That Iceland FAQ You've Probably Been Waiting For

Hi, internet! I thought I'd post a preliminary Iceland FAQ as a little thank you present for those of you who have been following my life's little journey lately. Especially since, ya know, it's been nearly two months so I'm a total expert now and I'm definitely fluent in Icelandic and I know everything. And I'm hoping that you've detected the sarcasm, because I'm laying it on pretty thick. Although, for the record, ég tala ekki íslensku but also ég þekkja...some words. I really put the "enska" in "íslenska" and if you get that, then you're probably just about as familiar (or way more familiar) with Icelandic as I am so far. We'll make it through. Solidarity.

Speaking of Icelandic, our first question is...

1. Are you learning the language? It seems IMPOSSIBLE!

Jæja, já. I'm trying, at least! Luckily, the courses I've selected are taught in English, but Icelandic is spoken frequently in the field and (obviously) it's spoken everywhere else around here. There are a few Icelandic courses offered through the university, but I've opted to self-educate, at least this semester. There are some great modules available online but I've mostly been using my favorite language-learning app: Memrise. Shoutout to my fellow expat Shannon for sharing this tip with me last year in Belgium! I've been chugging away at German for the past year via Memrise, and now I've added Icelandic to the list. I go slowly; I do a few words each day and eventually, I can start understanding grammar and sentence structure. Turns out,  Icelandic, English, and German (duh) are all Germanic languages so it's interesting to see where they converge and diverge. Also, all three of these languages are frequently spoken in my life right now, so it's been really helpful to slowly learn but then have the opportunity to actively listen to and engage with my peers. They're great help!

2. Can I come visit?!!!??!?!????

Uh, YES. Bring ranch.

3. No really; I know that you're busy with school, but I've been thinking about Iceland for a while and I wondered if I could come visit?

Uh, YES. Bring ranch. Although...Margy has already been by and brought cans of pumpkin and a bunch of ranch, so I'm set! Right now, I'm missing bigger things like the Appalachian mountains and my car, so if you could bring those, that would be rad.

In all seriousness, you're always welcome. I'm happy to provide airfare tips if necessary, as "getting there" has never been easier! As per my landlord, I can host you free of charge for up to five nights in Reykjavík. I live in a downtown flat just up Njarðargata from Hallgrímskirkja with two Germans, two Frenchies, one Brit, one Fin, and a Spanish guy. We also have two Icelanders in a separate basement flat. However, you're going to want to get out of town and go on some adventures. As beautiful as RKV can be, it's not the only thing you'll want to see! I can come on adventures with you if you want and as my schedule allows, but it's all up to you. And speaking of my schedule, it's surprisingly flexible! Turns out, taking a few days (read: weeks) off of work is completely normal, and sometimes even encouraged as a valuable act of self-care. Let's hear it for Scandinavia! 

Depending on how you plan your trip, you can either use RKV as a home base and do trips from there and come back, or you can move every few nights. It's really up to you, and I'd be happy to help you plan your stay and provide some tips based on what I've seen. Keep in mind; I've been in Iceland a total of 9 weeks over my life, and I haven't been on holiday that whole time so I certainly haven't seen everything; not even close! But hopefully, some of you will be able to come around and we can take some of those adventures together!

4. Your pictures are amazing; are you really traveling that much, or are you just posting a few pictures every day?

Hah, you got me. I try to get out of town as much as possible, but of course, I have to do things like go to school and do my research...and laundry! Some of my research and coursework requires that I leave town because I've picked a field that is so hands-on. This is really new for me (because, ya know, astrophysics) and I've really liked this so far!

But, most days are spent in sunny (hahahahahaha) Reykjavík. I've joined some student groups that allow me to get out and hike in other places, and I have an amazing grad school adviser that has driven me around south Iceland and shown me some cool things, but I spend most of my time in RKV. While I'm out of town, though, it's impossible to just take one or two photos. I usually come home with hundreds, and spend the next couple of weeks posting favorites. I'm not much of a photo album gal anymore; I've tended to gravitate towards posting one or two per day and I let Instagram organize them into an album for me. It's a little showy of me, I know, but it also allows me to give proper attention to some of the amazing things I've been fortunate enough to see, and it gives you all a glimpse into my life, one snapshot at a time! Although, it is annoying having to manage my Instagram schedule to accommodate the fact that most of you are four to seven hours behind me so...speed it up, North America. #firstworldproblems

5. Your pictures look a little too good...I'm skeptical.

Well...you should be. Instagram has some built-in magic that helps me get the lighting and color just right...duh! But out of another vein, there's no way that even my spruced-up Insta photos can even compare to some of the scenery around here. It's a stunning combination of light, color, fire, ice, sunlight, steam, and sheep. Also, norðurljós! The northern lights here are actually ridiculous. So ridiculous that even long exposure photographs don't do them justice, which is a new concept for me. When we'd photograph northern lights in the Badlands, for example, they were always far more structured and colorful than what we were able to see in real life. But, that's about 20 degrees of latitude south of where I am now, and up here in the auroral oval, northern lights are no joke. You can actually see the red line emission, you can see structure, and you can see motion. It's incredible, and I have to stop talking about it now so that I don't get overly emotional and keep this run-on sentence going for several more lines and then probably start crying and laughing at the same time and then have to take a nap. Yeah, they're that good.

6. What do you eat? Is food really that expensive?

It depends! In short, we don't eat out. Or rather, we eat out on very special occasions like birthdays or the end of exams or during a festival. To be fair, restaurant costs can vary from what our "normal" is in the US, to high-end prices for a mid-range restaurant experience. It just depends. Also, are you in RKV or outside of RKV, what is the tourism industry doing to the economy, etc. etc. etc. 

Grocery stores here close pretty early (like 6:30 PM) but those are the ones that don't really have extortionate prices. There are a few stores that close later at 9 PM, 11:30 PM, or are open 24 hours, and they tend to jack up some of the prices. But if you're early with your shopping, you can find prices that are basically normal. UNLESS...

...unless you want chicken or beef or shampoo or vegetables that aren't grown in Iceland. You will not catch me buying a tray of chicken breasts, for example, because that will put me out $20. Generally, bell peppers run just under $4, and a fresh head of broccoli is just about the same. But, Icelanders grow carrots, tomatoes, mushrooms, cucumbers, potatoes, even bananas...etc. so a slightly modified diet that includes these local foods is necessary in order to save. But of course, this isn't a big deal. And frozen veggies are also a thing, so calm down, you can still get broccoli for a reasonable price in Iceland. Discount brands are just as common here as they are in the US; EuroShopper is basically the GreatValue of Europe, and it has become my best friend. 

Additionally, my flatmates and I have embraced that Street Rat™ culture and I've learned that if we're just resourceful enough, we don't have to buy bread. And by resourceful, I mean learning the locations of the bakery dumpsters and going on nighttime raids. These have proven to be fruitful and frugal, and I absolutely love it.

Finally, RKV has a running indoor flea market every weekend, which doubles as a fish market. So, I get some gorgeous, fresh, fairly priced fish from the weekend market, and that lasts for the week at least. So basically, just like anywhere, one has to learn the local eating culture and embrace it!

And finally...

7. Are you happy? Do you think you'll ever come back to the US?

I am happy. I am purely off-the-charts happy with my life here in Iceland. And of course I'll come back home, but now "home" has a broader, more global meaning. Frankly, I think that it always has for me. And since you know that I'm all flight, it may not come as a terrible surprise to hear that I have no immediate plans to return to the states permanently, but it just depends on my educational and professional pursuits. For now though, we are all aware that the US has had a rough year, and Lansing has had a rough year, so for my own mental health and healing, I think that it's perfectly fine for me to stay abroad for a little while. There is a societal calm and emphasis on life balance here that I haven't seen before on such a broad scale, and anyway, it's my privilege under the US constitution to have this freedom to move around. It's a privilege for which I'm very thankful, and my life here is possible because of a foundation of grace and generosity from my friends and family. With that, I'm happy to be doing well, to be making friends, to be climbing again, to be hiking whenever I can, to be exploring new corners of nature, and to be learning new things about the Earth. And of course, I'm happy to welcome you any time. Seriously, come on over any time!

Pills and Rage and Perspective

Sometimes, as some of you know, the pills I take with my lunch screw with me a little bit. They are so, so good at helping me not want to die every second, and preventing me from convulsing all over the place, and smoothing me enough to function...but they are very sensitive to changes in my physiological landscape. Especially impulse stresses, but also periodic hormonal influxes. 

So, I am a giant stereotypical cliché every month whenever my body realizes that it isn't pregnant yet. Even so, I'm convinced that it'll take me at least a full calendar year to realize and quantify the patterns that emerge from this interface between my meds and my hormones, especially since I can't ever stay put, but it seems to me that around this time I at least feel something too much. Sometimes it's sadness, in the sense that I pick some random colloquially sad thing and grieve over it for an entire day, regardless of its impact on my actual present day life. Or my life at all. 

This time, though, it's rage. And rage that I know has a very real foundation even if it may be enhanced by my neurochemistry. Bubbling, boiling, face-reddening rage and frustration with the fact that I can't put things into a perspective that fits anymore. Rage that comes from a source ingrained so deep that I didn't even recognize it as an anomaly until now. Because where I come from, it isn't an anomaly. It's normal.

But it's not normal, here. The only things that come close to mirroring this rage are the things that occur naturally here; specifically, the intense sources of powerful geothermal energy. It's almost like the land is so restless that it balances everything; there is so little social unrest here because the land has taken care of it. Laying in a thermal river, there are hot and cold currents that run down your body, one after another, the perfect grounding body scan. Everything that churns and burns is underground. It doesn't have to be inside of anybody's heart. 

I love living in Iceland. I love it fiercely. I am happy here; I don't think that I've ever been so consistently happy across the board. But, it is weird living here.

It's weird living in a peaceful country. It's weird when the expectation is that you will be just fine walking around town at night, that people generally mind their own business and respect your personal space. It's weird that Icelanders usually don't expect catcalls or street harassment. There is no police violence; in fact, there is very little systematic violence at all. Of course there are episodes of violence in any society and Iceland's history is incredibly violent, but it's just not the case today. It's not this constant thing. And I didn't realize that American violence is absolutely a constant continuum until I moved to a place where it is not.

I should be thankful. I am, so thankful. But I have spent the past month trying to reconcile this newfound peace with a hurricane I apparently have inside; the kind of hurricane that astronomers find on planets much bigger than ours. The kind of hurricane that lasts for decades, centuries. You can't just introduce a restoring force and expect the storm to quiet itself just like that. These storms have to run their courses.

They have to. They have to move, somehow. This energy has to be conserved, but here, there are few people with whom to share this rage; there is no reason to be so angry in the first place. So as my hometown and my home country continue to infuriate me with a constant stream of senseless violence and abuse that has has been so normalized that it all but runs through my American veins, there is nowhere to reasonably bleed it out. Honesty almost feels like an aggressive act here, but I know that it isn't; for example if I share some of my life's experiences or provide a glimpse into some of the stories that grew me and strengthened me, it almost sounds as if I came from a much tougher neighborhood than the suburban farm town from whence I actually came. Comparatively, I mean. Icelanders think we're crazy, and we are.

I didn't realize, until now, how violent America is. 

That lack of realization comes from the fact that we normalize this violence, but of course, it also comes in part from my privilege. I was spending time with friends this weekend and telling stories, funny stories about traveling and getting into shenanigans and narrowly escaping tickets from police officers and I laughed about it, never really having thought about the fact that I could have been narrowly escaping bullets instead. My adviser actually asked me about this; she asked me if it was really very scary being pulled over because "they will shoot you." I hadn't considered this, because they probably won't shoot me. I'm white. I'm a woman. The worst form of police violence available to me is likely to be gender-based, and the majority of the gender-based violence that has touched my life has not come from the police. But then again, I caught myself; I just said "the majority." It still exists. It's real, and even if I haven't witnessed police violence first-hand, there is only one tiny degree of separation between myself the next person who has experienced brutal police violence. And to be fair, there are no degrees of separation between myself and violence itself, but I write it off and I minimize it because I'm from the US and it's normal. Nothing separates me from violence except, so far, living in Iceland. And it's weird.

I was talking with Laura about this because I needed to find a fellow American with whom to rage. She suggested that it would probably take me about six months to calm myself down and get used to the absolute chill that is Iceland, but then I'll come home to be "enraged once more." This is absolutely true, and it's culture shock met with reverse culture shock. So for now, I'm approaching Iceland's chill with skepticism until I find out about some horrifying, deeply-rooted Icelandic social problem akin to those in the US, or until I give up and accept the fact that there are actually safe spaces in the world, peaceful pockets for such a time as this.

Make no mistake, I'm over-the-moon happy here. I'm more productive and more calm and more safe and more active than I've been able to be in a while. And however I end up channeling this rage, I am growing. 

Growth in any direction is growth nonetheless, and there is certainly enough grace for that.

Latitudes and Other Strong Metaphors

A year ago, I was south. I was in SoCal, soaking up some sunshine with a few of my dearest loves.

Okay, that's absolutely true, but more accurately I was paralyzed and drowning in those anxiety tidal waves. But whatever.

A year ago tonight, I fell asleep in a bed and tried not to think about the fact that I wasn't going to have a bed the next day. Or the next. Or the next. Or the next...

"Wait, so...were you homeless by choice?"

I never know how to answer this question. It's a valid question, I suppose, and one that people seem compelled to ask me for whatever reason. I mean, it makes sense, or rather it doesn't; what is this privileged middle-class woman doing, living in her car that she can't afford to fill with gas, in a strange town where she knows absolutely nobody? Why doesn't she just go home? 

Truth being told, I didn't think that I could go home. And according to the aforementioned empty fuel tank, I was correct in that assumption. I figured that I had made it all the way to the west coast, and even though the midwest coast is the best coast, I was out of resources and completely stuck. In a sense, my situation was a result of choices that I had made; I was there for a job that I had pursued and that had been promised to me. I was there holding up my end of a bargain that turned out to be less of a bargain and more of a dangerous, unsustainable game. But nevertheless, if I had the resources to rent a room, I would have. Although I had always wondered what it would be like to live out of my car, it was a hundred degrees outside. A hundred degrees with no privacy. Nobody chooses that. Nobody.

But I'm not here to talk about the past. Most of you know the rest of this story and how it's full of miracles and tears and growth, and probably all of you know how much I like to reflect, but that I reflect for a reason. And at the minute, the reason is this: I wanted to tell you that today, I am north.

Turns out, a lot of stuff can happen in a year, especially when you're 25. I turned 25 on my terms, which is a sentiment that is so important to me; I turned 25 by some miracle, I thought, and charged myself with the task to turn 26 someday. It's a little early, but I'm just shy of that goal and I think that I'll make it. And it's monumental, considering.

During the weeks surrounding my 25th birthday, I began setting some goals and working toward them. I wanted to be back in school, but I wasn't convinced that I was far enough along in my recovery to go. To be honest, I'm still not convinced that the butterflies or the fear of failure or the impostor syndrome, or even the PTSD, ever go away; but these are things of which to have a healthy awareness and they can be managed. For everything else, though, I needed help. I wasn't sure what more I could do, but I knew that it involved more doctors than the ones I had visited before. 

So, I visited them and moved forward. Even in my uncertainty, I filled out applications for school and wrote passionate, albeit verbose, personal statements and requested recommendation letters. I ordered my transcripts and revisited old physics problems and filled my time with all of the good things on this Earth, and one of the worst: waiting.

I traveled while I waited, and I waited while I worked. And eventually, the Earth turned and the Sun rose and there was a new opportunity. I took it.

Right now, after smoothing over months of immigration and logistical kerfuffles, I live in one of the most magical cities on this planet. I took a risk and modified my academic career and fell backwards, trusting I'd be caught, into Iceland.

I've been caught. In fact, I'm all caught up.

Tonight, underneath the strongest northern lights I've ever seen, I thought about where I have been and where I am now. Back then, I had fallen asleep afraid, but not anymore. Tonight, I'll snuggle deep into my covers and hold myself there, letting my body rest, happy and secure and ready. Terrified to be back in school, yes, but excited and ready. Doe-eyed in the face of a new city and a new country, but safe. Safe in a city that lights its own way in the darkness.

And that light, like a curtain fluttering in the ionic wind, sends powerful remedies to all of my residual insecurities; undulating down like everything good, and wonderful, and sagely. The power behind these particle storms is extraordinary, but the reason we see them at all is a testament to Earth's perfect ability to protect us from too much of a good thing. It's a gift; it's always a gift. Every time.

So here I am, a year later, as far north as I've ever been. Falling in love with Reykjavík, falling deeper in love with the northern lights, falling in love with my life's chaos and beauty and direction, finally direction. Falling in love with my north.

I'm telling you; wherever is your north, go there.

Y'all know that I don't have a fancy camera. Image source: http://www.northernlightscruise.is/ 

(A Formal Request For) Sanctuary

"Violet, do you know snakes are more afraid of you than you are of them? Few people do. When threatened, a snake will retreat to a place that is quiet, safe, remote. A sanctuary, where it can feel out of danger. That's why Peru." 

-Uncle Monty, A Series of Unfortunate Events, Lemony Snicket

*

I'm not alone in feeling overwhelmed in the world, but the feeling has recently come as a surprise to me. I feel like a different person than the one I thought I was, the one I thought I'd become.

I was an ENFP. But suddenly, I can't handle being an ENFP anymore. Maybe the ENFP has been medicated out of me, or I've grown in a completely unanticipated direction, or it's been medicated out of me, and that's what I was paralyzingly afraid of in the first place.

I need my space. My own physical space, as well as a large amount of mountainous, nebulous real estate inside of my own head. I can still teach and talk and hug and hang, but I'm feeling myself backing up far more often than usual. Backing away, shrinking, cornering, covering. Sheltering.

Looking for sanctuary.

If all goes well, I have five more weeks in the USA. I used to be a fighter...maybe. Maybe that's just what people thought, and what people told me. Maybe my fighting style has evolved into something else that resembles retreat, or maybe it is just retreat. I don't know whether or not I am brave; I kind of wonder if I'm not.

I'm not the person you fell in love with. I'm not particularly sure if I recognize myself.

Or, I'm just exceedingly overtired from waking up before dawn, deep in the Black Hills of South Dakota; fast forward and now it's sunset and I'm home. So my brain can't do this right now, but it wants to. It wants my fingers to write. It sends instructions to my muscles and tendons and joints and demands a narrative; it demands a reflection, but the reflection is scattered among pieces of a broken mirror, at best.

All is well. We all know this about me: I am all flight. I am all flight. I am all flight. Regardless of what is happening, I will try to fly away. Regardless of the fact that I am not in any danger, I will try to fly away. Fly away to a place with less chaos this time, pretending and assuming that this retreat will smooth me out with the lack of insanity surrounding me. Fly away to a place where I can feel out of danger. 

That's why Iceland.