I’ve always put Denmark on an imaginary pedestal. It was my goal when i grew up to move home and stay there forever. I wanted to be like all the other Danish kids. But alas, it was not to be — thankfully. England was not to be either. I thought maybe i could spend the rest of my life there but the older i got the more that sounded like a life sentence of grief. I have a relatively intense love/hate relationship with England, where i lived for 16 years of my somewhat short life. Lots of people have been envious of me living in the UK and growing up there, it had its upsides for sure. Like i had a great education with great teachers (most of whom i am grateful for to this day), i learnt to sail, and i left with some incredible experiences but for the most part living in England was definitely not for me. It was not entirely good to me, and i in turn grew to have a very bleak out look on life which strangely enough i’m very grateful for.
So i guess i can thank England for that too.
“Go back to your own country!”
“We speak english here.”
I remember hearing those words every day of my life for the longest time. As child i was very aware that i was different. The other children were always a little weary of me, some frightened of me and others were mean to me, thats fine but the older i got the more xenophobia i witnessed. I got through that mostly by thinking “this would never happen in Denmark.” When i got a little older i tried moving home to Denmark a few times and each without success.
I thought Denmark was to be my safe haven. My place. My country. My home. However, when i moved there i was met with the same, “go back to England” “this is denmark — you don’t belong here.”
My poor hoping soul.
“So here you are,
too foreign for home,
too foreign for here.
Never enough for both.”
One of the shittiest things i’ve had to face, and it made me a little meaner.
That was when i realised that i didn’t have a home anymore.
Its a hard realisation that a place you dreamed of was never to be, and i think at a young age i already knew it but i pretended along anyways.
What did i have left?
I had freedom.
Freedom to find a new place.
A new world.
Don’t fret. The door i wanted opened was locked, but a door i was supposed to walk through blew off its hinges and i rode through guns blazing — like a regular Calamity Jane with a shot almost as good as Annie Oakley, just not as consistent. Yet.
Home to me is where the coyote yells outside my window at 3am, where the June-bugs endlessly piss me off in May and where i get second degree burns from a seat belt. Its where i got married. I never wanted to get married but ya know — its Texas, and Texas boys are seriously dishy. Texas is the first place where i wasn’t chased through town with pitchforks and told to go back to where i came from.
I found my home by being “homeless,” and a lot of people never experience that.
I’m ready to move back to Texas.
And i can’t wait.
I also can’t wait to complain about it, because i know that heat is going to kick my ass and i’m gonna love every minute of it.
(Please don’t quote me on that)
I learned that i’m more Danish than most. I made like the vikings and travelled around the world; by sea, by roads, on horseback and by plane. And thanks to England i have been blessed with the ability to realise that i can dream, and more importantly that i can and definitely should chase them.
I have both places to thank for who i was.
And Texas to thank for who i am.
And for cowboy boots because they’re comfy as shit.
So darling, don’t cry about closed doors, be open to those that let you in.