“You’re so hard on yourself. Take a moment. Sit back. Marvel at your life; at the grief that softened you, at the heartache that wisened you, at the suffering that strengthened you. Despite everything, you still grow.”
– Anonymous
I began today much as any other Sunday- with gratitude for the gorgeous sunshine and fresh breeze streaming through the windows, with wonderings on what I would do with the day, a pang of guilt for sleeping longer than intended. But my calendar has reminded me that today is a special day. Exactly one year ago today, my partner picked me up from eight long, salmon-filled, and strangely therapeutic days in an airport quarantine hotel to begin my life as a governmentally-recognized resident of Norway.
I’ve been in Norway as an official resident for one year now. An entire year. I must let that sink in. There have been so many moments in this process that I never thought this day would come, so tempted to pack up my bags and flee back to a life where things seemed simpler, easier. Even looking back now, it is easy for my mind to pick out all the things I haven’t yet done, haven’t yet accomplished. There’s still so many immigration-related hoops to jump through, obstacles to overcome. But in reality, all that I’ve achieved was no small feat. With endless support from friends, family, and, most especially, my partner, I’ve begun to build the foundations of a life here.
I’ve become more and more proficient in a language spoken by only about .06% of the world’s population. A language in which I can carry on casual conversations in sauna, read the ingredients on labels in the grocery stores, order myself coffees while chatting with the barista, converse with the owners of all the dogs I stop to pet. I’ve landed myself a new, Oslo-based job that allows me to work outside all day, surrounded by plants, muscles burning and hands drenched in earth. A job that I am deeply enjoying, with supportive coworkers and far less stress than other positions I have held. I’ve made a small handful of friends- friends to drink wine with, commiserate with, dream with, laugh with until on the verge of tears. I’ve made it through the worst of an injury that I felt at times would break me. I’ve joined a seaside sauna, starting most of my free days with 90 minutes of early morning sweating and swimming in often ice-cold saltwater.
I’ve explored forests, islands, towns, neighborhoods; navigated train, metro, bus, and tram routes. I’ve unwittingly become a morning person, to which sleeping until 6am is now considered sleeping in. I’ve decorated our home, renovated furniture, repaired broken fixtures and appliances. I’ve taken part in Norwegian holidays, traditions, celebrations. I’ve sifted through and filled out endless documents and paperwork in a foreign language, booked and attended appointments with authorities. I have goals I’m working towards, dreams I’m hoping to realize.
Despite all my nagging doubts and misgivings, I’m getting there.
Many months back, I was asked by a company I was freelancing for to watch a recording of an online business seminar. The topic was something to the effect of integrating AI-based technologies into a small-business platform- not exactly a thrilling prospect for one such as myself with minimal interest in business mechanics or IT. But the man leading the webinar said something that has stuck with me since, a concept meant for the realm of entrepreneurism but applicable to any area of life. He said that people greatly overestimate what they can accomplish in one year but greatly underestimate what they can in three. At the time I saw it as a beacon of hope, a small release of the unceasing pressure that had been building up to do, to create, to accomplish, to succeed.
I still feel this pressure most days, to do more, to be better. I think most of us do. But it’s important to remind ourselves that in so many instances this pressure is self-manufactured. Life is short, yes, but there’s still time enough to breathe. Time enough to celebrate the small victories. Time enough to appreciate where we’re at, regardless of where we want to be.
And so I raise my mug of coffee- to resilience, to this last year abroad, to all I have learned and worked towards. To all the beautiful, steadfast, encouraging people who have helped me to get to where I am at. Soon enough I will turn back to my to-do list, my goals, my dreams for the coming months and years, my confusion and indecision. But for these next moments, now is enough.
A Mermaid Out of Water 