Little girl, big city - Episode 2: The United Nations

A large part of my internship consists of attending meetings/seminars/forums at the UN HQ or at other designated locations in the area. These events cover topics like nuclear arms testing, the culture of peace, human rights, civil society and democracy, religious freedom, etc. A lot of it is very interesting; some of it is incredibly long winded and sleep inducing. After having spent a few weeks in this environment, I have mixed feelings. On the one hand it’s tremendously exciting to breathe the same air as distinguished diplomats and NGO workers who have been in the thick of it and are in great part responsible for setting the global political agenda. I won’t lie and say that I don’t ever want to work here. I want the power suit, I want the badge, I want the status. 

On the other hand, it’s pretty ridiculous. And what I mean is, while it’s necessary and meaningful to discuss these important issues that impact people all over the world, so much of it is merely the importance of being important. Granted, the panelists who speak on the topics are often not career diplomats and they have dedicated their lives to advocating for a certain issue or people group. This part of the forum is often quite interesting to listen to. But then the member state delegates start taking turns reading their prepared speeches and the majority of the content is just politically digestible soundbites that are void of sincerity or any actual bite. When the delegate from Qatar touts the importance of upholding human rights, or the Russian delegate says that his country is committed to full nuclear disarmament, or the American representative praises the role of the media in promoting peace, one wants to just roll one’s eyes and say My God, do these people have no sense of irony? 

I acknowledge that it is necessary to gather and exchange ideas in a neutral setting so that we are aware of what is happening in the world of development and diplomacy and so that we can be reminded of what we should be doing. There are so many organizations, working groups, committees and coalitions that it is hard to keep tabs on everything that goes on. Case in point, I’m learning to navigate the endless list of UN organizations and their acronyms. I defy you to know what all of these stand for without googling: WFP, WHO, UNHCR, UNDESA, UNICEF, UNEP, UNFPA, UNDP, ILO, IMO, IFAD, FAO, IAEA, ICAO, ITU, UPU, WBG, WIPO, WMO, ECOSOC…..But I digress. 

Here’s the issue: Words are being spoken but nothing is being said. Or what is being said has already been said a thousand times. When does the status quo actually get challenged by actions instead of words? The United Nations doesn’t have that much power. It can’t legislate, it can only make suggestions. And the only UN body that actually has any power (the Security Council) is more often than not paralyzed because its members don’t get along. The system is broken. It’s dysfunctional. So the only thing it can do is organize meetings and seminars and forums that gather the organizations and the working groups and the committees and the coalitions to talk about things that have already been discussed and that every informed person already knows. 

So. It is clear to me that what is truly important in the world of diplomacy is the importance of being important. The hierarchy, the bureaucracy, the verbose job titles all serve to prop up the egos of the insecure, the comfortable, and the (sometimes) inept. 

There. I’m done spewing. 

Little girl, big city - Episode 1: Restaurant etiquette, air conditioning and the United Nations.

I’ve been in the Big Apple for almost two weeks now and I’m feeling quite at home. It’s a livable city under the right circumstances and I’m favorable to moving here for a period of time if I end up getting a (very well paid) job after graduation. These 10 weeks are a trial run if you will. 

I’ve not lived in the US for eight years, so there are a few things I’m having to get used to again. Like tipping in restaurants. Waiters in Europe are salaried and the service is included in the price, so tipping isn’t a norm - something I find quite efficient. Of course I want to support waiters everywhere in their pursuit of the American Dream, but it gets hella expensive. It’s a bullet I need to bite unfortunately. Everybody eats out all the time here and I am inclined to follow suit since I’m sharing a minuscule kitchen with four boys, three of them very messy. Needless to say, this doesn’t inspire me to go at it in the culinary department. And so I’ve resigned myself to returning to Sweden destitute and rotund…sigh. 

Another thing I’m reacquainting myself with is the aggressive usage of AC. Within one hour I experience the gamut of temperature variation during my daily commute. It’s a wonder I haven’t gotten sick yet. The air in New York is still heavy with heat and humidity, and by the time I’ve walked the four blocks from my apartment to the subway station, I’m dripping sweat. It gets worse. By the time I’ve descended the stairs into the furnace that is the subway platform, I want to shoot myself. Then I climb onto a train that blasts ice cold air and I have to sit there for 30 minutes as I feel myself growing hypothermic. Then it’s out onto the street to defrost before settling into a chilled office for the day. Uff, it’s a tough life. 

But like I said, New York is a livable city under the right circumstances, and I am learning my way around. It’s not the city of my childhood and I feel like a little girl stepping out into an unexplored yet distantly familiar world. The people around me are stressed, but I’m still excited. 

I attended my first UN event this week. It was a panel discussion on revolutionizing data on women’s leadership in public life. Data collection is not my favorite topic by any means, but I found the tensions and dynamics in this area of development work nonetheless interesting and important to discuss. Besides the fact that the seminar was held during the exact hours I yawn uncontrollably and struggle to stay awake - between 2 and 4 pm every day without fail - I was glad to be there. I mean my goodness, it’s the freaking UN and I’ve dreamt of setting foot in this place for years. 

One thing though: My introverted self hates to mingle. I always cringe when the mediator says it’s time for a coffee break and wouldn’t it be a great time to have a chance to talk and exchange ideas. NO!! Even though I may be bored out of my mind, I’d rather sit in the seminar and not have to interact with any of the strangers in attendance than make small talk during the coffee break. Oh the agony! Oh the discomfort! 

Obviously this is something I must get over if I’m to rule the world. Hmm…

A shout out to good dads everywhere

As I wait at Schiphol airport for my flight to JFK, I’m reflecting on something I witnessed a few days ago while in Málaga. My parents and I went to see a couple of friends play with their jazz quartet at a resort on the coast, and while the atmosphere was nice and the music excellent, what really caught my eye and kept me entertained was a certain British family occupying the table in front of us. At first glance it was your typical family on holiday, but closer observation saw a father thoroughly engaged and present with his three boys as the mother sat back, relaxed, and recorded the memories being made with her camera. These boys were young - the eldest not more than ten - but they were all active, well-behaved and having fun. Most of all, they were reveling in their father’s attention. He’d get up at regular intervals and start dancing to the music with them, or he’d play the air guitar on their tummies, or he’d sit with one of them on his lap. I remember thinking, I hope this mother knows what she has. 

Sadly, what was playing out before me has become an atypical scenario. The new normal is parents with their 2.5 children, each sitting with their smartphone or tablet, fully absorbed in playing Candy Crush or some other senseless game on their devices. They ignore each other, unaware of their surroundings, detached from the present. Not rarely enough, one or both of the parents are slowly getting drunk and irritated as their children grow bored and petulant. 

I don’t know this British family, but what I saw blessed my heart. From the relatively short time I watched them, I could tell there was a lot of love and order there. This family sat for several hours enjoying the music and their surroundings. None of the three boys had a device. When they weren’t moving to the music, they were sitting around the table in well-behaved fashion. At one point, one of them pulled out some toy cars to play with. I can’t remember the last time I saw a kid play with actual toys. 

Part of me fell in love with this dad. I know nothing of his character or the dynamics of his family life, but what I saw was a father who was engaged and present, showing his boys how to have a good time, how to enjoy the moment, and how to make their mother glow. It’s hard for me not to be cynical at this stage of my life - most men just aren’t like this anymore. But to be fair, while there is truth to my cynicism, I know that there are good dads everywhere. They are fewer and farther between, but they are there. In fact, I know several of them personally. 

If you are one, I applaud you and I thank you. If you aren’t one, there’s nothing stopping you from starting. And maybe someday there’ll be a stranger sitting at a restaurant watching you and thinking, dang, I hope his wife knows what she has. 

Dealing with disappointment

I haven’t felt truly disappointed in several years. Obviously I’ve had to deal with small scale disappointments on a regular basis just like anyone. But generally things have steadily been going the way I want them to for about four years now. But this week I had to swallow a bitter pill that turned the tables on everything and made me feel like I was right back at square one. (Just a side note, I’m not actually back at square one, it just felt like that. Feelings are not truth!) 

The most amazing opportunity had virtually just landed in my lap and it was so wildly beyond anything I could possibly have thought up or orchestrated myself. There were just too many ‘coincidences’ and details falling into perfect place and all of the important people in my life were united in their affirmation and encouragement. It was literally one of those ‘too good to be true’ moments, except that it was actually happening. I could hardly believe my good fortune. I thanked God for his favor, reveled in his plan and praised him for his goodness. 

And then yesterday I got a call containing the worst imaginable news: Never mind, we can’t go through with it, we’re very sorry. The ‘too good to be true’ stopped being true and went back to being just ‘too good.’ The balloon had popped in a most spectacular fashion. I missed His favor, felt disappointed in His plan and questioned His goodness. 

I felt soooooo disappointed. Disappointed in myself for the impulsive mistake I’d made at the outset of this whole thing (even though I didn’t realize it was a mistake at the time); disappointed with the individuals who were in charge of deciding my role in this (I mean, my word! How inconsiderate!); but more than anyone else in this story, I felt disappointed with God. Why had he allowed such a spectacular buildup only to let it fizzle out into nothing? What was the point? Why drag me into this in the first place? Why present me with the answer to so many prayers just to snatch it away? How can this be good for me?!?! 

Also, I felt confused. How could I have mistaken random happenings for the hand of God? How could I have felt such peace and joy over something that wasn’t meant to be? And not just me, but the most important people in my life!?! Several of them had sensed the same thing as I had, that this was truly a God idea, not just a good idea. So what the heck, Lord? I DON’T GET IT!! 

Let me be clear: These were all emotions and questions coursing through my mind and heart, and legitimately so in my opinion. But these were not truth. 

The TRUTH is this: God is good to me. He has always been good to me and will continue to be so. He does have plans for me that are beyond my wildest imagination. He will give me the desires of my heart. He will entrust me with realizing the dreams he has placed in my hands. But he’ll do this in his own way and in his own time. And he will, for reasons only he knows and understands, ask me to let go of those dreams more than once. 

I’m reminded of the lyrics of a Nick Mulvey song that seem so pertinent right now: “The only way to hold on is to keep letting go.” This is such a hard truth to accept sometimes (heck, let’s be honest - most of the time). Because when we see His hand move to orchestrate things, when we see things starting to come together in ‘typically God’ fashion, when everything in our spirit says “Yes, this is it!”, it is so incredibly easy to fix our eyes on the form in which it happens rather than on He who makes it happen. My Morfar (maternal grandfather) reminded me of this yesterday as I sat crying on the telephone. He said, “Annika, this is not the end of the story. But you’ve got to seek Him, not the way, not the form, not the process. Seek Him.” 

So. In the words of Job, “Though He slay me, yet I will trust in Him.” Dramatic wording, I know, and I’m not comparing my current circumstances to Job’s because that would just be foolish and inaccurate. But the principle here is the same. I trust in God’s plan because it is better than mine. There’s no getting around that fact, regardless of how disappointed I may feel right now. 

Wanting what I can’t have

I want things I can’t have. It’s a problematic part of my nature, and this past Sunday I was acutely aware of it - to the point of feeling convicted for not keeping my eyes on Jesus. I do make a concerted effort to “seek His Kingdom first” but I also frequently pester Him about the “and all these things shall be added unto you” bit (Bible reference: Matthew 6:33). Most of the time I’m dissatisfied with my life, not because I dislike the elements that fill it, but because I want more - always. 

I covet a lifestyle I can’t afford. I want fine dining on a weekly basis and trips with five star accommodations. I like expensive clothes and I dream about living in an out-of-my-price-range flat downtown with high ceilings, big windows and at least one brick wall. I want the unique furniture that costs an arm and a leg to ship home but is so totally worth it because each piece has a story. I want the man I can’t have. I want to be ‘soccer mom’ who writes freelance from home AND I want the high-powered career that sends me all over the world to put out fires and influence global decisions. I want SO MUCH. Sometimes I feel like Bob: “Gimme gimme gimme, I need I need.” (If you’ve never watched the film What about Bob?, stop reading this and go do that.)

This past Sunday the phrase “wanting what I can’t have” was going like a loop machine in my head - to the point that I had to ask the Lord for forgiveness for being so distracted by all the things I wanted but couldn’t have. What was wrong with me?!?! A virtual battle was in full swing in my mind: Am I wanting too much?!? At what point does all this wanting and dreaming turn from being a visionary attitude called faith into being a sin called covetousness??

I’m not that materialistic - sure, I like nice things and I desire to live expansively and generously - but I’m not really that attached to things. I am however attached to ideas of what I want my life to encompass. Wanting what I can’t have is a legit struggle for me. I don’t like settling for less than what I like, and on principle I don’t think that I should. I don’t subscribe to the ‘prosperity gospel’ but I do believe that God delights in surprising me with things I would never have thought within my grasp. Things that are impossible for me are not impossible for Him, so quite frankly I don’t believe I should stop wanting what is beyond my reach (and I’m not just talking about physical objects here). I take the liberty of dreaming big because I serve a big God. But the question is then at what point does ‘believing for big things’ turn into coveting? Where do contentment and resignation diverge? At what point should I stop wishing for things because they distract me from “seeking first the Kingdom”? It’s hard not to be ‘helpful’ in composing the “all else to be added” list, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t confess that on more than one occasion what I’ve wanted has not been what’s best - and I’m SO thankful in these instances that God knows more than I do and isn’t afraid to be the boring parent.

So how do I fix this? I can’t give up wanting things. I refuse to resign myself to a small existence. But as yet, what I see happening in my mind doesn’t match what’s happening outside of it, and it’s making me miserable. Am I merely Joseph the dreamer or will I ever get to be Joseph the governor? (Bible reference: Genesis 37-50) He had a hell of a time getting to that point (which, I suppose, puts my pity party into rather harsh perspective) but I’m sure he didn’t stop dreaming and wanting things. Now there is one man I’d like to have a long fireside chat with….

I've figured out why the world is the way it is.

You can stop wondering. I’ve figured out why the world is the way it is: The people who make decisions about policy and world order never left high school. I know this because of what happened today.

The elective course I’m currently in combines students from three programs – European Studies, Global Studies, and my program, International Administration and Global Governance (IAGG for short). Today our professor asked us to divide ourselves into study groups during the break. So that’s what we did – “we” being me and my fellow IAGGers. We’re the kind of people who like to leave the classroom and hang out in the hallway during our breaks, and while we were out there getting the job done, the GS and ES students stayed in the classroom and thought up another plan. 

Their idea was to have mixed groups of ES, GS and IAGG students so that we could all “benefit from each other’s various backgrounds,” and "couldn’t the 30 or so of us reach an agreement together?" Now, this was a perfectly swell suggestion, but for the IAGGers who had already formed two groups to the satisfaction of all involved, the new plan wasn’t so appealing. This resulted in our staying after class for 20 minutes arguing back and forth as to how to divvy up the groups. Some didn’t see why we should rearrange the groups that were already formed; others grew frustrated at the apparent unwillingness of IAGGers to work with people outside their program; some tried to corral the group toward a consensus, only to be undermined by others who weren’t having it; and on and on it went. I, being the good Swede, remained neutral throughout the negotiations, all the while feeling distinctly uncomfortable about how complicated and awkward we were making it. I could tell certain ones in the class were getting offended, and it wasn't the IAGGers.

In short, we ended up agreeing on a day and time for everyone to show up, but did we reach a decision regarding who would be in what group? Of course we didn’t. Because we’re all still in high school. In reality, what took place today was just a dress rehearsal for future summits on international policy and law that no one will agree upon. The one thing that will be agreed upon is the time and place of the next summit in which negotiations will continue and no agreements will be reached. 

Now, if one were to take a step back to surmise the situation, one could make an interesting observation: We see that Global Studies students – the future activists and NGO workers of the world – just wanted everyone to come together to share experiences and lend one another their different perspectives on the issues we are studying. Lyrics like “Come on people now/smile on your brother/everybody get together/let’s try to love one another right now” come to mind. We also see that the IAGG students – the pragmatists and future governing elite – felt perfectly satisfied to work with the people they already know and trust. They did what the professor had asked the class to do, they just did it out in the hall rather than in the classroom. Which, let’s face it, is how important political decisions are made – within closed groups in the corridors, not in the general assembly in great conference halls. 

So. Be at peace and anxious for nothing. The future activists and governing elites of the world do have plans for leading the masses into a prosperous 21^st century. The plans just happen to differ and the two groups just happen to not get along. There is absolutely nothing to worry about.

Empty Inside - a diagnosis

The title makes it sound like I’ve been diagnosed with existential anxiety, but after two days of prepping for a colonoscopy, I was, quite literally, empty inside. Preparations included a strictly liquid diet and strong laxatives – I’ll spare you the details. Needless to say, it was pretty unsexy. I spent two and a half days cursing the day I was born (not really) and trying not to burn too many calories (which was easily remedied by marathon-watching The Good Wife).

The actual colonoscopy procedure was undramatic. However, there is this thing with my body not responding well to strong pain killers or muscle relaxers that I’ve only come to realize since I started having trouble in October. And being half Italian, there of course needed to be drama at some point. Right before the procedure began, the nurse gave me a muscle relaxer, but instead of relaxing me it had the direct opposite effect. Halfway through the procedure, I noticed my hands growing stiff and curling in at the wrist. I couldn’t move them and I started hyperventilating. Once the doctor pulled the camera/tube thing out, the nurse moved me into a different room to calm me down. I remember my body turning completely rigid from the feet up, along with my arms, hands and mouth. I couldn’t talk normally and had no idea what was going on. I don’t think the nurse did either, because at this point she was pretty frenzied, trying to get me to calm down and breathe normally. Eventually I did calm down and she could straighten out my hands and things returned to normal.

It’s rare, but apparently some people react differently than expected to muscle relaxers and can even grow violent. The nurse had not seen my particular reaction before though. Not my finest moment to be sure, but it does make for a good story.   

Anyways, the verdict is that I have neither diverticulitis nor constipation issues as the previous two hospital visits had assessed. I have IBS (irritable bowel syndrome). This diagnosis does better at explaining the pain and symptoms I’ve experienced on several occasions since October (at times severe, at other times less so). There’s no cure for it and there’s no particular diet that will lessen the symptoms since the food triggers vary from person to person. It’s just something I’m going to have to live with and hope the pain won’t be too frequent.

I don’t really know what to take away from all this. I don’t know how or why I’ve developed IBS, but this is a thorn in my side I’m simply going to have to accept. I suppose that if the apostle Paul wasn’t exempt, I’m not either. God is still good to me. I just pray I won’t have to give up chocolate.