Refleksjoner...

I turn 42 today. That feels a little odd. I've also been in Norway almost nine months now, and that doesn't feel odd at all. All in all, I think the move and the timing of it have worked out really well. E is now in a preschool that he loves, and his social and other skills are already starting to improve in all sorts of tangible ways. KE actually finished his BS, and although he's at loose ends (still no job leads) he seems to be dealing with the transition well. As for me, I love my job more and more, and I totally love our house and yard, and living out here on Nesodden. I am starting to think that the reason I was unhappy living in Oslo back in the early 1990s is simply that I don't like Oslo all that much. I'm sure there are little pockets of the city where I could be happy living, but basically I find it stressful to be there. It is always a relief to get on the boat to come home.

A couple of days ago I had a meeting with a colleague. I was telling her about my upcoming trip to the states, then mentioned something about doing something when I get back "home" to Norway. We both looked at each other in surprise and laughed about that. It is the first time I have referred to Norway as my home, and it felt sort of weird, but also right.

I think I have been more aware of not "going native" this time. I have started pronouncing my last name in English, rather than how a Norwegian would say it as written. I still pronounce my first name in Norwegian (since I like the sound of that better and it is a common name here any way). I like marking my non-Norwegian-ness in that subtle way. Looking back, I guess I felt that I wasn't "allowed" to utter one word of English any time I spent here, because I needed to maximize my time studying the culture and language while here. It is a relief to just be a normal person, and not feel like every waking minute is an oral proficiency exam in process.

I am getting less and less self-conscious about speaking English with E when we're in public. Basically, I no longer feel compelled to prove constantly that I am fluent in Norwegian. I know I'm pretty much as good as I'm going to get in the spoken language, and that is a very high level of proficiency, so I can just relax a bit, and focus more on improving my writing skills.

Yesterday I got to look at a book printed in 1780. It was written in French, and I could actually read the chapter I needed without a dictionary (I tend to forget that I actually have a pretty good working knowledge of French--just can't speak it to save my life). I got asked to co-edit an anthology of articles on Hamsun. I had a meeting to plan my guest lecture in a colleague's course. I spent hours in the library tracking down all the sources on a new, smaller project that will be a component of the cabin book. I feel so incredibly privileged to have this job. Someone at the Hamsun conference told me to my face that on principle I shouldn't have gotten this postdoc. position because I already had a permanent job back in the states. I was really taken aback by that, and felt miserable about it for a couple of days. I guess that kind of criticism is inevitable. The only thing I can do is do the best work I can and make as much of a contribution to the program as possible. I think my colleagues truly appreciate having me in the program, and that matters a lot more than what someone from another program says about me. 3 years, 3 months and counting before the best job of my life ends...

ETA: I'm writing this on the morning of the 4th, but I guess Blogger records the date on US time, where it's still the 3rd.

E again TA: WOW! I just stumbled across the amazing art of Freddie Robins via this post on Jane Brocket's blog. The bizarre "sweaters" and "gloves" are so eerie and beautiful...