, late nights, dancing, conversation and, above all, life. I found her sitting alone, in a scarcely-decorated, aging, unfamiliar apartment, drinking a glass of wine on a Parisian windowsill. I saw her wandering a large, new city, intentionally lost, with nothing but a pair of headphones to guide her. I caught her basking in the setting sun alongside the river Seine and in Buttes Chaumont, eating patchwork dinners with people she barely knew. I watched her hopping trains to new worlds and discovering histories that were closer to home than she could have ever imagined. She woke up every day without a plan, and came home every night with a great story.

I escaped to three weeks in France alone, knowing next to no one, and in those three weeks, I found a best friend. I found my old self...and have continued finding her since. Fearless? Never. Going ahead anyway? Absolutely.

I hope your days are teaching you, enchanting you, and moving you forward to a happier, bridge-building you. That is my wish for today. As for me, I plan to be writing you more often now...

Measuring Your Energy Footprint

2012-03-19T19:35:00.004+01:00

The internet has had a profound effect upon me, my marriage, my friendships, my personal growth and, sometimes, my own hindrance in growth. When I started blogging, I made a quick decision that had long-lasting and profound consequences. One of my first blogs, a piece written when I was new to Norway, homesick, and battling postpartum depression, was an angry, venting piece about an incident that unbridled me into stupidity. It was an incident that would have passed, had I let it. Instead, I blogged about it. It hurt people I did not intend to hurt, left an imprint on relationships that were newly being built, and altered perceptions of me in a negative light. I deleted the post shortly after publishing it, but the damage was done. I learned that lesson the hard way, yet it has taken me until now to realize how its occurrence played a role in something bigger.

Those who know me, know that I have a Facebook account. For some time, it was simply a social outlet, which transitioned into a primary mode of keeping in touch with friends and family back home, a news source, and a way of networking in Norway. What has surprised me about my careless play on Facebook, is that I have been wary of Facebook and its potential consequences almost the whole time I have been a member. Yet I blindly trusted privacy settings that continue to change, acquaintances whom I virtually no longer know, and the habits of anyone who may have access to all my information, photos, etc. So I should not have been too surprised to discover that photos of mine were being shared outside my circle of friends and posted to the walls of people whom I do not know. These were not general photography shots, these were family photos. And the outside sharing of those photos resulted in my being inundated with friend requests from people around the world whom I also did not know. It was eery to recognize how little control we have over what we share, even when setting our privacy allows us some security in believing so.

I blogged last year about my marriage and some of its difficulties. In all the changes we were experiencing, in all the emotional and physical time I devoted to that, I realized that there was just not a place in me to experience those marital changes and blog about them simultaneously. I am a "better-in-hindsight" kind of girl, especially when I am torn with how much or how little to share. The truth is, the internet has played a large role in my relationship with my husband. It has brought us together when we were dating long distanc, and has pulled us apart through sites like Facebook, where boundary-setting with friends and acquaintances is obscure, at best. Have intimate relationships really caught up with Facebook?

For these reasons, I chose to take time away, even though there has been quite a lot I wanted to blog about over the past year. It was important for me to reflect and decide how much of my life, of me, I am willing to put out into the great unknown. So, these past months, I took a step back from blogging, away from social media, and have now re-arrived back into the world of the internet. With the distance, I found some answers, as well as a stronger appreciation for and awareness of the depths in which we can find ourselves, lose ourselves, and in which others can find us through the internet.

Do you know the power of your internet life? Have you considered its reach or the strength of its impact? How do you use it to filter or yield your power and energy to and from others?

Several signs - experiences - have been coming to me in forms of discussions centered around energy. Energy: it is something I have given thought to in the past, but probably not in great detail. I have thought about energy in simple terms: whether or not I have any, whether a conversation with someone drains it from me, how much of it I will be forced to exude on any given project. I have selfishly ignored what my own energy footprint is, whether in person or via internet. I consider your energy footprint to be kind of like a carbon footprint on your soul and on the soul of others. I suppose this is what my greater lesson has been after these few months. I now recognize the power of not only my words, but my energy footprint. And I want to change it, so that I exude positive energy, allow others to gain energy in their contact with me, and allow positive energy to return back to me in its various forms. Because I do believe that what we send out into the world is returned to us, be it positive or negative. The first blog I wrote was a lashing out of my negative energy. That negative energy returned in other forms. I have never believed the blog was worth the multitude of consequences.

Facebook exists in much the same way. You know who "they" are...they are friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and they may be few, but they go on your Facebook radar almost daily with their super energetic status updates (!!!!!!!), frequent delivery of TMI (he just POOPED in the potty!), anger at everyone (Haters!), super-derogatory political and/or religious rants. Whether uber-cheerful or Debbie-downers, there are a few Facebook friends who just require more energy from you than you want to give...heaven forbid you actually saw them in person. This is exactly what I mean. Do you ever ask yourself if you are one of these people? If you take more energy out of others than you put back into them?

I have another example, an example of a friend who made me realize that she is EXACTLY the kind of friend I want to be, Facebook or otherwise. She is a friend who, in her own most difficult time, chose to share photos and details of her husband's health declining, right up to and after when he lost his battle against cancer yesterday. She shared those details both on her own Facebook wall, as well as his, so that each of us who knew him personally - or didn't - could grieve right alongside her. She put a lot of energy into being a great wife and partner and friend, while simultaneously giving her time, effort, and strength to a large group of people who expected nothing from her and knew how thinly their time was stretched. And yet she gave. She expended her energy and, in love, has left a huge positive energy footprint. She has taught - and is teaching - each of us what being an amazing wife, partner, and friend means. She is showing us how powerful Facebook can really be. Many of us who wanted to be by his side and hers, yet couldn't in these past weeks, were given attention and time and effort, because she knew we loved him so much that we would want to share the journey with them both. No one asked. And yet, she gave. This is the battle I want to learn to overcome: how to give all of yourself to the people or outlets you choose to hold close, impressing upon everything around you with a positive energy footprint, even when you are going through your own personal upheaval.

Lastly, I will say that my marriage has been a difficult thing to blog about, partially because I am protective of my privacy and the privacy of my family. I may have a blog, but some things still feel sacred. I would love to feel that I could vent and bounce ideas and questions out into the world and hope that someone would respond with a wonderful piece of advice, but I have learned more than once that sometimes silence is better. So yes, our marriage has faced a lot...and a lot of it could have probably been resolved with a little more focus on the energy we allowed within ourselves and towards each other. But, it's all a learning process and we are still working, still trying, still married. I hope that the energy footprint I leave on him each day, whether he is walking out the door or heading back through it, is something that makes his life a little happier, a little better, a little softer. That's my goal...big or small...to leave you feeling better.

Grateful Kahunas

2011-10-31T00:10:00.000+01:00

Oh, time...you certainly slow for no one. I've racked up quite the busy life and couldn't be happier about it. I have to say, I love being back in school. I feel like a kid again, wearing my backpack, studying, drinking way too much coffee, getting nervous about my first day at school. I also love working again. I love teaching. I absolutely love feeling imporant and challenged, like I have a purpose...and I don't mean that to knock motherhood in any way. I'm just happy, happy doing things to further myself and my brain and my personal existence here in good ol' Norway.

Having given an unintentional knock at motherhood, I will say that I've been having a blast with Baby C. There's something about the 2's - I don't think they're terrible at all. In fact, quite the opposite. I'm more in love with this little guy every day. We have so much fun together, can communicate well, immitate one another, play together...he's such a great, happy, goofy sidekick. And yet, our relationship is made so much better by the fact that we're no longer together all the time. He's making so many friends, learning new things, playing his little heart out, and coming home to excitedly tell me all about it in baby language. I, in turn, get to tell him all about Mommy's life outside of being a mommy. Because these things are important, to share our lives together without being irrevocably intertwined with one another. I like that he has his freedom during the day. I like that I have mine. I like even more that our time together is precious, that the effort at savoring and exploring every moment is more important now that our hours together are fewer. Talking about him makes me feel warm inside.

Since warm isn't an adjective I will be using much in the near future, I'll dive in while I can....autumn makes me feel warm inside too. The changes I see in the fall remind me of the things that have changed, of all that I have and am grateful for. It reminds me of those who aren't with me, yet how much I love and am loved by them. It reminds me how quickly the years are passing, since it feels like last autumn was just here. Autumn in Norway is a fun and challenging thing to experience. If you can wade through without drowning in all the rain, you get the chance to see some of the most beautiful colors a landscape can hold. It's short lived and, almost overnight, those beautiful colors fall to the ground, swallowed in the puddles and muck. If you catch them falling on the right day, you can sit in the biggest mountain of painted leaves you've ever seen. You can pick baskets of chestnuts and make your own decorations with them. But you have to do it quick...toss the leaves up, breathe in that fresh, crisp air, and enjoy it all before the day turns and your nosehairs become icecycles. Our days are short now and it seems I'd already forgotten how dark winter really is here...I'm now counting the hours of daylight remaining and we're down from almost 24 to under 9. By Thanksgiving, that number will likely be around 7, by Christmas maybe 4. I'm trying to brace myself, but obviously I haven't fared too well these past two winters, so I admit I'm readily nervous for my third. I'm bucking up, doubling up, and going for the best, regardless.

But before I roll into daydreaming about Thanksgiving and Christmas (and the dark therein), I can't forget about Halloween! It's not celebrated much here, although it is becoming more popular for the younger kids, and I'm happy that it is becoming more recognized. Halloween was a much-loved time for me as a kid - I was fascinated by scary movies and haunted houses and crazy costumes (I won't mention the hideously, America's Funniest Home Videos-worthy, homemade outfit my mother dared to dress and parade her 9 year old in). I am happy to know that I might be able to embarrass my son...uh hum, I mean...dress up my son just as much in the future. We aren't doing the traditional trick-or-treating this year, but we did attend a smashing Halloween birthday fest tonight, where Baby C showed off his best Superman muscles, ate his weight in boller, and played with a room full of kitties and princesses. I didn't dress up this year (or at least, if I did, it wasn't intentional), but it was a great Halloween.

Two days ago I celebrated my two year anniversary of arriving to Norway and it feels so darned good to say that. I feel like I deserve a glass of wine and a toast, because what a two years! I am tougher than I was two years ago, yet I'm a lot softer too. I'm sad to have seen certain changes, but humbled and comforted by change as well. I feel resilient and lucky. I'm grateful for so much. If I'd known then what I know now, I'd tell myself these two things: learn the language and go play in the snow.

Hoping everyone is having a cozy October, a spooky Halloween, enough time to evaluate what makes you happy and grateful, and enough kahunas to gear up for playing in the snow!

Enchanted Ditties

2011-10-04T20:39:00.002+02:00

Happy 100th Post! Thank you again to all those who have read, followed, and commented on my 99 little ditties thus far. You have made blogging a thoroughly enjoyable experience for me...aaaannd, that being said, I am up and running again, ready to pay attention to this site. It is hard to keep track of blogging in the "warm(er)" months of Norway, when the sun is out (sometimes) and the rain is gone (sometimes). My attention is devoured by any opportunity to race towards the light. Alas, the light is fading...it is dark at 7am and again at 7pm, the ultimate prediction that winter is chasing us down and winning. Soon, we will have but a glimpse of the sun as it hovers briefly over the edge of the Earth, peeking at us to laugh on its way down again. I can't gripe...winter (at least the start of it) is charming, what with the julebords and holidays and skiing and cozy fireplace warmth. I am still enchanted by it all.

Enchanted, I think, is fitting these days. I am less than a month away from my two-year anniversary of life in Norway and, yes, I can honestly say that I am quite enchanted with life, with Norway, with my family, with the things that now feel strangely familiar and yet new. After two years, I can finally say that I feel adjusted, although I know the reality is that I am still in the middle of integrating fully. But, after two years, I can also say that I feel "official." What with a year's worth of delays in barnehage, schooling, job searching, I haven't felt official, even if I have been so on paper. Well, now I feel official. I have barnehage, I have been taking Norwegian classes for almost two months, I have a tax card and a bank account, and soon I will have money to deposit into it, because as of very recently...(drumroll)...I also have a JOB! In the spirit of privacy, I won't share much except to say that it is a job I've dabbled with in the past, have considered doing in the future, and landed in the present practically by accident. I am going to teach...and with all that education has meant to and done for me, I am excited and proud to be a part of that process for someone else. So, yes, I am officially official...bells and whistles and all. Bring on the responsibility and the paycheck, because Mamma is ready!

I can hardly remember a time when I have felt so at home...at peace...happy. It is strange to feel so calm in these surroundings, to feel so blended, so comfortable with what at one time felt too uncomfortable to bear. So much of the change is due to what I've already mentioned: my independence, success, ability to take part in society in a way that feels meaningful, ability to look at my reflection with pride. So much of the change is also due to what I haven't mentioned...mainly, my marriage. I haven't blogged much about it and still feel limited in what I will disclose about it, but I can say this...the personal struggles I went through in coming to Norway almost broke us. I have never been so bound in depression that I couldn't see what it was doing to those around me, but, in the past 8 months, I have seen. I have seen clearly. And as quickly as I saw, I chose to own up and face it, make some big changes, have the tough discussions, and do whatever I could to restore what had been lost. It has been a long, painful road. Unabashed honesty, whether from others or simply with yourself, rarely comes easy. There's work yet to be done, but I am proud of the progress, proud of my husband, proud of myself. We are each great people, working hard through one of the most difficult and unexpected trials, and we are putting all our fears to shame. We are leaping over obstacles I once thought we'd never overcome. I am proud of that.

Marriage is special. Not because a piece of paper says it is, not because the loss of it means the loss of what you once had or the division of what you currently have. Marriage is special because it requires more of you than you ever believe you'll have to give. There will come a day when you have to look at your partner and choose to be with them, choose to stick it out when the sparks aren't sparkling and the shit hits the fan. There will be a day when you have to ask yourself some deeply personal and intimate questions, questions you have never considered. You'll have to ask them of your partner as well, even when you're terrified of the answers. There will come a day when you have to relearn each other, about the parts of yourself and your partner that you each hid when you were so passionately in love that all you wanted to do was talk about your commonalities and dance around those minor details that end up being massive differences. There will come a day when you realize you don't know as much as you thought you did, when you find yourself practically dating your partner again in order to regain your footing in the relationship. Marriage is special, because there is a lot of truth to the concept of falling in and out of love, over and over again, for a lifetime. To do that, marriage requires choosing each other, again and again, for a lifetime, whether or not you feel the same hormone-driven cravings of the first 6 months (and most often you won't). Marriage is special, because it requires you to learn how to be a "we" in a world where we are only ever taught how to be an "I". "We": it's a concept most people find simple, that many people crave and think will be their happy ending. The only happy endings that come easy are in Disney movies and certain massage parlors...for the rest of us, marriage is learning how to be yourself, while conceding a part of yourself so that your partner can be themselves too. And yet, conceding doesn't mean giving less of youself...there is no 50/50, there is 100/100...when you learn to balance all of that, I believe that's when success comes.

I grew up with an old-fashioned idea of marriage, one that involved raising the children, cleaning the house, and cooking the right foods (afterall, the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right?). And these past years, I have done that...taken care of our son, cleaned the house, cooked the food. A great chunk of the rest of my time was spent on me, what I missed, what I lacked, what I felt, what I thought. I missed, misread, ignored, and didn't hear a lot of what occurred outside my box. Marriage is special, because it requires you to read and hear and account for what goes on outside your box...it is now "our" box.

Stepping off my marriage soapbox, I can say I have learned a lot in the past 8 months, more than I can truly account for in all the years of my life. I am grateful to have learned it, to see how important we are, how important I am as one half of we, how important my husband is as an equally supported half. We each have a lot to offer and a lot to learn, but I am proud of us, proud to be a we, proud to sit in our box, in pretty little Norway.

Anyway, that's my tidbit for the day. I'm off to read my latest book...Anna Gavalda's Consolation. Beautiful piece of art and I can hardly tear myself away from it, even when her writing is overdramatic and confusing and lascivious. She's worth giving a shot, in case you're looking for your next indulgence.

I hope your recent ditties are equally as enchanting...thanks again for reading.

Puzzle Pieces

2011-09-05T21:51:00.000+02:00

I believe that everything happens for a reason. It's a simple thing to say, although the implications of it extend far if you take the time to think about it. I believe this because I see so much good come from things I once labeled as bad. The hardest obstacles I have met were always followed by a positive outcome and, for that reason, I coach myself through challenges by being open to the unforseen good that may surprise me later. I do not believe this in a religious context. I do not believe that my fate is sealed or predetermined. I do not pray, but rather, I speak to those whom I have lost along the way, whom I also believe are still with me and offer signs in helping me choose my paths in life. For as long as I can remember, I believed in this idea. But, while I believed this, somewhere along the way I forgot about the good that comes after, I forgot about the light at the end of the tunnel.

Hindsight is so clear. And it can leave us with a sense of regret of our own lack of prior awareness or initiative. I suppose that is where I sit now: on the opposite side of a very large wall, looking through the glass at what was, at what I was. I regret spending so much time in sadness and hardship with the changes I experienced in coming here. I regret not enjoying - or fully experiencing - the life of an expat. I regret losing two years of my youth to isolation and resentment. I regret the internal blame I sometimes felt towards motherhood as the root of my sadness and isolation. I regret placing a large emotional burden on a new marriage. I regret not owning up to my early diagnosis of post-partum depression and allowing myself to be treated. I regret thinking I was strong enough to fight against everything on my own.

Alas, regret is not a very productive feeling, aside from giving you the opportunity to work harder in moving forward. This year has been that process for me. I do feel better. I feel alive, awakened, as if a great haze has lifted, offering only sunshine behind it. That does not go to say that all my days are easy...they are not all easy. But I am present in the days - easy or not - and conscious of my choices and words in a way I hadn't been for a long time. I am excited about things that would have seemed a burden before. And while, early this year, I felt I had come to a breaking point, I now feel stronger and happier than ever. I am not out of the woods yet - I have relationships to mend and obstacles yet ahead in fully acclimating into society. But, life as I had known is transforming into something I don't think I can yet describe or understand - suffice it to say, the something is good. I am patiently waiting for good to become great.

The ball is rolling...I am no longer a SAHM. Baby C has been in barnehage for a month, so we have officially left that phase of our lives behind. It is a bittersweet thing, mostly sweet, as I watch him running away from me to go to "school" and see "the babies." At (now) two years old, he is fantastically happy and so safe within himself that he fears nothing - not my absense, not a new environment, not a challenge. What he reflects to me is the one good thing I feel I have accomplished in two years: parenting him. I may have been lost in many ways, but what I see in him, in the bond we share, is my affirmation of success.

I have been in Norwegian language courses for three weeks now and, yes, I will spare you the ache of reading anything from me in Norwegian at this point. My classmates and in-laws and Hubby are currently deciphering me - both in confusion and humor - and when I gain the courage, I'll share the love with you, as well. Hopefully it will be a bit more interesting than, "Hvor kommer Haifa fra?" Again, I carry a regret about my limited ability to speak in Norwegian. With these weeks of practice, what I am able to say and read and write in Norwegian far surpasses what I have learned in two years of living here. I can say, however, that two years has given me a strong ear for the language and therein can lie a problem. In my understanding, I have briefly fooled people into thinking I am better at the language than I am. It is in my speaking that you see the true defects. And that is ok, I own it and I'm working with it. And now I can tell you where Haifa comes from.

I suppose, as I long suspected, my hardest coming challenge will be a career. It is difficult - to say the least - to gain employment here without a full grasp of the language. You may be able to find a temp job or serve at a cafe, but to pursue a career, speaking Norwegian is just about the only option. I had my first interview this week and it went really well. I got some great feedback - both personally and professionally. What I also discovered is that I really do have a limited field to operate within professionally, since my career does not translate into the system. I left the interview feeling an odd mix of uplifted and downright tearful. Again, I have to remember...everything happens for a reason. I was great at my career. I loved it in a sense I can't explain, but it became a part of me. And I have to let it go. No anger, no resentment, no blame. I simply have to let that part of my life go. I am almost 30 years old and I am learning a new language in order to pursue a brand-new and currently-unknown career. I'm a little shaken by it.

As I have said, it is all a humbling experience, to lose yourself completely and then piece it all together into a reorganized puzzle, one you may not recognize, but one you may end up liking for the better. I am happier on this side of the wall, so while there are regrets, I don't stare too long through the glass. I choose strength and resilience and boundless opportunity - and maybe a little bit of luck for good measure. With my happy little crew, I choose forward.

So, anyway, that's what's new here...

Feeling On Top

2011-08-19T21:39:00.002+02:00

There's a lot to be grateful for. This week, I celebrated my 29th birthday and have been amazed at the thoughful recognition of it by those closest to me. I am excited about this year and about heading towards 30. Our beautiful home is looking more home-y each day; I feel comfortable here and my friends do as well, which always means the world. Baby C is happier than ever, spending his days playing and making friends, and nothing makes my day better than to see how fast he runs to hug me when I arrive each afternoon. My Norwegian language classes begin on Monday, which I'm very excited about, and I've spent the week feverishly applying for jobs, with a few responses that have left me hopeful in return. And as an added bonus, my interview in Circle of Mom's Top 25 Expat Mom Blogs feature is finally available. The full interview is posted below. All in all, a good week.

What inspired you to start blogging?

Outside of school and away from required essays, I was always an avid writer. As a little girl, if life became hard and confusing, I would crawl into the dark corners of my closet and hide within a magical world of words, where fear transformed into strength and pain into fairytales. And somewhere, in the far, dark corners of a storage warehouse hides that magical world of words, those years of poetry, lyrics, stories, and verbal exorcism.

Four years ago, I stood at a pivotal crossroad, watching a tempest of change hurling around me, I lost at its center. I realized it wasn't change I feared, but the fact that what I wanted to change most would have to come from within. So, I began by shifting my outward view inward and pouring change through my fingertips. Words became the shovels digging trenches, excavating my own dark corners. No longer hiding, I chose to delve deep, find meaning behind the emotions, and try to understand the magnitude and depth of why we choose each path we're on. I wanted to be stronger, learn more, become smarter, love others and myself as I never have, all through a path of complete honesty about who I am. And I wanted to share the journey in all it's intricacies.

It was during this time that I began searching for a new medium of expression, one in which I could share thoughts and ideas openly, receive feedback and insight, maybe offer a small piece of insight to someone else. Within a few weeks of channeling energy into this new outlet called blogging, I met my now-husband. My effort towards blogging has paralleled the growth of our relationship. This man, this beautiful man, was and is a major source of inspiration for me, both in terms of my writing and in my reflection upon myself, my life, my choices, my personal growth. He is my mirror; his reflection turns me inwards so that I'm forced to face what I hide from even myself and, in that direction, I abound onto paper. When Baby C arrived, I discovered a whole new level of inspiration to draw from. A new, pure and terrifyingly innocent reflection now stares me into unabashed honesty. I don't always write about each of them, but because they are so much a part of my heart, they are direct participants in all that comes from deep within and out into the words you read.

The truth is, this blog isn't just about being an expat. It is not a standard discussion about Norway and its food or culture or sights, although there's a little of that. It's not a daily rant of the little bits of my regular life, although there's a little of that too. It's about a woman treading uphill through her twenties, transitioning from supported adulthood into true independence, falling madly in love with a foreigner, experiencing the gifts and trials of motherhood, becoming a foreigner herself, discovering the innermost being, and moving full speed ahead through all life has to offer. Eventually, I do plan to talk more about Norway...it's a beautiful and fascinating country.

How did you become an expat family?

My dreams always included a life abroad, although I admit Norway wasn't what I pictured. I'm ashamed to confess that when I met my husband, I had to research Norway in order to make statements more interesting than, "Ugh...so yeah, vikings, right?" On the flip side, I'm sure my husband didn't grow up imagining he'd leave Norway to spend several years studying abroad in the Deep South. His Norwegian perspective on living in Alabama brings humor to a whole new level. Isn't it beautiful how life happens that way, how each road traveled is a doorway to great beginnings?

Our beginning is rather simple and ordinary: boy meets girl and the passionate love story ensues. Ours is complicated in that we are from opposite sides of the world. We have faced challenges that I was sure would break me and us: long distance, cultural differences, language mistranslations, personal misgivings. I thought a year spent with an ocean and six time zones separating us, as well as an indefinite idea of when we would see one another again, was the end of the beginning. But the impossible happened and suddenly I found myself standing in an airport, desperately trying to hide the panic and excitement as the man I'd loved and lost one year prior walked towards me. In the instant I saw him, I knew he'd kept my heart with him the whole time. My heart lived in Norway long before I did.

From there, life happened quickly, obscuring any sign of preparation or planning. Within six months of his return, we decided to move to Norway and begin our life together. Two weeks later, we were engaged and, as we were surprised to discover, preparing for a baby. In another three months, we were married and, in the six months to follow, I would quit my job, we would moved twice, Baby C would arrive under somewhat traumatic circumstances, and, without a moment of calm, we four (including puppy) would load our lives into 9 suitcases, board a plane, and move to Norway. We have lived here as a family going on two years and I'm looking forward to the many years to come. I may not have pictured this journey or this destination, but now I couldn't picture anything else.

What do you enjoy most about where you live?

I suppose what I enjoy most about living in Norway is the challenge. I'm accomplishing things - both large and small - that I've never done or imagined doing. I'm adjusting to a world I spent most of my life knowing very little about, letting go of things and ideas I once tied to myself as necessary, meeting people who have me questioning myself and everything I've known to be normal or accepted. I'm challenged by the weather, the language, the vast cultural differences that, at times, leave me feeling as if the scarlet "A" of American is stamped to my forehead. I'm challenged as a mother and learning to be the best mother I can in an environment where I must teach Baby C about things I'm not even sure I understand. I'm challenged in my marriage, because the passage of time never ceases to introduce to me something I have yet to know or understand about my Norwegian husband.

There is also a simplicity that I appreciate about the way of life here. There is a certain simplicity and rationality in the relationships I see existing and developing, a simplicity in what is valued, like good weather, a cup of tea in the warm sun, freshly baked boller (rolls) shared among friends, perpetual involvement in an array of physical activity. There is a safety and comfort in the lack of social violence and the pervasive level of government involvement (gasp...did an American just say that?), as well as the fact that such a level of involvement allows for an extraordinary amount of paid maternity and paternity leave, among many other benefits. It's difficult to explain what life is like when there is so little fear for the safety of your self and your family, when you know that you are healthy and will be well cared for should the unexpected occur. It creates a sort of calm, as if a blanket is always wrapped and protecting you. It's something I have only come to understand upon returning to the US, having that feeling diminish and the insecurity return.

There is also a happiness I see in people; it's laced with calm, knowledge, awareness, respect, and careful thought. The harsh, pitch-dark, endless nights of winter are followed by a few blissful months of an ever-present sun that envelopes you, seemingly drawing everyone out of hibernation and into an explosive birth of green life. This country's intense variation in weather and the required physical adjustments is part of what makes its people incredibly strong, resilient, dynamic, interesting. I find that I have much to learn from this country and those who have flourished here. While I love and miss things about the US, living in Norway has been one of the utmost rewarding experiences of my life thus far. I honestly hope the challenges and discovery never cease.

What do you enjoy least about where you live?

I suppose the easy answer is this: prices. No one kids when they talk about the expense of an average lifestyle here. Two years in and I'm still converting in my head, a devastating thing to do to your psyche as the dollar fluctuates wildly, never quite managing to be as strong as the Norwegian kroner. We have struggled to get off the ground financially and, with all the challenges, I think this is the one I enjoy least. It's not about the "stuff" you can have with money, but the things you can do with it and the fact that a lack thereof has limited our ability to fully participate in what most here are able to do. I'm looking forward to financial independence and the freedoms that come with that, to the experiences we will be able to have and introduce to our son.

On a deeper level, many of us immigrants are able to relate in how difficult we find building relationships here. Before we moved, my husband gave me an assessment of how people relate in the US (or at least the Deep South) versus Norway: southerners talk to anyone, telling life stories and intimate details to someone they've just met, only then to discover they dont really like each other or want to be friends. In Norway, he says, you get to know one another over several meetings, decide whether to become friends, and then (possibly) speak in such depth. Well, he's right and I find this challenge to be my biggest. I have been brought up with what I thought was a luxury: the ability to talk to anyone about anything. When a fellow patient at the doctor's office approached us to talk about our newborn and to share a detailed account of her daughter's delivery of twins, I wasn't surprised. It is our social norm to chat with the bank teller or stranger behind us in line at the market, discussing things that would have Norwegians feeling most uncomfortable and wondering if we'd had taken our medication. At home, I would easily smile, wave, and say hello to a passing stranger on the street, but to do so in Norway would land me on the cover of tomorrow's Dagbladet. I have to forcefully restrain myself and decidedly "smalk" (I may be southern, but oh! how I dislike "small talk"). And often I have to remember that only time can dictate whether there is a friendship, whether the conversation will progress past the current level. It is not a lack of friendliness, more a general sense of privacy and restraint, an awareness that we are strangers until we aren't. Many Norwegian dinners have been graced with my "open mouth, insert foot" moments, yet, thankfully, I am forgiven and invited to partake in the next. Forgiveness is a gift well-possessed here; afterall, "Ah, she is American."

Your 3 favorite posts:
http://neverlandranger.blogspot.com/2008/08/holding-hands-and-letting-go.html http://neverlandranger.blogspot.com/2008/08/100-things.html http://neverlandranger.blogspot.com/2010/10/dream-to-elysium.html

#OsLove

2011-08-10T12:56:00.004+02:00

So many wonderful things have happened in these weeks away from you, yet they seem small compared to the fact that, less than three weeks ago, Norway's most devastating tragedy brought a nation to its knees...and back up again. We were two hours outside of Oslo on the afternoon of July 22, driving into the mountains, excited about a beautiful weekend at the cabin, hiking, fishing, eating. Without warning, a radio announcement began to frantically describe a bombing in downtown Oslo at the government quarter, the building that houses the Prime Minister, among many others. At the time, there wasn't much known - the amount of devastation, how many were injured or killed, who or what had caused it. There was mention of the possibility of a gas leak and that no one should jump to conclusions, but somewhere, in the back of our minds, many of us drew slowly into the same fear: Al-Qaeda, terrorism.

We drove the rest of the way in silence, listening to the news repeated again and again, speaking only when the shock filtered through in some unintelligible sentence. I called my mother, but the bombing had been so recent that the news hadn't reached the US yet...I knew it must mean that all of this was a mistake, a sick joke. It was the same thought I'd had the day I rode in a car, listening to a radio announcer detailing the planes striking the World Trade Center towers, detailing the deaths of those leaping from the highest floors. I was furious. I tried to call the radio station that day, to tell him what a sick joke that was, to create something so tragic and so impossible in his show. Yet, the impossible, the unfathomable had happened then...and now again, in Norway.

Shortly after arriving at the cabin, my brother in-law wandered into the kitchen and, with a pale and empty stare said, "They're saying there's been a shooting on an island. They estimate 10-20 are killed." While we unpacked and ate dinner together that evening, the news played on the radio in the background and we sat, mostly in silence, looking away through the windows, lost in our thoughts, or around at one another in disbelief. There were no tears, not yet, as if everything was in slow motion, the blade barely piercing the skin, the wound not yet fully created or opened, the sensations not yet traveling through each nerve, the pain not yet fully felt, but the body and mind frozen in fear and anticipation of all that would come.

Overnight, and by early the next morning, the shooter had been captured on the island and a better assessment of the damage was being revealed. Reports detailed the island, a small island not far north of Oslo, Utøya, where hundreds of teenagers and young adults had gathered as part of the AUF Labour Party. They were to spend a ceremonial weekend, as was tradition, discussing politics, how to improve society. It was to be a peaceful weekend, a happy weekend, and it turned into the darkest Norway has ever seen. We heard 40 dead...wait, 60...no, 80...the counts and estimates climbed by the hour. And at the center of the darkness stood one man. One man. One young, handsome, average, blond-haired, blue-eyed Norwegian with a powerful mind, a radical belief, a horrific plan, and an empty heart. Anders Behring Breivik surrendered to police as they surrounded him at Utøya, admitted to being in connection with the bombing and to working alone. Within a few hours of each attack, the one man responsible was carried away, trailed by the bodies of children.

The rest of the weekend leading to Sunday, we made attempts at normalcy, but the time was punctuated with silence and reflection, sadness, and an underlying anxiety to return to our beloved Oslo, to feel the weight in its entirety, to be connected to those who must have felt helpless in their grief. Hubby and I drove the hours back to Oslo, bought flowers and candles, and made our way into the city. We parked near downtown and began to wander the streets. Alleys and roads were blocked off and guardsmen stood at the barricades like warriors guarding a loved one's grave. Behind them were buildings with shattered glass, debris scattered through the streets, signs and lights toppled, empty cars. It looked like a deserted town, yet in some of those buildings were rescuers, digging, calling out, desperately trying to uncover those hidden or fallen. In front of the guards, many wandered aimlessly, stopping to stare. I caught a guardsman's eye...there was a tear hanging. I think he was trying to hold on to it. At our feet were children kneeling at a bed of roses and candles. Fittingly, the rain came as the tears of Norwegians began to flood the cobblestone.

We made our way to what has become the pinnacle expression of grief and desperation, love and community: Domkirken. There was a moment here, a short moment that transitioned overnight into something much bigger and broader, but began with the helpless cry of each individual as they lay their roses and photographs and candles. A mother left letters in hopes of her child being found, alongside a small teddy bear. Friends placed photographs with messages of "Dear ____, we miss you so much. Please come back. We love you." Fathers wrapped their arms around their families and cradled them as they stared ahead, realizing what was now possible in the safest of worlds. It was this moment where we each grieved as individuals, where we each felt our hearts placed alongside the letters and photographs and teddy bears, where we understood the impact of one man's decision to strip so many families of that filled place at the dinner table. Some of these children were 15 years old. The senselessness, the cruelty was so unbearable to me that I kneeled next to strangers, tears falling, and contemplated prayer. Even for someone not bound by religion, how can you not contemplate prayer in that moment? This was the moment for me when the blade met it's full depth, when the sensations flooded through, and I began to really feel the pain. This was, I think, that moment for many.

All of this is natural, the grief, the gathering, the site. I imagine, in the days and weeks and months following September 11, 2001, these were the images most often seen in and around where the tragedies occured. What happened the day after I visited Domkirken, on Monday, was as astounding and more natural than anything I have ever witnessed. There was to be a walk, a march, from Oslo's City Hall and through the streets of downtown. Everyone was asked to bring a red rose. As we went to purchase our roses, the stores were sold out of roses and out of flowers almost altogether. We managed to get two small bouquets of orange and red carnations and made our way downtown. As we walked, we were not alone. We were shoulder to shoulder with seemingly everyone in Norway. On main streets, cross streets, alleys, parking lots, people flooded in droves, walking almost silently, all heading towards City Hall. When we arrived closer, we could see City Hall, but quickly found we would never be able to edge our way through the shoulders crammed in lines and rows before us. Groups of tall, black men dug their way through, passing out signs and stickers reading "I Love Oslo" or "#OsLove", taping them to every post and pole along the way. There was a soft murmuring through the crowds as people waited and waited for the walk to begin. And then...silence. Without any direction or warning, almost 200,000 people lifted their flowers into the air in unison. It was all I could see...red roses, carnations, orchids, lillies. All I could hear was the gentle breath of falling tears. A man spoke...so many people had come, the support and love so great, that streets were already full all of the way to the other side of downtown. There was nowhere to walk. All we could do was stand and raise our flowers. So that's what we did, all 200,000 of us.

Even now, I find that the grief is palpable, the tears are still so easily drawn. The Bishop who spoke at Oslo's Memorial Service said, 'Our country is so small that every man fallen is a brother or a friend.' I may not be Norweigan, I may have only lived in and loved this country for a few, short years, but I have felt each of the fallen as though they were a brother or a friend. I have felt the loss, understood the loss of each mother and father. I have felt the anger towards a lone man, a stranger...the same anger that led me to hope for vengeance after 9/11. But what I have also felt, also seen, is love shown in a way I never thought possible. It was said first by a young girl, by the friend of a survivor of Utøya. It was then repeated by the Prime Minister in his memorial speech, by CNN and countless sources since: "Om en mann kan vise saa mye hat, tenk hvor mye kjaerlighet vi all kan skape sammen." If one man can show so much hate, think how much love we all together can create.

The lives lost in both attacks now total 77. It's a small number compared to some of history's events. In Norway, by shear ratio, it is greater percentage than the amount of lives lost on 9/11. Numbers tell you nothing. For Norway, whether 10 or 77 or 200, the loss and the manner of loss is a powerful strike. It is met with a combination of pain and grief, a calm and conscious resolve to stand in unison against anyone who tries to destroy the greater good or the ideals of the country, and a sadness at the loss of innocence, at the view ahead that looks slightly altered from the view before. For a long time, I walked in a security blanket, feeling that nothing so harmful could happen here. It was Utopian. Now, I find myself a little fearful of places at night, a little more conscious of locking my doors, holding Baby C's hand a little more along the walk...as if the real world has finally crept into Norway and shown us possibilities we hadn't imagined before. Yet, with a small amount of fear, the loss, the community, the love is so powerful that Norway seems to me to be the best country in the world. I am honored and blessed to be here, to raise a son here, to have family and friends here, to hopefully grow old in this beautiful place.

The flowers and candles and letters and teddy bears still surround the church...they have grown out into the streets, where barricades have prevented the sea from stretching any further. As things do, the sea has adapted; the flowers are piled high, stretching upwards and over edges of the barricades. The sea is parted by the doors of the church but floods forth again on the opposite side. As you wander through Oslo, you will find small puddles and ponds of memorial decor at the Royal Palace, the University, the tiger in front of the Central Station, poking out of holes of rock-walled buildings, the Fortress, City Hall, the Nobel Peace Center and countless other places. The rains and heat have come and gone, blending the love and messages and tears of thousands of people into one melted mass of potpouri. You will still find candles burning. Each day, you find new messages and see new tears. The 77 missing from us are felt and thought of each moment of every day, by a family member or a friend or a stranger. We are all one and the same.

#OsLove, indeed.

There is no way to peace. Peace is the way.

U-Haul'd and Overhauled

2011-07-05T23:16:00.000+02:00

In one week, I feel like my whole life has been overhauled.

After a weekend of boxing and loading and unloading and cleaning, our beloved first apartment in Oslo is no more. I shed a few tears looking at the empty space, the space where we watched our little guy sit, then stand, then walk, then talk for the first time. I thought about the rollercoaster I endured personally in this space and the changes our marriage endured in this space as well. The tears were bittersweet and, although I have been happy and excited to move forward, a part of me will always cherish our tiny home in Majorstua.

The move is now complete...what lies ahead is coated in cardboard and ducktape. Hubby has been working incredibly late hours these weeks, so the Superwoman in me has spent long hours unpacking, decorating, organizing, building furniture, hauling furniture...all on my own (while tending fully to a two-year old). I am exhausted and sore, but happy with the progress. Hubby hasn't set foot in the new place since Sunday and will be incredibly surprised to see how much is accomplished. Really, I am working overtime at this for him...I want him to walk into a beautiful home, not another place he has to work once he's taking time away from his current work. I am officially down to less than ten boxes and, with all the decorating and organizing I am doing, I think I may actually have a little Martha Stuart in me (hopefully the less criminal part).

Baby C has been amazing - incredibly patient (and helpful!). He likes to carry bags and empty boxes from room to room with me. I think he actually feels like his life has been overhauled too...in a good way. He is really spending time in his new room, playing with his toys, looking through the drawers, staring at the pictures on the wall. I think he knows that, for the first time, he has a space all to himself. I have seen the overhaul in each of us, in how we are together, even just in these few days. We have taken long walks in the woods together, had picnics in our new yard, sunbathed on our patio while we have a "school session" of discussing colors, shapes, numbers, animals, etc. We have gardened together, cooked together, unpacked together, and, at the end of the busy morning, Baby C is happily running to his new room to grab his bear and snooze for a couple hours. And in the moments we sit and rest together, he looks at me with these big, beautiful eyes, hugs and kisses me like I hung the moon. He is such an amazing kid. He makes me feel fuzzy inside.

This move is one piece of a series of things that are finally falling into place, most of which I have been waiting on for almost two years. Baby C will start barnehage in less than a month, which frees me to finally begin Norwegian language classes in just over a month. But, I have to say, it isn't just about pushing him out into the world so that I can have freedom to do other things. I can really see his eager intent to understand and learn and speak and communicate. I see his excitement about other people and children. I see him growing up. For months, I have been aching with the thought that he is missing something, that he needs more socialization and learning than I am able to offer him. This week, we visited his new barnehage and I absolutely L.O.V.E. it. The women are amazing, the children are adorable, varied by ethnicity, race, and capabilities, and Baby C already seems to feel comfortable. In fact, we are returning tomorrow for another half day, so that he gets to know the place and people better. I really feel good about this system. If we were to stay in this location, he would remain at this barnehage, with his particular caregiver, until he was 6 years old. As I write this, I picture our walk there yesterday: Baby C running in front of me as fast as his legs could take him, screaming "SCHOOL!" the whole way. Good vibes all around.

In the coming weeks, I will be looking for a part-time job to begin while I am taking classes and voila'! I will soon be able to say that I am fully acclimated into the world of being an expat and Norwegian resident. Baby C will soon get to fully play out his Norwegian childhood. It may burn a little on the uphill stretch, but god, the view is great from here.

On another note, Happy 4th of July! In all the craziness, we missed the wonderful and much-anticipated 4th celebration at Frognerparken. Then again, there is always next year!

Juni Eventyr

2011-06-29T15:10:00.001+02:00

My brain is exhausted. The time spent writing this blog will be tacked on to the many hours today that I've spent intensely focused on an intricate and challenging piece of writing. Thanks to you, I had a reason to be working hard. Thanks to you, I just completed my interview as one of the Top 25 Expat Mom Blogs that will be featured next month by Circle of Moms! I'm honored and grateful and unbelievably excited...thank you! It should be available soon, so I will link to the site once it is.

I haven't blogged in a couple of weeks, but I've had good reason. Partly, I've wanted to use this time to give careful thought to the interview questions (apparently, the feature will be available to approximately 6 million viewers) and felt that writing elsewhere would distract me. I've also been incredibly busy this month meeting with old friends, making new friends, exploring new activities and places in Oslo with Baby C, preparing to move to another (larger!) apartment, getting prepared for Baby C to start barnehage and for me to begin Norwegian language courses (yes, we really have lived here almost two years), and using my little bits of free time to continue April and May's endeavors of working on me. Alas, I neglect the blog when life happens quickly...apologies.

This month has been wonderful and full of adventures; July looks to be just as busy and tons more fun. Ahhh, summer. We will be settled into the new place after the weekend and, although it's further outside the city than I am used to, I think it has all the perfect makings of a beautiful home. I am thoroughly excited about it. In the meantime, I thought I would share a few photos from this month's shindigs and I will return soon to continue the updates, most likely after the move and a couple week's worth of perfect Norwegian vacation.

Please Vote for Me!

2011-06-06T10:32:00.000+02:00

Today is the last day to vote for the Top 25 Expat Mom Blogs! Over the past two weeks, I have been floored by the amount of support and the number of votes for my site. Thank you...it means so much! Currently, I'm holding a spot in the Top 10, but in order for that to continue through the competition's end, I'll need your votes today, as well.

So, if you are stopping by my site today, please take the time to visit the competition through Circle of Moms and cast your vote! Afterwards, take the time to read through the other contestants...there are some great blogs out there! Thank you again and I hope you continue to enjoy reading!

Can We Talk?

2011-06-02T01:21:00.003+02:00

Can we talk?

Can we sit and have a cup of coffee, ignore the world for a while, and get down and dirty in conversation?

I don't want to chat. I don't want to talk about work emails and feeding schedules, late nights and laundry.

Can we, just you and me, grab intimacy by the horns and throw out all those ugly truths that we cover up with our secondary emotions and busy lives?

Can you tell me if you're carrying around regret? I am. What would it be like if we admitted all the things we wish we could have done differently?

If you woke up tomorrow to find that you had lost everything you find important, what would you have lost?

Do you feel safe enough with me to share your most private and embarrassing moments? I once glued my butt cheeks together and then to the bottom of a scalding bathtub for 45 minutes, in a terrible at-home waxing attempt. How about now?

Late at night, when the world is quiet and dark, when the conversations are over and the TV is off, what emotions lie next to you and cradle you to sleep?

Have you mastered the art of forgiveness? What does forgiveness really mean to you? Whom have you not forgiven?

When someone hurts you, how do you treat them afterwards? Do you recognize when you've done wrong? How do you apologize?

What was the last thing that made you laugh aloud and with whom were you sharing that moment? Was it the person you wanted?

What drives you, motivates you, inspires you? What scares the hell out of you?

Do you ever wonder if the fault you place on others belongs closer to home? Do you intend to change that?

What dreams do you have that you're too scared to chase? What dreams feel too impossible to even consider?

How much of an attempt do you put towards questioning yourself - your own thoughts and feelings and actions? Do you take the time to see whether they are rational, healthy, self-destructive, hurtful to those around you? Do you put the effort into really knowing yourself and the type of person you want to be?

What type of person do you want to be?

Are you happy?

Are you brave? Brave enough to take risks? Brave enough to throw everything on the line when you're completely unsure? Brave enough to test your own limits? Brave enough to break the mold and abandon everything that feels comfortable and safe to you? Are you brave enough to choose against failure, even when failure seems like the only option? Are you brave enough to give of yourself past the point at which you think you have anything to give? Are you brave enough to readily, assuredly, honestly, passionately be yourself?

I don't want another twenty-question survey about your favorite movie or whether chocolate or vanilla is your preference. Can we just talk?

Farewell May, Hello June!

2011-06-01T00:43:00.001+02:00

There's something magical about May in Norway...between syttende mai and the start of spring, it seems like there's an air of rebirth, the aura of a new year's start. Almost overnight, the sun appears, green dominates the black and white landscape of the previous seven months, droves of people appear with smiles on their faces. The world returns, dancing to the music, basking in the ever-present light of this time of year, refusing to sleep until the darkness appears again. I love May in Norway...and this year's was just as magical for me as the last.