I sit at home staring across Lake Macquarie; sails in the distance off Coal Point bend to the breeze. Billowing clouds soften a pale blue sky; far away on the southern horizon the colours blend into soft blue grey. Spinnakers in blue and red and black colour the expanse between Toronto on the western shore and Valentine to the east.
It is a year and a week since we walked off our flight from Sweden, one year since we came “home.” After a few months of wandering and wondering we found ourselves a house to rent on the shores of this lovely lake, an expanse of water that covers an area larger than Sydney Harbour. I found a job in a little lakeside community with the unlikely name of Toronto. Just recently Maria too started working in a suburb called Charlestown, between here and central Newcastle.
There are worse places to spend your days. My office at work has huge windows with sweeping views across the water. On Wednesday afternoons there is always a friendly race of grey sailed yachts tacking back and forth across the lake. It is beautiful when I arrive in the mornings while the day is young and fresh. It is even more stunning when the evening sun infuses with life the colours of lake and shore. A few times during the winter months I have witnessed a full moon rising over the lake in the darkness before I have left for home in the evening. Then the lake becomes a magical place.
But for all its wonder, our hearts have not come home. Newcastle is new to us, as is Lake Macquarie, and despite all the beautiful sights around us, we have spent a year struggling to find our feet in a society that feels extremely foreign, and often rather ugly, even for me, the most Australian among us. Missionaries returning home after years abroad often speak of the pain of re-entry, but such pain can await any expatriate returning to his or her land of origin. It can happen to anyone coming “home.” It has happened to us.
We are still in transition. We don’t fit here, not yet, and we wonder sometimes if we ever will. Some days are better than others, but after a year, we still long for our other home, in the cold north. We miss our friends, our town, our jobs, our church… we miss so much. Now as Spring comes to Australia, we find ourselves longing for the colours and chill of autumn in Scandinavia.
I have found it hard to write a blog during the year that is now past. It is hard to write of pain when the decision to come back was ours alone, and we think we should be feeling excitement and joy. We feel vaguely like failures.
Few understand. This sunny southland seems like a promised land to many of our Swedish friends, especially when the Nordic winter seems to drag on and on, the icy winds unwilling to release their grip. We have been there for many winters now and we know well the tedium of the seemingly endless cold. I have longed for Australia many times. So what are we complaining about? Surely we should be just basking in the warmth of the sunny south, not whinging.
For our new friends our complaints and grumbling are not welcome either. If we find things so irritating, why did we come? It is easier to stay silent. It is hard to embrace a city that so many of them think is perfect so many ways. So we can’t gush about how happy we are, because that would be dishonest, but at the same time we can’t whine about our pain and struggle, because people don’t know how to cope with that. So we live in our own little bubble, disconnected in many ways from both the world we left, and the world we have come to.
But I think now that the time has come for me to begin writing again. I like writing. I used to write stuff before the internet, but now I can share my thoughts with anyone who stumbles on this site. It will no doubt be sporadic, but if time for writing eludes me I will post a picture. I named this blog “snapshots and ramblings” after all, so maybe snaps will have to suffice sometimes.
When I write I want to try to be honest, but not too negative. I was talking to Madelene, a Swedish friend and colleague, a week or so back, and she challenged me to think of the good things, the things we can be thankful for. It is not a bad habit to get into, to look for the good, and be thankful. I needed to be reminded.
Perhaps I can begin with some pictures from around here. There is much to lift the spirits as I gaze out from our home, and when I sit in my office doing my job.
Saturday morning. Crisp cold autumn. Fog blankets our little corner of Örebro. The sky above is clear but the blue is barely visible through the white mist. The fir trees that line the ridge that is known as Brickeberg, behind the houses of our suburb, and beyond which is forest, are ghostly outlines in the haze. The grass of our garden and the top of the hedge that separates it from the road are white with frost. A birch tree across the road is laden with golden leaves, but further away the world seems to dissolve into grey scale – black and white. The sun is shining somewhere beyond, trying to burn the mist away, pushing its brightness through the white veil, but still beyond reach, out there.
It is a long time since I have posted on this blog, almost a year. I have thought so many times about beginning to write again, but the longer it goes the harder it gets. It has been a difficult year for our family with many unwanted challenges, some of which remain unresolved. We still live in Sweden, but we think we will not be here much longer. As time draws on we feel the pull of the great southland, our other home, Australia.
It is a little over nine years since we left that hot dry continent and reestablished our lives here. The plan for a temporary sojourn of a few years did not give us time to achieve our goals. We stayed and stayed and despite a year’s respite in the warmth of those southern climes a few years back we found ourselves returning to this cold and dark but intensely beautiful land. Suddenly we began to feel that we had stayed too long, but we were somehow stuck. Extricating ourselves rom our Swedish life has not come easy, and it is far from accomplished. Sometimes we wonder whether it is smart, or even possible…
Our time here has been good and it has been bad. Which is perhaps a picture of life. We have made decisions that have turned out to be right and others that have turned out to be wrong. We rejoice for the successes and are sad for our failures. There are things that we would change if we could turn back time, but life can only be lived forward and so we can only try to avoid the same mistakes.
It is hard to be a family from two nations, two languages, two cultures. Our children are what are nowadays known as third culture kids. They are entering adulthood now and like us, their parents, wonder where they belong. They are not Swedish, they are not Australian. They belong to a third culture, and that is the identity and heritage we have given to them. They are not alone in this. There are millions of kids around the world who leave childhood and embark on life with the same burden, if that is what it is. They carry that idea of themselves for the rest of their lives. I know how that feels because I am one of them, a third culture kid. Sometimes I rejoice for the wonders that it let me experience. Sometimes I weep.
If things go according to plan this will be our last year in Sweden. It is painful to write that, and yet in some ways is a relief. If I am to post blogs in the months that remain they will be written in that context – of winding up, of closing down, of clearing out the debris of the past years. At present I feel no excitement about moving again, finding a new home, establishing new connections and relationships. But I trust that anticipation and excitement will come. It is a strange time.
I peer through the fog beyond our triple glazed windows. The sky is getting brighter and more colours emerge from the black and grey lines. Autumn has been lovely, with little rain and frequent blue skies. The temperature has slipped slowly down toward zero and frosts have really only arrived in the last week. Gloves and hats are pulled once more from storage and we reluctantly realise that winter is just around the corner. If it rains there will soon be ice on the roads and cycling will assume its winter challenge.
Will there be snow before Christmas this year, I wonder?