Black Dog Days

So much has happened since I last wrote in this blog. How does one even begin to sum up six years of a life lived, sometimes well, sometimes confusedly? To account for the ins and outs of nearly 2190 days that from here, where I stand today, all seem like a blur, a distant cloud floating away slowly.

I stopped writing sometime in 2011, but I really did abandon the blog and my writing self the year before; any subsequent posts were mere ceremony.

Painting of Black Dog by artist Sally Muir

The end of the blog coincided with my escaping a life in London that felt filled with struggle, unrequited (although I later found out that it was indeed requited) love, friends in crisis and an all too frail sense of self. I was a brittle autumn leaf tumbling around in the giant field that is London, and the sense of being directionless got to me in the end. It really got to me. After months of trying to pull strings to make my life come together, I jumped on the opportunity to escape it all and let go of the loose ends.

I left for another country, to work in an industry (fashion) I would otherwise never have put my foot in. What had felt like an endless uphill in London now seems like a pool of possibility in comparison to what was waiting for me in the new country. Little did I know.

The rosy tainted new life I had envisioned for myself filled with fierce independence, careless fun and financial freedom quickly proved to be none of that. A series of negative events combined with weak resilience can be an effective recipe for blue moods and hopelessness. The disappointment became palpable, and internalized, very quickly. I fell into depression, a topic that is somehow OK to talk about today, but still felt taboo then, six years ago.

What followed were nearly four years of a vacuum, where my dreams and hopes felt like they were no more, and I fell deeper and deeper into the maze that depression can be. I need not to fill you in on the details, but I look back at that period as the vacuum years, when it felt like someone had pulled the plug on the light inside of me.

A few things got me back on track, slowly but steadily: I credit Mad Men for bringing intelligence and drive back on my radar; sitting in my sofa in my depression PJ's watching Don Draper and Peggy Olsen battle their inner and outer dilemmas through an intelligent and highly emotive script reminded me that there still was a world out there where thoughts and feelings mattered. Where it was acceptable to want things, dream of a life, to own one's desire. But above all, where being human was acceptable, interesting even. It nudged me with its message of that perfection doesn't exist, that imperfection is what makes us and the world go round.

Reading, mainly self help books, was a godsend. As someone who loves books and literature, I had somehow become allergic to reading during my dark depression years; I couldn't handle the emotions evoked by the words on the page. So I stopped. Luckily, a few books found their way to me eventually, and I started hoping for a life that was different, maybe even joyful, again.

I have later come to know that I also suffered from PTSD, or post traumatic stress disorder, but that's something I'll save for another time.

The important thing is that I got out of it, and I later had a massive Aha-moment that made me change my life substantially. I will write about all of that.

With what felt like tiny steps at the time, I managed to take actions that forced me out of my vacuum and away from the black dog that is depression. It wasn't easy at first, but it was doable - that's what matters.

Good reading on depression

• Mindfulness for Black Dogs and Blue Days: Finding a Path Through Depression, by Richard Gilpin
• Reasons to Stay Alive, by Matt Haig

The Magic of Life.

There I was, again engaged in conversation with yet another neuroscientist explaining just exactly what his area of research is, how intrinsic the exploration is in order to explain something that to must of us is fairly obvious. Standing there, feeling torn between my two selves: the enthusiastic listener, intrigued whenever someone is conveying their passion for what they do, and the life embracing dreamer who does not want everything to be explained in minute detail. Who loves the mystery of life, the bits that we cannot pinpoint, the intuition, the kismet, the flow and the otherworldly drive that is such a natural part of our every day lives, if only we choose to listen.

I smiled politely, nodded my head, sipped my drink. Thought of the next clever question to ask that would prove that yes, I am still listening. But the question I really yearned to ask in that moment was why? Why do we need to know all this? How is it important that we know exactly what happens in the brain when we see movement that we like? And is life long enough for us to constantly be zooming in, and not out?

Torn, because I don't want to sound like a science denying creationist. I too have benefitted from science's many brilliant discoveries. But just as with smartphones and sophisticated apps intended to make our lives easier, I want to turn around and say no, thank you, I know how to live my life without all those added extras. My sleep was fine before the inventions of sleep apps, and it will continue to be fine even when I choose not to have a gadget measure my deep vs. light sleep.

Where is the world that celebrates beauty for the sake of beauty? Where words are magical and presented in front of an audience in awe? The moment we feel that we have to break that awe down into small processes, measurable and up for analysis, that's the moment where I will retract, into my cabin in the woods of the mind, where nothing else than distilled life, life in its essence, is allowed.

In the madness that is the online world, with its many media, opinions, tweets, posts, shares and what have you, it's easy to feel like you're the only one who is harboring these thoughts and emotions. But, I subtly know that somewhere, this is the bottomline. All that searching for the perfect life and the perfect experience, it's really about searching for what we already have from the moment we are created. A sense of awe. A moment of admiration. A few minutes of goosebumps because the music is just that beautiful. A flutter in the heart from the gaze that you've dreamed of. The chill from an exquisitely well
composed sentence.

In those moments, we live, we are complete. And in those moments, there's nothing that is bigger or more important. And that is this thing we call life.

A New Voice.

How funny. How very funny. And yet, not funny at all, but moving, emotional and beautiful.

I rediscovered this blog, my own blog, after over five years of absence. Almost six. I went through posts, scrolled back, clicked 'Older Posts' more times than what is probably healthy in one reading go. As I clicked, I was rediscovering myself, one blog post at a time. My old self, but also my true self.

There I was, on the page, filled with creativity, beautiful words and above all, thoughts that were just mine. Five years later, a bit wiser, a bit more experienced, but a little bit less naive, I look at what I created back then, and see myself as the girl who just didn't know, or wouldn't accept, that she had it all. Everything that I needed was there for me to grab, but I was afraid to stand up and say 'yes, please - I'll have one of those'.

How funny too, that I after I gave up blogging those years ago, I also gave up writing. Life became bleak. I felt bleak, even though I clearly can't have been. My five, nearly six, year silence led to all sorts of silences. My soul, crumpled up inside, has been crying and craving that space to be seen, heard and felt. That space on the page reserved just for her.

When I write, I exist. It's really true. And so, perhaps I'll do something unusual here and start again, with my old friend The Blog. Perhaps she'll get a bit of a revamp. Perhaps not. Perhaps I'll give myself another name. Perhaps I'll take a few of the old posts away, or no - I'll let them stay. No matter what I do, I will write. I will honour the fact that I found my way back to this blog, exactly when I needed it the most. Because that's one thing that I have come to trust, utterly and completely, and that is that things happen for a reason.

I can't wait to share all the things that have happened, but more than anything, the things that I've learned.

Until next time, I won't wait too long.

When you run out of words,

You can let the images speak. I ran out of words, the well's empty.

It's a strange feeling, when writing is a part of who you are. Maybe this the beginning of something new?

Oh, how lovely.

Dance, dance, dance... There's nothing like it. I've never seen it quite in this form before, and watchable in 3D? Fantastic! Pina Bausch was a great choreographer, and this is a tribute film to her. I love the fresh feel of it, the new and funny takes on human situations in every day life. Beautiful!

For Twothousandandeleven.

Let George do the talking. Happy New Year everyone!!

Can't Wait.

To see 'Somewhere', by Sofia Coppola. It just looks so freaking promising. Don't you think? And oh, a perfect film to start off the new year with. There's just something about the worlds she creates that's almost spell binding. Funny thing is, I remember seeing Stephen Dorff at a hotel in New York a couple of years ago, wondering what ever happened to him and his career. The way you often do in New York. Somehow, this seems to be the perfect part for him. Sometimes, things just fall into place, don't they?

Looking forward to this one.

 

 

All images copyright Focus Features.

I've cleansed.

And made room for new beginnings. New names, titles, words. Or continuation of beginnings that were new not too long ago. A new year is ahead of us, and it's time to take a deep breath, and dive in. With joy, hope, force, dreams and action. Above all, action. This is how I'm approaching 2011. What about you?

To be Mailed ASAP

Christmas cards are one of the best things about the holidays, don't you think?

I was very pleasantly surprised over my find this year, from the little shop at the Victoria & Albert Museum here in London. I love museums, I love cards, it's a match made in heaven. Just look at these pretty ones:

Insomnia at it's best

Sometimes I can't sleep. Tonight is one of those nights. No matter how hard a try, or how many sheep I count while forcing my eyes to stay closed, I can't sleep.

Instead, I start thinking about things that at the moment seem to weigh heavier in importance than my precious hours of sleep. Such things as say, oh I don't know, the future. I think and I think, I turn dilemmas inside out, I dream whilst awake, and it's not an altogether unpleasurable experience. But it is not helping me sleep.

There are however, I notice, a few beneficial things about not sleeping:

1. Getting things done. Whatever they may be.
2. Getting those little moments of clarity which are not seldom brought on by insomnia, let's call them nightly aha moments if you will. Suddenly, actions that need to be taken following morning are very clear.
3. Surfing without guilt. It's not like you have anywhere to be at 3 in the morning. I hope.
4. There really isn't a fourth point, but there could be. I'm sure you can think of one.

It's All in the Neighborhood

Perfect names for perfect little roads.

When I lived in New York, the best days were the ones where I didn't have to leave my neighborhood.

Time spent living in a huge city today is pretty much divided into two parts, not always in an equal measure: 

 The part where you work, make use of the hectic subway system at what feels like a gazillion miles an hour, carry your heavy load of bags onto the next destination as you're swooshing through the tunnels, diligently pressing as many to dos' into your busy hours as possible. That's hectic part, the busy big city one that makes people crave the country side and chirping birds after a while.

Then there's the other part. The one where you don't have to leave your neighborhood. Those days when you don't have a single bus or train to get on, but you're actually able to do everything that you need to do locally, in your own little assembly of blocks and high street or two. I do think those are the best days.

In New York, I lived in Brooklyn. Now, anyone who's ever made the bridge crossing over to this fantastic borough knows that this is one of the places where real life takes place in New York. The life of families with children growing up, struggling artists and people just arrived in the city. Those who are fortunate enough to be in New York but not yet able to enjoy views of Central Park from their living room. Brooklyn is charming, real, old and carries a history that would inspire anyone to write a novel or two. And it feels just like home, to anyone. Some days, I miss Brooklyn so very much.

In London, I'm experiencing the same phenomenon as in New York: The days when I'm liberated from riding the oh so claustrophobic metro system are the best days. The days that I get to spend watching the leaves turn yellow then brown in a park somewhere are the ones I keep looking forward to. I'm yet to find my Brooklyn, my hood here, but I know it's out there waiting for me, ready to embrace me and my local days. 

Things that I've taken a liking to so far about London:

Lovely brick apartment buildings. Oh to have a room of one's own in that one!

Quirky shops with quirky shop windows.

Hampstead Heath, the one and only.

Last but certainly not least, the perfect front door.

PS, take a look at this inspiring Brooklyn Brownstone, found via A Cup of Jo.

Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.

Those are the words of Albert Einstein.

If there's one thing I've promised myself here in life, it's to live with no regrets. I do not ever want to be wondering what would have happened had I only done this thing here, and said yes to that other one there.

So far, I've been pretty good about my determined philosophy of life. There are times when I have let my fears take the better part of me, and I have run away from things that were new, and therefore frightening.

Do I regret it? You bet. That's why I keep reminding myself every day to say yes to the unknown, to forgive myself for my mistakes and realize that they are the ones who made and continue to make me who I am.

What are your thoughts on mistakes?

I Knew the Way you Know About a Good Melon.

From when Harry met Sally. Get's me every time.

Crossroads

Sometimes the universe doesn't whisper, it shouts. As if it would have taken a cue from Thom Yorke and Radiohead, it blasts its message out for you to stop, turn around and listen.

Today was one of those days.

At work, a woman looked me in the eye and said: I don't see you working here. You shouldn't be working here. She went on to ask me: Where do you see yourself in five years?

Baffled, I was completely caught off guard. At the same time I felt immensely grateful for having been seen, so effortlessly, instinctively, so accurately, by a complete stranger. Sometimes when we think we're invisible, masters of disguise even, we're as transparent and translucent as the clearest body of water.

I immediately knew what she was talking about, and we started a conversation. She then went on and quoted something that I will never forget, something that I from this day on always will carry with me:

Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there.

Never better said. Never better heard. Just at the right moment.

So when the speakers are on, we better pay attention. And listen.


Photo

Super Duper Genius Read

Even though I get the feeling no one is really reading this blog anymore, I will be brave and continue to produce my (however sporadic) posts. Let's face it, I could totally be more ambitious and hard working here. I could be spending my hours making comments on my fellow blogger's blogs, in order so that they can comment on mine, and we would all be one happy blog family. But I don't. Lately, I've chosen the egotistical path, the path of only posting, and not commenting. Hence my echoing, empty commentary fields. I'm so sorry, precious readers!

Anyway, I have a very special read to recommend. Super Sad True Love Story. It's by this New York writer Gary Shteyngart. He's kind of a genius, and also a professor at Columbia University. Watch the video below to see him teach James Franco, among others. He encompasses today's western culture perfectly by twisting us into this absurd yet truthful, media obsessed crowd in a future not too distant from here. Where we're all constantly attached to our 'äppäräts', little devices not much unlike today's iPhones or Blackberrys, only you can get ALL your information from them. About anything, and anyone.

This novel has already been widely acclaimed, hyped, über-reviewed and I bet half of New York has already read it, but I can't stop myself from sharing. It's that good. And it's kind of a love story.

If you've read it, let me know what you think!

Don't Wait

"Now is the accepted time, not tomorrow, not some more convenient season. It is today that our best work can be done and not some future day or future year. It is today that we fit ourselves for the greater usefulness of tomorrow. Today is the seed time, now are the hours of work, and tomorrow comes the harvest and the playtime.” 

W. E. B. Du Bois quote

London Fest

In a way, London is like this giant house party where the hosts never intended or expected for so many people to show up. You know one of those late night parties where you enter the hallway and are met by a mountain of shoes, coats and a big, tipsy crowd trying to make their way through a slightly too small apartment?

I don’t think it’s just me. London needs to man up a little bit. It needs to revamp itself, get ready and get on it. On moving here, I keep seeing situations that remind me of this.

Some things never change.

This is a huge city. It’s a city of roughly eight million people, and yet it feels like it’s only ever prepared room for about half its’ faithful inhabitants. If even. Wake up London, you’re a metropolis! This is a territory that normally comes with some responsibility. 

Whatever coffee shop you may find yourself in here in town, whatever tube car you may be riding, chances are big (read: huge) there’s just not going to be any room for you. Nothing personal.

I’m yet to walk in to one of this city's many Starbucks (just don’t ask me why) to find a table waiting or even just a chair for me, even though the place may have fifteen or twenty of them. Mac Donald’s? Forget about it. Not that that’s a place you would want to spend any considerable amount of time hanging out at anyway, but you get the picture. If I’m going to have fries, I’d like to have them sitting down.

Wishful thinking.

There’s just too much people in relation to space in this city, and London is yet to match the demand with some decent supply. If New York can do it, then so can you, London. So please stop talking about your big cousin in the west and how amazing it is and realize that your sitting on a gem here, and it’s a gem that needs your attention. Get your ass moving. It would be a shame to let this wonderfully quirky and ancient city fall behind just because some public school trained politicians who never actually stepped inside a tube car in their life wouldn’t get the big picture. Because let’s face it. It’s big. It’s huge. And it’s not going to get any smaller, so I think it’s time to do something about it.

Ideas, anyone?

On London and Wellies

The forecast said rain today, and so I put on my wellies. As a newcomer, I thought it was the right thing to do. (Yes, I've learned to call rain boots by their proper British nickname). The forecast says rain most days here, but I don't put on my wellies every day. But today was a day when I did, and well, I discovered something. People don't wear wellies here in London. If you're over the glorious age of seven, you don't wear rain boots. Doesn't matter that the wellies keep getting trendier and trendier, you can only wear them if not wearing them means you'll be swimming home instead.

The prospect of rain hangs like a permanent giant cloud over London, and so I guess people just get tired of being bothered by it. Instead they just pop out their umbrellas if they have one, or walk unprotected through the raindrops happy as ever, should it really start raining. 
I also suspect that it's not cool to wear wellies in the city. I suspect that's why I felt like people were looking at me not much different as if I had been a hiker from outer space trying to navigate the (perfectly dry) streets of a cloudy London.

Lesson learned. Wellies are cool on rock festivals. In the forest. When hunting rabbits at some estate (and I would never). Not in the city. 

Pic from stylebakery.com, and flickr.com.

For New Beginnings and Shades of Grey

Because sometimes, life can't wait. Because sometimes, you have to move on. And you have to do it now, in this very moment.

And so, I did. I moved on. I moved to London. And it feels amazing!

I took a leap of faith and just did it. Like Nike says how to do it. And so I hope you'll forgive my long absence here on the blog and come with me on this new journey instead. Because you're cordially and lovingly invited.

Today, the color grey never looked better.

Hermione's Stockholm, Part 1

When it comes down to it, it's not so easy to pick what should be in this Stockholm guide of mine. With knowing something truly well also comes a certain blindness - so forgive me if I've left something out. Here are some of Stockholm's main attractions, a more personal take on the city will come soon!

Djurgården

I start with a park. A green park. A huge park. If Central Park are the lungs of New York City, then Djurgården must well qualify as the lungs and heart of Stockholm. Not really a park in the traditional sense, but a perfectly landscaped area consisting of islands, surrounded by water and filled with masses of green. Djurgården is what I would like to call the crown jewel of Stockholm, home to royal geese and one of Europe's finest running paths (at least according to many enthusiastic joggers). This area is not to be missed. It can be crowded on the weekends, but so worth the visit. Once there, don't miss the Rosendal Botanical Garden, or the equally pink and charming Rosendal Castle. Why not even rent a canoe and make the round the water way? On a sunny day, this is an unbeatable little outing.

Skansen

Located on Djurgården, this is a must see if you like zoo animals, old buildings and movie like sets - this is truly worth a visit. For a historical and fun view of Sweden, you've come to the right place. I can also recommend the fun activities they have for kids and grown ups alike, specially the mini car tracks!

Berns

Hotel and restaurant, and legendary hangout of equally legendary Swedish writer and artist August Strindberg. The "Röda Rummet" (The Red Room) has changed little during the last hundred years, and it's as great going there for burch as well as an intimate dinner. Enjoy!

Svenskt Tenn

Visitors and locals interested in Scandinavian design tend to end up here. Fun fabrics (with elephants on!) and sleek furniture, it's a nice visit. Carl Malmsten and Josef Frank are some of the main designers behind.

Konstnärsbaren

Excellent food, excellent service, and a long history of artistic visitors. This has always been a low key place attracting local artists and restaurant goers alike. Quite a must, try the Toast Skagen, you won't regret it!

Livrustkammaren

Fun museum where you can see old, original costumes and knight gear (for real!) of the royals of Sweden's historical past. Located inside the Royal Palace, this is quite fascinating, and definitely worth it if you're into costumes and fashion. 

Moderna Museet
The best museum in Stockholm, it boasts a small but great collection of modern art. Located on the beautiful little island of Skeppsholmen, this is a place to wander around and absorb the great atmosphere created by the buildings architecture. Just make sure to stay away from the restaurant, as it's quite awful:).