This post is a bit more about what life is like for an immigrant in a new country, mostly what my take on it has been.
Four years ago, as of June, I made the trip to Norway with nothing but my suitcase and a whole lot of uncertainty along with a one way ticket and no going back. Bridges had been burned and I was determined to make the future I had envisioned for myself a reality. Looking back I was young and bordering foolish, but with some odd luck things had managed to work out okay. It was tough to get a job, even harder to survive an interview without feeling tears prick my eyes, but it all came around. Lord knows I’m not done yet…. I’m not here to talk about the troubles, the countless CV’s and the handful of interviews, nor am I here to complain that it is all too hard to get people to say your name properly, this is about moving forward and finding a common ground.
It is one thing to leave your homeland to find a better future, a calmer place to set down roots and grow to your potential. It is another thing to have this itch to be somewhere new, to find a place that fits who you are. I’m a mix of the two.
When you leave your homeland you never leave that sense of pride. Look at my country, look what my family has done there. That is something that will never fade, I still fly the flag on “flag days” and no matter who I meet I haven’t been ashamed to say I am an American. But after my last trip to the US I noticed something. I wasn’t smiling at strangers and greeting people with, “How are you?” I wasn’t doing the small “American” things that I felt were everyday and almost needed. I wasn’t holding doors for people, chatting with strangers, commiserating as we wait on line to buy our groceries…..I was being more, well, Norwegian. I was avoiding eye contact, getting slightly uncomfortable when people started to chat with me, and worst of all, answering “How are you” honestly… Then came time to return to Norway, which I had found myself becoming extremely homesick for. When I landed in Norway I realized that maybe I was -too- American to ever mask myself as a Norwegian.
And so began a slight identity crisis.
Can you imagine? An absolute identity crisis. Who was I? Really? Was I still American? Was I the stereotypical American? Was I a Norwegian now? And why have I finally admitted that Kvikk Lunsj is better Than Kit-Kats? What was happening?
Immigration. The hidden perks of being an immigrant. The things they don’t tell you about. (Who are -they- I haven’t a clue)
After a few months I realized that I probably would never drop my accent when I speak Norwegian, I would probably never understand people from Kristiansand, I’d also probably never fully shed my American friendliness. What to do about it? I, personally, decided the only way to move out of my self imposed crisis was to embrace who I had become. My ancestors didn’t move from Germany, Switzerland and Ireland and remain fully immersed in their old cultures and languages. They had embraced the US but never let go of their old ways. Why should I do any different? I have picked and chosen which parts of my American culture I liked, smiling at strangers, talking to everyone as though they are a friend and for some unfortunate Norwegians I’ve held on to hugging people (sorry not sorry -I do warn people to give them fair chance-), but I’ve also taken on the Norwegian aspects I enjoy, asking “How are you” and honestly meaning to hear the honest answer, taking family bonds as friends. Looking back on it, friendships in the US are more ‘bonded’ than those in Norway and I’ve concluded that is due to the fact that most of our American families are descended from immigrants who had left their families and longed to fill that hole with love.
Recently I’ve seen on social media groups some people going through the exact same thing I have, a total loss of self. It gets better, and you find yourself again, it just takes time. I felt completely alien to Norwegian culture for the longest time, though I tried my best to be fully immersed in it. Then I felt abandoned by my American culture because I wanted to be the plucky American again. I wanted to write this, as one immigrant to another, that you’ll get your spunk back, you just have to find the right balance. If that means finding a book club of your fellow expatriates, then so be it. Don’t get discouraged by your own accent, take it as a sign of where you’ve come from and how far you are going to go.
Just think of the places you’ll go….
Oh shit, it's på norsk! 