Kon-Tiki: How six shirtless Norwegian guys got me thinking about eternity.

Last night I went to see a movie called Kon-Tiki. Apparently it’s based on a true story of how a team of six Norwegian guys crossed the Pacific Ocean on a raft. It was a very good movie and it got me thinking that I would really love to spend a week on a raft in the middle of an ocean with no horizon in sight; and spend the nights looking up at a multitude of stars. It would certainly adjust my perspective on things. Then after a week I’d get bored and start longing for things run by electricity. 

But that’s not why I wrote this blog post.

At the end of the movie they showed what had happened with each of the men. They’d all gone on to do amazing things, of course, but the main character’s wife ended up leaving him, and her reason was that even though his adventurous spirit is what had made her fall in love with him in the first place, it didn’t mesh with having a family. He’d chosen his ambition over her and their two sons. And it made me think: So many amazing and important feats have been accomplished and discoveries made as a result of men (and women for that matter) having completely ignored their families in favor of the great discovery. One could argue that in the grand scheme of things, it was probably worth the son growing up with an absent father and the marriage being sacrificed since it resulted in such an important advance for mankind. On the macro level, yeah, it’s easy to reason away the rejected responsibility toward family. But I wonder how God looks upon that kind of thing. Sure, we need to make new discoveries in order to continue developing and advancing, and God has created us with the amazing ability to be inventive and curious. However, on a micro level, are those (often vital) discoveries worth the broken relationships left in their afterglow? I’m not sure how to answer that question. Civilization is  indeed grateful to these individuals, but would the rejected son or daughter share our gratitude? Would the abandoned wife or husband? This may not be theologically sound reasoning, but I think that relationships are the only thing we take with us when we die. How we treated the people around us is what we’ll be judged on. That’s a sobering thought. 

My freezer runneth over

I've just sat down with a cup of vanilla tea and some coffee cake fresh out of the oven. It’s uh-may-zing. How have I not made coffee cake before? I recently discovered a food blog called ”Lottie + Doof” and the guy who puts it together posts some really delicious recipes. I’ve made it my mission this week to try as many of them as I have time and freezer space for. And as this is Easter break, I do have some extra hours to devote to my stove and oven. Blissssss....

There are a few things that provide me with mass amounts of pleasure, and food is one of them. I love to cook. I love to eat. I love to share food with other people. I’m absolutely convinced that food is the proper foundation for relational growth. I attribute this love of food to my Italian genes. My late grandmother was always in the kitchen making something: chicken soup, lasagna, tomato pie, meatballs.... And she always made a mess whenever she cooked, which is something I’ve inherited. My parents like to roll their eyes in faux exasperation whenever they walk into the kitchen while I’m making something. To be fair, it really does look like a disaster zone. But I don’t think you can truly cook with your heart without creating a mess. Maintaining clean surfaces during the process of preparing food is just too cerebral in my opinion. 

In the days running up to time off, I always make long and detailed lists of all the virtuous things I’m going to accomplish. The usual entries: Get acquainted with my Italian grammar books that are collecting dust in a drawer, exercise every day, finish the three or four books I’m in the middle of, be sociable with friends I don’t usually see because our schedules don’t mesh, etc etc. The sad fact: It doesn’t matter what I write down on those lists. I only ever get around to doing one or two of them. That’s because I spend the first several days lounging around my apartment in my pajamas, feeling too lethargic to do anything useful. Not awesome. 

But it’s been different this time around. Not only have I not lounged around, I spent the first two days deep cleaning my apartment -- something I haven’t done since I moved in two and a half years ago....yikes. I’ve also spent quality time with friends, exercised, run errands, cooked/baked, and caught up on some of this year’s Oscar-nominations (so many good ones, but I especially loved Silver Linings Playbook).

So, to what do I owe all this energy? Maybe it’s the superfood smoothies I’ve been making almost daily for the past two weeks. (I tried doing this detox thing, but yeah, that lasted like, two days. The smoothies, however, prevailed.) Or maybe it’s the slightly stupefying excitement I have about the future. I say stupefying because I have no clue what’s going to happen after June 14. I literally have no idea. My entire life can very well be turned upside down next week. How can I feel excited about that? But truthfully, I have a lot of joy in spite of not knowing. 

My job situation is such that I have to apply to keep my position as teacher every spring. And as ”luck” would have it, there’s been a new principal every time I’ve had to apply. I’m on my fifth principal in two years. (It would seem my department has an irritatingly high turnover rate....) Needless to say, this doesn’t provide much in the way of employee-boss relations. An added challenge is that the teacher I’ve been subbing for has decided to come back in the fall.... 

What happens if that happens? I have no Plan B. But if I did, it would most likely involve moving to a different city/country, since really the only reason I’ve stayed in Lidköping is this job I love so much. There are of course other perks (quality friends and cheap housing), but those are never reasons enough to stay -- not for me anyway. But I have no idea where I’d move to and I really don’t feel that the time to relocate has come yet. Despite the natural obstacles, I feel in my heart that my time at the school is not over, and that my time in Lidköping isn’t over either. I still have more to give, more heart to pour into my students, more time to invest in my friends and work colleagues. I don’t know how to reconcile this with the natural circumstances glaring me in the face, but that’s where trust comes in. 

I trust in my Heavenly Father who holds me and my future in His hand. He’s already seen the endgame, mapped out my steps, strategically placed me where I am. He sees all of the puzzle pieces that are my life, and He’s slowly, consistently, bringing them together so that the image that was once so scattered and blurry is starting to gain focus and color. This is the reason for and the source of my excitement. I am so optimistic about the future! It can’t be anything but great! Not because I’m not going to experience setbacks and suffering, but because God holds the steering wheel to my car, the reins to my horse, the rudder to my ship (hey, we can keep this metaphor going...insert any form of transportation you want). 

Trusting God is so hard but so easy -- one of the many paradoxes of the Christian walk. There is so much joy and peace to be found in it when we let go of our need for control, when we stop trying to maintain clean surfaces while cooking. Let the water boil over, let the sauce splatter. God can take care of the dishes. When it’s His plan, it’s His mess to clean up anyway. It took me 28 years to have this epiphany, and since then life has become much more unpredictable and exciting, uncertain and satisfying. I encourage you to seek this truth as well. 

I will now get back to my coffee cake, and perhaps another movie? I’m thinking Lincoln..... 

Some personality types are just meant to take over the world......

I just spent a very enlightening, inspiring, affirming week in Berlin with a bunch of people I’d never met before. I’m a pretty international person, I travel a lot, have lived in a few places, and I’ve met quite a few people along the way. But never have I experienced such an immediate connection and unity between strangers as I did at this conference I attended. The conference itself was organized by EuroPartners, a network of Christian business leaders from all over Europe (www.europartners.org). And they have a sub-division that targets young professionals under the age of 35, aptly named Young Professionals (YP). This group is where it’s at! The underlying concept is the understanding that a younger generation needs to be mentored and coached by an older generation in order to continue reaching newer heights and extending the Kingdom of God (I apologize to those who are not familiar with ”church jargon” but I will be using quite a lot of it). I was so deeply impressed by the fact that I was surrounded by successful business people who are experts in their field, most of them very wealthy (I suspect) yet are without prestige, so willing and eager to encourage and nurture people like me. And not just people like me, but me! A teacher! And not even an official one at that (I don’t have a teaching degree)! I must have been the least ”professional” out of all of them, but there was never a feeling of misplacement, only an atmosphere of encouragement and identification. Because I really did identify with YP’s mission. It encourages vision, identifies gifts, nurtures growth, provides accountability and community in the most kingdom-minded, Christ-centered way. Amazing. 

The first thing we did (”we” being young adults from the UK, Belgium, Sweden (me!), Finland, Moldavia, Albania, Holland) was to take a personality assessment test - anyone familiar with DISC? Dominant, Influencing, Steady and Cautious. I turned out to be an extreme DI with a little bit of C, which was no surprise really, but it was interesting just how accurately the test pinpointed me. For the first time in a long time I felt so encouraged to embrace my DI-ness. Yes I like to be decisive and get things done and get people moving and have structure and clear goals. Yes I need freedom to be myself and do things my way. Yes I like to encourage people to think big and to get them excited about life and God’s purposes and plans. So yes, I tend to be a bit energetic, a bit ambitious, a bit impatient with people who like to sit around and discuss rather than do. I hate details and endless analyzing. But that’s actually okay!!! God made me this way for a reason!

I live in a small town in Sweden where DI personalities don’t exactly thrive, especially not in the local church culture. This is very unfortunate and there are a lot of things I can say about that, but this is not the forum. The point I want to get across is that I felt so affirmed, by both God and man, that it’s okay to be the way I am. God made me this way, likes me this way, can and will use me this way. I of course know this and have always known it, but there is a difference between knowing and knowing. It was as if God took me to a deeper level of appreciation for His plan for my life, saying ”Annika, don’t pay too much attention to people who try to box you in and/or feel threatened by your giftings. Just keep following the vision you know I’ve placed in your heart.” I’m the square that doesn’t fit into the circle. But it’s okay, ‘cause I’m not going to be here forever. There is a big world out there and God is a big God. I just need to keep following Him. 

The highlight of the week was the people I met. Hands down the coolest, funnest group of friends I have ever known. And I say friends because that’s really what we became. Already the first day we all felt that God had brought us together for a purpose that went beyond this conference. Right then and there God was forming a team of young adults who are in love with Him, passionate about living our lives full-out for Him, driven to do big things for Him, together. We had amazing times of fellowship, prayer, laughs and conversation. I didn’t sleep more than 3 or 4 hours per night simply because I wanted to spend as much time with these people as possible. I tend toward extremes (which would explain the absence of Steady points on my profile), but I just wanted to absorb it all, live it all, feel it all. 

Now I’m back to real life, but I feel so mentally absent from my work. I find my mind wandering back to Berlin while my students sit their nervously, doing their oral exams. Yikes! But in all seriousness, it is hard to get back to the mundane when you’ve experience the mountaintop, when for the first time in a really long time you’ve felt truly at home, and have truly identified with the people around you. It was a an enormously significant experience which I’m so grateful for having had. And I am once again in awe of just how much God loves and takes care of me. My Daddy knew what I needed. And like my grandpa tells me all the time, Jesus is smiling at me. :)

Yet another try at perfection

The new year is fast approaching and I am in a high state of planning out my perfection that I hope, as I do every year, will magically transpire at midnight. I fell short of nearly all of my 2012 resolutions, but nonetheless feel inspired to resolve once again to be more balanced, more mature, and above all else, more glamorous. So here are my goals for 2013: 

1. I resolve to regain a balance in my eating and exercising habits. Only three out of the last 12 months were spent getting fit, and this has provided prime opportunities of self-loathing. For me it’s not so much a weight issue as it is a discipline issue. It’s no secret that I love food (I blame my Italian genes), but seriously, if it’s in front of me, I eat it, regardless of whether I’m hungry or not. This would not be problematic if I exercised regularly, but too often I yield to laziness, and that’s just not acceptable. It’s time I get a grip. 

2. Last year, I resolved to learn more about three specific subjects: photography, the Italian language and wine. I did buy a nice camera and used it at a few strategic moments throughout the year, but I am no closer to having a clue about how the thing actually works. And despite the best of intentions, I ignored the Italian language as much as I ignored my workout dvd’s. The trip to Italy that was to spur my motivation didn’t happen and I let the dream die all too easily. But I have added a few Italian grammar books to my collection, so I’m hoping that the motivation, as well as the trip, will experience a resurrection. Happily, I did get halfway through my ”Wine for Dummies” book, but unhappily, I cannot remember 98% of what I read. The adjectives alone are too much to absorb: tannic, mineral, woodsy (seriously, who do winos think they are?). However, I did manage to learn that the Pacific Northwest's Yakima and Willamette Valleys produce a mean Pinot Noir, so now I can sound learned next time I find myself sitting at my favorite restaurant in Portland. (Saucebox, if you were wondering.) 

The coming year’s self-education topics are art history and the Cold War. If I could do the college thing all over again, I would probably choose a major in art history. My impatience and inattention to detail aside, I think I would have really enjoyed working in art restoration. I imagine a life spent traveling the world, restoring beautiful cathedrals, temples, palaces and paintings.... And the Cold War is a point of fascination for me mostly because I don’t know anything about it. Every history class I’ve ever taken hasn’t proceeded beyond Vietnam. It’s just one big gaping hole in my understanding of the world I live in. 

3. In an effort to subdue my own consumerism, I have vowed to not buy any new clothes for six months. This is going to be a challenge because I genuinely love clothes and experience great joy in buying new things to wear. However, I look in my closet and see so many items that I hardly ever use, and not because I don’t like them. So the other day I ransacked my wardrobe, packed about a third of it into plastic bags and gave it to Second Hand. Between January 1 and June 30 I will have to be content with what I have.  

4. Journaling is something I wish I were better at, but I am lazy. Blogging has become my new system of recording my thoughts about different things, but there are so many other things that I act upon, think about and react to on a daily basis that I never write down. And these are things I know I will appreciate reading about five years from now. To be reminded, amazed, amused and challenged. So I resolve to journal my way through 2013.

5. And finally, the part where I resolve to ”grow.” I want to be more authentic. In my head, I am bold, provocative, eloquent, and unafraid to say exactly what I mean. In reality I can be timid, lame, awkward and a bit circular in my communication in an effort to be diplomatic (which is just not a characteristic I have, so why do I insist on trying?). I don’t remember if I’ve always been this way, but I’ve definitely become this way in my efforts to adapt to varying cultural norms. My backbone has turned to cartilage. This makes me disappointed in and upset with myself, because I know that in my core, I am not that way. I can be bold, I can be provocative, I can be direct. (I’m from New York for Christ’s sake!) But I’ve been away for too long and strongly desire to find my way back to being feisty, frank, honest and straightforward. I once heard in a song the phrase ”Live in New York once, but leave before it makes you hard. Live in LA once, but leave before it makes you soft.” That’s very true. So it’s no more miss nice girl from now on. I will be kind, fair and loving. But I will also be straight up, uncompromising in my conviction and unafraid to step on toes if I have to. Watch out y'all. 

So that’s how my year is going to look. Ask me in March how I’m doing.....

The Fear Factor

I was sorting through some boxes the other day when I came across a letter my dad wrote to me in 1992. He had written it from his hotel room outside Washington D.C. on one of his many trips. It was dated August 1. I didn’t receive it until 2000, on the day I left for Argentina to be an exchange student for a year. The date happened to be August 1. He had been waiting for the right moment to give it to me, and exactly eight years later the moment came. 

When I read the letter on the plane, I understood why that moment was so appropriate. I was feeling nervous and apprehensive about the year ahead of me. I had no idea then that I would experience possibly the most difficult year of my life. I didn’t know that I would live with four different families instead of one; I didn’t know that I would experience psychological oppression, verbal abuse and manipulation at the hands of my various host parents; I didn’t know that I would feel betrayed more than once by people I considered to be my friends; and I didn’t know that I would fall in love for the first time. The letter was, to say the least, timely. 

”I wish we could have had a video of what we went through with you and your newly acquired skill of swimming! You have to learn how to face new situations and learning new things. Sometimes you put up such a fight and you give way to fear.”

That summer in 1992, my mom, who is as meticulous as she is patient, taught me how to swim. I had a perfect breaststroke but I refused to swim in the deep end of the pool because I didn’t trust myself to be able to float. I had this unreasonable fear of sinking and it caused me to dig my heels in and refuse to jump. All of the other kids were having a blast around me, diving and somersaulting from the board as if it was the easiest thing, and here I was, crippled and in a foul mood. I stood there on the edge of the pool screaming at my exasperated mother who was in the water trying to get me to jump when suddenly my dad picked me up and threw me in without warning. I didn’t have time to protest or react, I just relied on my instinct and started swimming. 

”Once you were in the water we couldn’t even get you out - you were so excited about swimming in the deep end and jumping off the board!!! Something I will never forget is what you said to me after this. You said this to me from the bottom of your heart - ‘Thanks for throwing me in the pool.’ ”

This incident has since become a metaphor for my life. That pool was the first of many, and even though it wasn’t my dad who threw me in each time, there was always Someone nudging me in. I grew up in a loving and stable home and I consider myself to have been a well-adjusted child who later transitioned into a relatively peaceful adolescent. I don’t think I was insecure in the way most people interpret the word, but I was often shy and scared, especially when confronted with new things. There are lots of things I didn’t do or try out for because I was scared of being bad at them. I played it safe all through high school and college, relying on my ability to get good grades to provide me with whatever affirmation I needed.  

”You know Annika, there will be many new and scary things you will be thrown into in this life and you need to know God will never let you go under - you will always rise above as you trust in Him and don’t give in to fear.....I wanted to share this with you because I think you will benefit from this in the future.”  

My dad had no idea then how prophetic his words were. Or maybe he did. I was seven when he wrote the letter, 15 when I received it, and now at 27 I find myself crying as I read it again. The past six, seven years have pushed me out of my comfort zone time and time again and as I look back, I can’t believe all the situations I’ve thrown myself into, head-first. 

I’ve interned at an NGO in Ghana; moved to Spain; put up with all manners of ill behaved adults and dysfunctional work environments; bought a business; gone bankrupt; moved to Sweden; stepped in mid-term as a high school teacher without any experience; traveled with students by bus, train and airplane; been invited to speak at various seminars on topics I am not wholly familiar with, and the list goes on. 

So the question struck me: When did the transition from shy, scared girl to extroverted go-getter happen? There is no exact moment in time; it’s been a process. But somewhere along the line I stopped being cautious and started being impulsive. I started raising my hand and saying yes to things without thinking through, because if I did give myself time to ponder, I would yield to fear and self-doubt and back away. So far, this modus operandi has worked well for me. Once I say yes and commit to something, I’m forced to rise to the occasion, and I have yet to fall flat on my face. Instead, I’ve grown and matured, experienced tremendous things, met fantastic people, and received inspiration and vision for the future. 

The friends I have now sometimes wonder at my impulsiveness and my propensity to grow restless and pack up and move someplace new. Most of them don’t understand my reasons, but they have also never known the shy and scared version of me. They just see who I am now and are puzzled. Truthfully though, I still struggle with fear. There are still things that I am absurdly reticent about doing, and for no good reason. Things that would be no-brainers for most people. The self-confident go-getter is still very much the shy and scared girl at times, but thankfully I serve a God who is faithful to complete the good work He started. So there is hope for me yet. 

A walk down Genesee Street.

The thing about being back in central New York, where I consider whatever roots I have to be, is that I immediately feel nostalgic about everything. Utica was once a lovely city, back in its glory days, but it has been reduced to a ghetto, rife with drugs, violence and prostitution. For the first time in my memory I was told not to go out after dark. But I felt at home anyway. I don’t know if it was the fresh bagels I ate for breakfast, the homemade lasagna I ate for lunch, the (real!) pizza I ate for dinner or the rich (but not too heavy!) cannole and tiramisú from Florentine’s that I ate for dessert, but it felt like I was home again after a very long trip. 

During my stay at the hospice, I took a walk down Genesee Street with my grandpa. He’s a simple man who spent 55 years being married to a complex woman, and he’s still not one to be expressive about his feelings. But during our walk, he talked the whole time. Genesee Street is his turf, his and Gramma’s. He volunteered for many years at the food pantry just up a block, and she taught Sunday school at St. Francis, the local parish. As we walked, he pointed out all the places he used to frequent, and I remembered quite a few of them from when I was a little girl. I have fond memories of visiting him at the food pantry and helping him hand out stuffed grocery bags to the poor. It’s something I haven’t thought about in many many years, but the memories came flooding back. And I thought, gosh, my background and my heritage are so much richer than I realize. 

My dad was born into a pure-blooded Italian-American family that stems from Calabria, Italy. My ancestors emigrated to central New York state at the start of the 20th century and most of their offspring have stayed in the area since then. Within the Trunfio clan (Gramma’s maiden name was Nancy Trunfio) there is the family restaurant (started by Gramma’s brother Mike), the gangster (Gramma’s dad, who sat in jail on two separate occasions for his penchant for boot-legging, ”But,” as Gramma always made sure to point out, ”he did it for his family.”), and the eccentric aunt (Gramma’s sister, a millionaire who looks like a homeless person). I come from these people. And I think it’s wonderful. We’re eccentric and dysfunctional, and we have enough quirks to feed the script for a family sitcom (”Everybody loves Nancy” anyone?). 

I grew up as a third-culture kid. My dad is Italian-American, my mom is Swedish, and we lived in the United States until I was 22. My parents raised me on the road, so to speak. We traveled a lot and it’s now become my identity, the moving around, the traveling. I can’t conceive what it would be like to stay in one place. I haven’t lived more than three years in the same town/country since I was 16, and I love my transient life. So here comes my confession: I’ve kind of categorized my extended Italian-American family as small-town, simple folk. Like I said before, they grew up in central New York and have stayed put for three generations. But now I’m beginning to see that they stayed put so that I could roam free. They grew roots so that I could grow wings. They provided depth so that I could have breadth. That, my friend, is richness. And all this from taking a walk down Genesee Street....

Feelings, family and food.

My grandmother died a week ago today and her recent passing has set in motion a lot of different thoughts and feelings regarding family, my own cultural identity and the role of food in my grieving process. When I arrived on the scene, Gramma was already pretty out of it. She was on a steady stream of morphine and wasn’t as communicative as she had been the week before when my brother and cousins were there. The disappointment at not having a final ”moment” with her was something I had to digest, which led to an odd emotional detachment on my part during the course of my week-long stay. But I did hold her hand and sing James Taylor’s ”You can close your eyes” the night I arrived, which will have to count as our ”moment.” I didn’t notice a visible reaction from her, but I think she appreciated it. 

It’s odd to sit around and wait for someone’s death, but that’s the only thing we (me, my grandpa, aunt, uncle and dad) could do. And so we did as any Italian family would: We ate and talked and cried at uneven intervals (I must say though that the eating was done at very even intervals). Friday night was spent on the couch listening to my dad and his siblings sort through their complex relationship with their mother. The struggle between letting all of the past conflicts go and holding on to relational wounds colored our last moments with her. There are so many relational dynamics in my family that it would be impossible to enlighten the uninitiated, but one of the main themes was our inherited need to control a situation. That’s the one ALL of us have in common. Other elements were envy, worry over money, and the ever hovering catholic-protestant tension. As my uncle points out, the Reformation happened in his family and it’s something that has consistently been one of the elephants in the room ever since my dad and his siblings left the Catholic church in favor of a more ”radical” relationship with their Creator, much to the disappointment of their pious mother. 

But on the topic of elephants in the room, I have meditated a lot on how important it is to leave no unfinished business behind when you or someone you know dies. My Italian family is dysfunctional and chaotic, but their relationships are surprisingly healthy in comparison to my mom’s side of the family. The thing about Italian families is that nobody can keep their mouth shut. This is as much a pain as it is a blessing. Yes, we get mad, yell, argue and guilt trip because we find it impossible to keep our feelings to ourselves. But I’d rather have it that way. Volcanic eruptions occur on a regular basis and conflicts are  expected. But that’s okay, because when the ash cloud blows over, we’re still talking to each other. Because we love each other. And mostly because we can’t shut up. 

This is not the Swedish way. My mother comes from true nordic blood (heck, her family tree stems back to the first Viking king of Sweden, Gustav Wasa). This means of course that I grew up half and half, and this bi-polar heritage has caused somewhat of an inner conflict that I still can’t define, categorize or solve. My entire life I’ve been told that I’m Italian on the inside and Swedish on the outside.  Spending time with my dad’s side of the family only served to elevate my awareness of how emotional I am. Yet I felt detached almost the entire time I was there. I feel everything so deeply, yet I can’t put words to those feelings like my relatives can. Normally I cry at the turn of a hat, but I didn’t shed a tear all week except at the very end.

Gramma passed away exactly 30 minutes before I had to leave to catch the train and make my way back to Sweden. She had seen all of her children, she had seen all of her siblings, she had seen her best friend of 70 years. She had seen her nieces and nephews.  And she had seen her grandchildren. Hundreds of people came to her wake and funeral to pay their respects. She was a complex woman, one who incited a lot of arguments and hurt feelings, but she really did love her family, and all of us felt it. 

All of the hospice nurses remarked time and again what a wonderful family we are, but the irony is that we’ve always thought that we make the people around us miserable. So I remarked back: "We Greco’s are better together than we are apart." And that’s the truth. 

If you’re reading this, call your mother and tell her that you love her. Forgive your father for disappointing you. Forgive your brother for outshining you. Forgive your sister for criticizing you. In the light of eternity, grievances don’t matter. Relationships are the only legacy you will leave behind, so make sure they are worth every tear you’ve shed. As the Sade song goes, ”Love is stronger than pride.”