HOW OUR TRIP TO COPENHAGEN TURNED INTO AN EXISTENTIAL SINKHOLE (in a good way)

In April, Lauren and I went to Copenhagen to visit one my longest childhood friends. To preserve her privacy, we will call her by the name she insisted on using when we were 14: Jimmy.
Jimmy and I grew up side-by-side but in wildly different spheres. She was only one year older than I, but she was a lifetime more mature and better organized. She worked during high school to save for college, she had responsible conversations with adults about world politics, she started smoking and came out as bisexual when she was thirteen. And the thing I loved most about her was how much she loved me, just as much as I loved her.
As kids, Jimmy and I carpooled to gymnastics and ran around at the block party, when it rained we intuitively met on the corner (pre-cellphones) between our two houses to find puddles together. In later years we went to Safeway to shoplift candy bars and binge eat during Saturday Night Live. We walked miles through our DC neighborhood. When she learned how to drive, we enjoyed the musical talents of Chamillionare through the same streets. She started dating a woman (tumultuous), and I dated men, each more damaging to me in succession. We smoked together on the hill near our house, preaching and pondering and bitching and growing.
I learned the most from Jimmy because she was so different than I, so utterly focused and determined, so aware of the future and so anxious about it. She knew about money, about the SAT, about tools for success. It was obvious she would go to a great university, clear she would be a responsible adult, a professional or an academic. She was serious, ultimately, and when we were together I felt like the charmed party girl visiting from a reckless and exciting world far away.
So, when I saw Jimmy pop her leg on the table and throw that ass in a circle at a gay bar in Copenhagen, I knew the relationship I remembered had shifted on a tectonic level. She was, in her harem pants and tight sleeveless shirt, a vision on the dancefloor.

Over the course of the four days that Lauren and I spent with Jimmy, I probably spent half of it staring at her. She laughed and laughed. Jimmy made jokes with strangers on the bus, in Danish. She looked at babies with love in her eyes, she bossed around her boyfriend in English while he tried to get a word in. She knows her way around town backwards, and spent patient hours watching us take the million photos we came for, and more patient hours watching us sift through Copenhagen’s retail. Our first night, she took us to a bar after it had closed, where we had a private and delirious evening. She has all the makings of an excellent tour guide: intuitive knowledge of the guests and their values, paired with a fine palette for Copenhagen’s food and culture. (Plus, a tirelessly generous disposition).
To see her so relaxed, flowing through the world so freely and spending so much time cackling hysterically (“ya burnt!”), forced me confront my memories of her. Were they real or had I spun them? I had expected to see the same serious face, but instead I found someone much happier and more at peace. She was different than I remembered: less stressed, less oppressed, more open, stronger, brighter. In my defense, she did puke on our first night (and second) but retching withstanding, Jimmy did seem to have a certain level-headedness about her career-absent, love-rich lifestyle oceans away from home. It was an inspiration, a divine queer beacon shining through the depths.

(In my Carrie Bradshaw voice) I couldn’t help but wonder, can a change of scenery change who we are? (Read: Should I quit and move abroad?) Or, was my memory playing tricks on me? (Read: Should I get a therapist, finally, and work this out?)
The answer is of course, both yes and no, and here’s my reasoning:
Yes, our identities are built from many layers of influence that our environments provide us (we are, at least a little bit, products of our environment).
Moving to a different cultural community would include engagement with a different set of influences. So, it follows that a different range of personality nuances could emerge in a new setting. So, yes, moving can change what parts of your personality come to the fore/fade away.
But, ultimately, No, moving won’t change who we are because it cannot negate the the formational experiences we have already had, or the coping skills we developed as a result, from different, past, landscapes. *Remember that quote from Buckaroo Banzai, “Wherever you go, there you are.” You are your baggage.
Although, a new setting can provide space and tools for us to develop ourselves and work on that baggage. When the new place has tools, we can grow, and a new landscape can be truly restorative and healing. On the other hand, keep in mind how your skills and insight will guide you in this new landscape, as you may not like your reaction.
Finally, memory always plays a role in how our environments shape our current selves. If you access the same memory and categorize it as a trauma, a benign memory can become harmful. In the same respect, if I constantly imagined Jimmy as this super-human productivity/focus machine, is it any surprise that I was stunned to see flesh-and-blood in Copenhagen? Yes, my mind played a trick on me.
Jimmy wasn’t unrecognizable, it was just that the goofy, silly parts of her personality that we used to share in private were now prominent features that moved and motivated her. And, it seemed that a different pace of life had encouraged her to re-evaluate what was important to her. Plus, she was in love. It was warm to see her so happy, but it would be naive to credit a move abroad with such a change, although of course it has its influence.

Inviting ourselves to identify which parts of our identity are rooted in personal history, societal influence, and social support (or lack thereof) are powerful tools that can help release us from outgrown personality tropes that no longer serve us, or gain insight into parallels and patterns in our own idiosyncrasies and pathologies. Travel helps us do this, as do friendships, by allowing us to see a version of life that we not regularly have access to. Like dreams, we can explore temporarily the effects of different circumstances, without committing to them for a lifetime.
So, a trip to Copenhagen turned out to be a landscape well worth exploring, physically and existentially (bonus). If you’re headed to town, check out our Food and Drink guide for spots you shouldn’t miss.
And Yes, we should all get therapists.
