Climbing Up To Meet Myself
Various shades of charcoal gray shadows surrounded me in the room’s morning darkness. My heart thudded in the center of my chest as I pinched the bridge of my nose, attempting to stave off hot tears that threatened to spill down the sides of my face. Rolling left into the fetal position, my oversized gray t-shirt bunched up behind me. Spooning my iPhone as it lay beside me on the bed, I touched the smooth screen to swipe up. I squinted into the light to see that it was 8:27 a.m. on Friday, 20 November.
This was me fall of 2020, as I lay alone in the small apartment I rented in the Älvsjö district of Stockholm, Sweden. I was determined to rise above a blue mood that swirled within for several days, hoping that reverse psychology would help me hop over a funk that pulled me down by the ankles. But the waves of undulating emotions persisted, crashing in the night before. Capsizing my resolve when I glimpsed two emails that began with, “Unfortunately, we will not be moving forward with your application…” I didn’t need to read more to know I’d been removed from the lists of candidates for the graphic design positions.
Earlier in the week, I also discovered that an amorous interlude had run its course. Despite it ending amicably, I was downcast. Because the possibility of intimacy returning to my life reminded me of my needs.
“Never giving it a chance, you’re living a life of wondering why you didn’t try.”
In early March 2020, I had a mini-meltdown, connected to my new life abroad as a digital nomad, someone who travels freely while working remotely using technology and the internet. On the surface, all was good. My visit to Stockholm had been extended through Migrationsverket (Swedish immigration). My network of Swedish friends was growing, sprouting from connections that began after my first visit to the Scandinavian capital in August 2015. I was also moving through my feelings of leaving a company I‘d worked at for over twenty years.
What swept in like a brush fire and consumed me was my fear of what friends and family may have been saying about my decision to leave the U.S. I agonized over the belief that all were conspiring to have me airlifted out of Europe. People-pleasing bounded back into my psyche with a vengeance.
“I think that boy has snapped.” This is what I imagined my aunt in Maryland proselytized to family over the phone. I was sure my high school friend lamented it was a severe form of a midlife crisis, as he lounged in his living room armchair in Phoenix, Arizona. And it didn’t help that a family friend sent a text that read, “Only young white people do what you’re doing. And you’re neither young nor white.”
What helped to smother the flames licking at the heels of my determination was a Swedish friend who said, “Erick, picture it. You gave up on this dream that materialized when you first visited Sweden. Never giving it a chance, you’re living a life of wondering why you didn’t try.”
The wind rushed out of me. “Thank you. That’s what I needed to hear.”
From that moment, until the morning of 20 November 2020, I was good. I got back on track. I once more permitted myself to believe in my plans. Something I realized requires daily upkeep to maintain. I allowed myself to absorb the words of encouragement from those close to me. I returned to my life goals, which included writing more. Each day I coached myself by saying, Erick, you’ve got this. Go after what you believe in. It’s not wrong.
I made it through four seasons in Stockholm when summer 2020 arrived. Like the rest of the world, Sweden adjusted to the realities of the COVID-19 pandemic. Despite this, I got to attend a scaled-down version of the Swedish midsummer, one of the country’s celebrated holidays. And I experienced the joy of sloughing off coats and sweaters to radiate in the season’s warmth.
In early September, a friend invited me to stay with his family in a small village in southern England. For the first time, I learned the importance of slowing down to enjoy the sights, sounds, and fragrances of nature. Through my friend’s 93-year-old mother, I learned that each day is an opportunity to live my best life. If I’m open to it.
With my return to Sweden in early November 2020, something familiar followed me back. My inane desire for absolute approval from others. I focused on what I didn’t have, permitting the voices of doubt to frolic through my brain and cloud the progress I’d made since leaving the U.S. in early October 2019.
Lying in bed on the morning of the 20th of November compelled me to do something. I admitted to myself that my feelings weren’t as sunny as I projected them to be. I was frustrated I wasn’t landing jobs I believed I was qualified for. I was challenged by some of the realities of being a digital nomad.
When a friend asked me to describe my feelings, I said, “You know, I want to take that glass that is half full, hurl it across the room, and watch it smash against the wall into a million tiny pieces.” His laughter reminded me I wasn’t alone. And more importantly, it’s okay to share how I’m feeling.
“I’m better able to process a wider range of emotions. And it’s strengthening my spiritual connection and my intuition.”
Progressing through my mid-life, I’m climbing up to meet myself. For the first time, I’m able to see that I’m alright. I’m living through experiences I’ve always wanted to have. Which includes treating myself before the pandemic to a birthday trip to Berlin, Germany. I’ve enjoyed coffee in historic neighborhoods in England, Germany, and Sweden. This period of my life has been beautiful and scary. And it’s all because of the active choices I’m making.
Since embarking on this journey, I’m doing more than just seeing the weapons of negativity in my life. I’m loosening my grip on them and letting them go. Because internal chatter like Erick, no one wants to deal with a Black gay man, is damaging. I’m returning to the sources of these beliefs. Looking at how their familiarity creates the illusion they’re helping me.
I don’t ignore the realities of cynicism that may traverse through my life. But I want to return to a nugget of wisdom my mother shared with me during my teen years. When I discovered I was outside of the circles of popularity at school. “Erick, regardless of who you are or what you do, people are going to talk about you. So do what feels right for you. Do what makes you happy.”
I recognize that my distress over others’ opinions of me is linked to my codependency, which manifests itself in believing that my “…desires and needs are unimportant… (Medical News Today, 2017).” Maybe I’ll return to therapy. Something that gave me clarity after my mother’s passing in 2004.
I don’t fully know where this path I’m on as a global digital nomad is leading me. I do know that in deciding to do it, I’m more grounded in my purpose. And I’m better able to process a wider range of emotions. It’s strengthening my spiritual connection and my intuition. Which is increasing my belief in myself.
