When I first started my blog, I was happy to share everything. I looked at it as a way to share all of my experiences of moving to Norway with my family and friends back home. Of course, I have shared a lot of personal stories along the way as well. So much so that BAH said at times he feels guilty reading my blog because it is like a diary. I have to admit for my own part, after I found out he read my blog, it took more effort to write in my usual honest and blunt manner. I found myself censoring my writing, but then I decided he' s a grown ass man. He can opt out of the reading.
At some point, though, I decided I should only be writing about what was "worthy" of writing home about in my experiences in Norway. As I settled into a more typical life, this limited my topics and my writing in general. I even toyed with the idea of changing my blog tagline because I was no longer leaping outside of my comfort zone. But is that really the truth of it? Some of the experiences and stories I have shared have forced me to look inside myself in a very different manner and share pieces of myself that I have never shared before. Certainly that is at least standing outside of my comfort zone. There are a few topics I shy away from in my blog, such as politics and religion, and I tend to avoid delving too far into my opinions on controversial subjects. I learned early on that my thinking was quite different than my parents, and my philosophical questions had no place in our home. The swift, often vicious reactions, instilled a caution in me that still whispers its warnings. After all, there existed hierarchies and power balances in which children, especially female children, were at the bottom. My parents fell headlong into the systemic structure designed to uphold racism, sexism, and poverty commonly known as "chasing the American dream". I learned from them that women were not equal to men in their abilities either physically or mentally, and if some daring female should attempt to display intellectual superiority, well then, she should be "knocked down a peg". I learned people that were not white or came from other countries, even if their families arrived centuries ago, were stepping stones to ensure that even though we were poor white trash, we weren't "them". I learned disgusting terms meant to dehumanize people and that a person's value could be as arbitrary as their job title or perceived value to a husband. I have to laugh now thinking about how serious my mother was when she told me that if I didn't learn to sew and cook, I would never find a good husband. Joke's on her. Turns out, you can snag a shitty husband even if you could give Martha fucking Stewart a run for her money. All through these discreet and coded lessons, a discomfort and cognitive dissonance resonated in my soul. From a young age, I had a strong sense of injustice and empathy, and it became a wedge that cleaved me from the family block. I witnessed my family's participation in maintaining an unjust system, but I could not understand it. I didn't want people to feel as horrible inside as I did, especially as a way to feel better about myself. What was truly to be gained from crushing someone else in order to grapple up an imaginary social ladder? How could reducing people's humanity to one defining characteristic be helpful to anyone? The short answers are nothing and it isn't. This failure in my upbringing meant that I have had to work really hard to unlearn prejudices and attitudes, and that I made a fuck ton of mistakes as a parent. The learning curve was steep, and I didn't know enough to affect hugely meaningful change in my children's upbringing. Even as I say that, I know that my sons are far removed from my own upbringing. I could give a dozen examples, but the fact remains that I still recognize attitudes that echo from the past. In fact, those patterns of thinking are so insidious, that unless you are actively searching it out like weeds in a garden, they becomes entwined in your bones. The structure of American society supports and relies on that sort of group infighting and individualistic struggles to uphold the power structure. I know a dozen friends that would agree with the statement that fast food is a "high school" job, and it isn't meant to support a family. This thinking, despite the fact that we as a society created the need for fast food restaurants to flourish. This thinking, despite the fact that the worker is a human and therefore valuable. Full. Fucking. Stop. So, where am I going with all of this? I had originally thought to write a piece about women's rights since it is March. I even thought about delving into some systemic differences between Norway and the states, but I think I will just end with these final few thoughts. I see so much less of the injustices that bothered me so much in the states here in Norway. People are not valued for their job, they are just valuable. Men take an equal hand in raising the kids including taking sick days in equal amounts with their partners. There are structures in society to help support those that are less fortunate and to help people in general. By no means is Norway perfect, but I feel my heart can breathe knowing that a system exists that addresses the weights of my mind. Maybe moving here wasn't completely leaping out of my comfort zone, but rather leaping into a different kind of comfort zone. Lord knows I like having the seat next to me on the train empty.
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Somewhere in the back of my mind a thought lingers and bangs around that it would be an amazing accomplishment to become a published author. Many people that have read my blog have told me I should write a book, some will even pitch ideas to me. A book about the Conversations with NBF is a top contender. I laugh and brush the idea aside like it is a ridiculous notion, after all, my writing isn't that good, right? I mean come on, I can barely write enough to push out a couple of blog posts a month. Believe me, I hear about it from the dedicated fan at home.
On the days when I take the thought a little more seriously, I read posts from a couple of authors I follow on FB about the necessary dedication and daily writing, about reading tons of books to improve your voice, about the vicious rejection cycle, and the refusal of people to consider author a valid career. Let's be real though, I was a stay at home mom and a teacher, that part I can handle. Although that part is also the toughest because I don't want to go all in like that. I do not have the time, or money, to commit to writing full time as a vocation. Also, I enjoy my current career even if it tickles the writing bug while competing with my blogging for the creativity reserves of my writing brain. As a matter of fact, the notion of publishing a book got a little boost this week when I went to a meeting with our company marketing team. I feel a braggart writing this, but at the same time, inside I am squealing like the excited girl I am. A document that I wrote has been published on our company's branding website so the marketing departments from around the world can pull soundbites for their brochures and websites. It. is. surreal. I was also told that our branding company asks for my work. See? Squeals of joy, scrunched body, and clenched fists excitement. Then of course, my brain jumps in with its two cents...that is professional writing with a different purpose, cool your jets turbo. Even as I type that, my brain cues up my high school English teacher decrying the soil and stain common idioms and colloquial expressions leave on your writing. I can clearly remember her critiques of my writing. I use too many common phrases but I use words in uniquely wrong combinations. My analogies are strangely uncommon, even if they are easily understood. I abuse punctuation. And, not to mention, I begin my sentences with conjunctions. Where is your symbolism, Nellie? For fucks sake, this is high school creative writing, not even a goddamn graduate level analysis of writing, but off I have wandered from the topic at hand. I even paused my writing to Google whether I wanted cued up or queued up. What kind of writer needs to go to the dictionary and thesaurus? I would rather think all of them do research and search out variety, but the brain will latch onto any failure like a shirt sleeve on a door handle ready to yank your feet out from under you. Another piece of ammunition my brain keeps on the shelf for the more stubborn write a book periods is that because I have only written short stories and write short pieces now, that means I could never write a book. Then I found a James Fell history book title, On This Day in History, Shit Went Down! I absolutely fucking love this book which is a collection of historical essays, one for each day of the year, filled with abstract yet meaningful historical events and people and filled to the fucking brim with the most creative use of foul language I have ever read. So yet another...let's call it for what it is...excuse for not writing a book has faded away. The last bastion of refuge for my brain is the safety of knowing review and feedback would be relentless and destroy my self esteem. But would it, brain? Honestly, what could an editor say that would be worse than what I heard growing up? This is different though, my writing is personal and mine. I don't always love what I write, but that doesn't mean someone else gets to waltz in and do a jig on my work. In the course of my job, though, I have had some experience with pushing one of my pieces out into the cold world to face the reality of existence for a purpose. Strangers and people I trust have poked and prodded my babies. Some of my writing has been shredded, some of it completely scrapped for being off the mark, but much of it accepted with minor adjustments and tweaks. The process does get easier. Where am I going with all of this? I honestly don't know. I always say I should blog more. I do try to read more. I have competing goals, but this little idea of writing a book is so...interesting. I might dig around the internet and do more research. The problem is that ideas that root in my brain like this and get any attention at all, tend to sprout and blossom out of control until I find myself living a life in a foreign country and changing career paths with a partner who says, I know the title of the book....An American Wild Ass Lost in Norway. |
Nellie HillJust a woman leaping outside her comfort zone and telling the tale. Archives
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