At 33, after 4 1/2 years of a long-distance relationship, and 7 years of a career in international women’s human rights, I decided to pick up my life and move to Sweden - the land my fiancé hails from (ironic, as I hate the cold).
The leaving process was a lot like a death. I was leaving the town I grew up in (minus 3-4 years living abroad during/after college). I was leaving my family - most of whom I could reach within 5 minutes driving. I was leaving my career, which up until I met my fiancé, was what I was married to. And, finally, I was leaving my friends. While most of my friends live all over the world, there are still a few in my home town who I remain very close to.
My heartache was indescribable. On the one hand I was going to live, full-time, with the love of my life. After years of plane trips, planning, and dreaming, we were finally going to be together permanently. On the other hand, I had to let go of the life I had built for myself. The process was like slowly ripping a bandaid off. Everyday we tugged at the edges a bit more. Until the departure day finally arrived.
Saying those goodbyes were by far, one of the hardest things I have ever done. Hugging my Grandmother who is 87 and feeling here soft hands in mine, telling my 10 year-old niece that I would always be there for her - even from a distance, holding my god(dess) daughter for the last time, leaving my office and colleagues after years of collectively working towards the fulfillment of women’s human rights, sharing last words with my family members and friends, and watching my lovely Rocky Mountains disappear behind us as we rode towards the horizon and the airport.
Our priorities and attachments change as we get older. While leaving my family when I was 19 to travel the globe was hard, it didn’t have the same impact that this goodbye did. Building homes and careers and watching elders in your family age or babies be born, makes the notion of leaving a bit less tangible. This move was no exception.
It’s a well-know fact that we are habitual creatures and become comfortable in our routines. We often spend years, or lifetimes, building our communities. We basically know where we are going at all times.
As a result of my career, I had traveled the globe, worked in war zones, been in bombings, escaped violent protests, and worked with some of the most incredible women human rights defenders in the world. Therefore, living in a new country should come easy to me. Learning a new language would be exciting. Rediscovering my talents would be rewarding. And making friends would be simple.
While all these new opportunities are blessings unto themselves, I somehow forget the important role my friends play in my daily life. Suddenly, after a more than full-time job and a busy social life, I was quiet. The buzz of life had crept to a whisper. And while I occupied my time with yoga, writing, walking and cooking, some moments required the warmth and ear of a good friend.
My partner is amazingly supportive and has made the move as painless as possible. He helped to ensure I had many things set up when I got here and was always willing to lend a hand or a shoulder to cry on. But, our partners cannot be the only ones we rely on. It is healthy to have friends outside our relationships, friends we can go crazy with, wear wigs with, dance our brains out with, geek out with and cry with. And while I still have many friends all over the world, I suddenly found myself alone in our apartment on many an afternoon.
I always prided myself on being a person who made friends easily, and not just acquaintances, but lifelong friends. However, the older I get, this seems to get harder for some reason. Maybe I’m just not that gregarious anymore. Or perhaps it’s the language barrier that makes me a bit skittish when approaching Swedish people for conversation. Or maybe it’s a daytime issue, sans alcohol?
All this got me thinking about how we make friends and how making friends is a lot like... dating. Unlike childhood, where school and activities produced the perfect friend-making environment, when you grow up your circles sometimes shrink as your routine may not force you to interact with new people. Or, as in my situation, you move halfway around the world, and need to build a new community. And this means you have to put yourself out there, much like you do when you are dating. In some ways, I was newly single again.
On the first day of my yoga class, I met a woman after class who struck up conversation in Swedish. We briefly chatted about the heat and intensity of the class. ‘Hej da’ (Goodbye) I said, as she left. I felt happy. It was a simple interaction, but it reminded me how important social interaction is. I wondered if this would be just an acquaintance or if she might become a friend. Much like dating, it’s hard to tell during those first few interactions.
As the weeks went on, I would see this woman at yoga from time to time. We would chat about small subjects, mostly yoga, and how we were doing. Slowly, the conversations broadened to include what we did outside of yoga, and then I mustered up the courage to ask her to ‘fika’ (coffee). And, similar to dating, I was nervous! Why I felt this way I have no idea, but I speculate that it is the uncomfortable feeling we get when we are in a new environment and unsure of the protocol for social interaction. Or, a bit like dating, we are unsure what the other person’s response will be. When does light conversation at yoga shift to coffee afterwards? Is it when you discover that you have more in common than yoga? Or does it shift when you recognize that you have discussed enough topics to render your interaction positive based on common interests? I remember feeling this way when I was dating. A bit unsure of what might happen when you cross the line from simple greetings to the next step in human connection.
On another day at the yoga studio (I know, I’m there all the time), a very gregarious, loud, man from the U.S. was sharing his thoughts with a fellow classmate. I was drawn to the familiarity of his outward nature (unlike most Swedish people) and his flamboyant presence. I missed my community and immediately had the urge to break into his conversation. His eagerness to almost shout about his boyfriend who won’t marry him, his bowel issues during the class, his contempt for the Swedish laundry system in apartment buildings, his lack of awareness of all people around him (or his desire for them all to hear), was so comfortable and homey to me. I realized, with horror, that I was missing that barbaric North American culture (not to be confused with the typical N. American tourist culture), on some surreal, and almost unrecognizable level.
As I listened on, he would occasionally glance at me smiling, as if he knew I was listening and liked it. I wanted to shout ‘Hey, you’re from San Francisco? I love San Francisco! I think the laundry system here is weird too!’ But, instead, I shrunk back into the couch. I realized that the woman he was talking to was his friend. I’m sure he already had a gaggle of friends, as it appeared he had been in Sweden for a while. When your friendship circles are overflowing, do you really want to invite a newbie into the picture? And, just like that, I felt like I was dating all over again. This time the scenario was similar to when you want to chat someone up, but they are with someone else and you aren’t sure if it’s their partner. Here this man was, talking to this woman, and instead of thinking ‘is that his partner?’, I was thinking ‘is that his friend?’. Was this like hitting on someone else’s friend? Was it poor form to slip my way into their established banter?
Would I come off as too eager, or even needy, if I interjected into his conversation purely because some cultural genetic link bound us in a filthy display of U.S. culture? Did I really want this guy, who was kind of obnoxious, as a friend? Or, was I just attracted to his very outspoken presence? Either way, it felt like I was on the prowl for a partner... and I quickly remembered how awful dating could be at times. At least this didn’t involve those ridiculously high-heels I used to wear.
With all the Facebook, Twitter, My Space, and Blogspot, social network mediums out there, have we lost our ability to make friends in person? Have we crawled so far down the tech tubes that we find ourselves living safely, albeit individualistically, in the web-womb? Has online dating, turned into online friending?
Does it take moving across the world to remember how, simple comments/exchanges, can lead to lasting friendships? Or has the vulnerability of real life become too hard to swallow now that we live so virtually? As hard as it is, I prefer the uncomfortable and often awkward moments that signify the sparks of in-person friendship, over the profile proselytizing that has become the modern online community. While putting myself ‘out there’ again feels a bit like being on the prowl, at least I know I can still ask someone to ‘fika’ and live to tell the tale. And maybe, I'll even find friends to 'wig' out with here in Stockholm.
