What we give up, what we let go of...

Oatmeal. I know it seems ridiculous, but it's true. I thought about bringing my own oatmeal just in case, but realized as the packing continued, that my small desires were getting out of control. So I left it behind – good old fashioned BIG oats. And I came to Sweden, where Erik assured me they had oatmeal too.

The whole situation is perhaps even more ridiculous because I've hated oatmeal since I can remember. To me it was a snotty, disgusting, excuse for food. However, once you hit your thirties, things change. At least they did for me. Your body changes (well this starts at 25) and, the things you want to put in your body change. Oatmeal is really good for you. So at 33 I decided to give it another go. And guess what? I liked it! So only about six months after getting back together with oatmeal, I was suddenly leaving for a new country and worried that my new food would not be found, or be the same as my trusty brand I had become so attached to. But the truth is, you can't hold onto the oatmeal. You HAVE TO LET IT GO. Really. It's like letting go of the comfort you feel in your home, in your bed, in your clothes, in your oatmeal. And, when you decide to move across the world, there is nothing left to do but let go of these attachments, and, ultimately the expectation that your oatmeal will be the same. So I let go and, left the oats behind.

Day 1 shopping in Sweden: We got to the oatmeal aisle and I looked with scrutiny at the packages I couldn't understand. Erik was looking out to make sure we got me one without gluten (intolerant). We decided on some brand that came in a paper-like sack – much like flour comes in the US. Hmmm... this cannot be right I thought silently, but pressed on.

One day, after yoga, I decided to try the oatmeal. I had been avoiding it like the plague – so concerned that it wouldn't' be my old oatmeal. And, it wasn't. The oats were all broken, sad, little buggers. And as I cooked it it was mushy instead of textured and hearty. Grrr... this isn't what I wanted, I thought to myself. And it wasn't. I ate it begrudgingly. Oddly, by the end of the bowl something happened. It didn't taste as funny and the texture didn't upset me as much. Could I actually start liking this new kind of oatmeal? Surely not.

Today, after an intense Bikram yoga class and then trudging through the freezing cold and snow home, I decided to eat oatmeal to warm my innards. As I began making it the strangest thing happened, I started getting excited to eat it. It was over the flaming burner of my gas range, with those broken oats in a deciliter measuring cup, that I let go of my past attachment and accepted my new oatmeal.

I know the story is funny, and may seem trivial, but it's not. It's a metaphor for what life has been like for me so far in Sweden. This isn't to say that Sweden is so different from the US, because at least food-wise, you can get almost everything you would in the US. However, it's the little differences that I realized I was so attached to. Ultimately, I had to accept that I wouldn't have my family shipping me oats when they had them at the grocery down the street.

As I sat down to eat my oatmeal, I took a deep breath and honored this small reminder about letting go. As soon as I let go, that bite, although it seemed different at first, slowly became enjoyable.