I’ve been in Stockholm for ten days now, so that’s ten days of walking through nearly every street in our neighborhood, ten days of commuting back and forth on the train, ten days of trying to constantly remind myself that the experiences I’m having won’t last forever. This city is disarmingly similar to cities in the States, making it easy to let your mind rest from the mental and emotional strain of acting, talking, and thinking in a different cultural perspective. Walking around, moving past the crowds of tourists (which I still am) in Gamla Stan and Norrmalm, I can almost keep my eyes past the skyline and pretend I’m back in New York. In some ways, the familiarity is nice and comforting. Other times, I wish Stockholm would scream its Swedish-ness in my face so I remember that I should be reveling in the cultural differences. It’s exhausting remembering to be short and efficient when speaking to native Swedes, knowing that small talk is unfamiliar and unwanted by most parts of the world besides the US. On those quiet morning commutes, where loud outbursts and disorder are met with cold glares from business people in clothing with muted tones, classic yet surprisingly trendy, that’s when I really feel the cultural distance. In New York, people are overly unselfconscious, overly unashamed, and overly unbothered by those around them. This need for order, rules, and protocol that bleeds into nearly every interaction in stores, restaurants, and friendly encounters comes from a collective understanding that efficiency is the best policy. Seeing this completely different mentality, I have to ask, “Is this what a more evolved, advanced society is like?”

During orientation, one of our activities was to write a letter to our future selves, to be received in the middle of the semester in October. I wrote about what I want for myself, little reminders of my optimism at the beginning of this whole experience. My biggest fear is that I will find myself halfway through my short time here and realize that my days are numbered and I haven’t done everything I am setting out to do. Happiness is sadness without the expectations, and I hope my expectations aren’t setting me up for disappointment. I’m so scared of running out of time and the only way to ensure that doesn’t happen is to give myself time to sit and invite those moments of cultural confusion and disillusionment. After week one of sixteen, the countdown process in my head is already fully underway. To stop the clock, I need to let myself enjoy every single one of those quiet, panicked morning commutes.