On the island of Ios while fulfilling my parents’ greatest wishes for their 19-year-old daughter — working as a go-go dancer in a bar managed by a 50-year-old man in Speedos named Tommy the Tiger — I met my future: Philip, a Swedish bartender. It was love at first cosmopolitan. When I announced that my bartending, ripped jeans–wearing summer fling would be visiting, my parents promptly made up a bedroom for him, in our garage. (In fairness, it was well insulated and recently painted.)
We embarked on a long-distance relationship until we met on neutral territory and spent 10 years chasing dreams, losing and finding ourselves and working really hard to reach the summit of London. And what would happen when we got to that summit? We could finally afford to rent an apartment with a spare bedroom!
When Philip was offered a position in Sweden I was dubious. But I got on board and focused on the benefits: the children would learn Swedish and familiarise themselves with the culture, and Philip could connect with home
We yearned for something more, something lasting.
When I married Philip I did it with one strong, clear message: I will not be moving to Sweden. We settled in Booterstown, in Co Dublin.
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Fast-forward six years and where do I find myself? In the suburbs of Stockholm with our three kids in a wooden clapboard house with plum trees in the garden and polite, reserved neighbours who leave baskets of fruit at the door but don’t come in for a cup of tea.
When Philip was offered a position in Sweden I was dubious. Although I loved to travel, I feared change. The pandemic had somewhat thwarted my theatre career, however, so I got on board and focused on the benefits: the children would learn Swedish and familiarise themselves with the culture, and Philip could connect with home.
We had no idea how challenging it would be to get set up in a new system, especially a system that follows rules and in which no amount of chancing your arm will get you anywhere
We contacted friends with small kids and copied their lives. We couldn’t fly over to find somewhere to live, so we went online and bought a house right down the road from two close friends and their families, enrolled our kids in the same daycare and fired question after question at them until, a year and a half later, it feels like we have some sort of a grip on things.
We had no idea how challenging it would be to get set up in a new system, especially a system that follows rules and in which no amount of chancing your arm will get you anywhere. A system in which you don’t exist until you receive a personal number and digital ID. Without one you can’t use any of the apps. Swedish society functions on apps: schools, doctor’s appointments, restaurant bookings, funfair queues, everything has an app. It’s like living in the future — a cashless society built on apps. I couldn’t tell you what Swedish money looks like.
All life information that arrives via email, letter or app was now in a language that I had a basic knowledge of. Going to buy alcohol in state-owned stores was mind-blowing. It was like entering a museum where you expect to be handed an audio-tour headset and information booklet.
My life abroad has been a gift, but I long for home and the closeness of family. The claustrophobic communities I needed to escape in my early 20s now, as a mother, seem so comforting, and I crave the cold Irish Sea
I am so proud of our children for how they have adapted — well, Leila was not even one yet, so perhaps not so impressive — but our six-year-old, Oscar, joined a new daycare, copying the kids in their games to make friends. It was trickier for four-year-old Elsa, who was keen to communicate verbally, but she managed and now speaks better Swedish than some of her classmates.
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Living abroad, immersing myself in another culture, connecting with people who have humbled me and shown me so much about what it means to live has been a gift, but I long for home and the closeness of family. The claustrophobic communities I needed to escape in my early 20s now, as a mother, seem so comforting, and I crave the cold Irish Sea.
Swedish winters are long. There are days when it feels as if the sun has only hovered above the horizon before setting, but there are also pink-sky mornings when the sun sparkles on glittering snow and you feel encapsulated in a magical snow-globe world.
I have realised that change is nothing to fear. Nature needs the change of the seasons in order to bloom again, and so do we. I won’t judge whatever comes next. I will welcome change like a friend
The change in the seasons is almost tangible. People emerge in spring to start preparing. Laborious gardening is rewarded as plants burst open with colour in early summer. My morning walk to school is a joy, seeing the care and understanding our neighbours put into their gardens to help nature along in its change. The long summer days come back and it’s a thing to behold. Midsummer celebrations gather communities in song and dance — not to mention pickled fish and an obscene amount of alcohol.
I have realised that change is nothing to fear. Nature needs the change of the seasons in order to bloom again, and so do we. I won’t judge whatever comes next. I will welcome change with gratitude like a friend, because it has been my greatest teacher so far.
If you live overseas and would like to share your experience with Irish Times Abroad, email abroad@irishtimes.com with a little information about you and what you do
