One Good Friend.

“Everyone needs friends. At least one good one”.

I remember those words like it was yesterday, uttered by my very first online acquaintance.

I met her in the beginning of the nineties. Internet and online communications were in their infancy, yet I already then developed an avid interest for online communities, as suddenly a whole new world of interactions was opening up to my perception.

She became my real close friend for a couple of years, a confidant that I shared my thoughts with. There was something safe in the fact that I shared my secrets with basically a stranger, thousands of miles away from me, someone I never met, yet a living, breathing soul who could offer words of empathy and comfort.

Being far away from my established friends and my family, having left everything behind on another continent a few years prior, I realized that making real life friends as an adult was a task light years removed from the time when I was a child.

Me and My Best Friend in 1989

As a little girl I made friends easily. I lost them easily too, but in no time new would come along and I never ever recall being a solitary child or having the feeling of being left out. I had an overabundance of friends at all times; some were children I admired, some were those who admired me and then there was at least one good friend. My very best friend that liked me exactly for who I was and shared my innermost secrets and dreams with me. Already then I perceived easily how important this very fact was.

Once my parents immigrated to Sweden, our family went through a mental transition, one that deserves its own exclusive post. To leave ones country - what at that time was assumed as forever - is not something one easily recovers from and the experiences of immigration shaped my early teenager years.
Nevertheless, I still made friends. I found quickly that initially I was drawn to other children, which just like me found themselves as foreigners in another country. We were brought together due to our similar fate and felt unified due to our situation.
As time progressed and my family became successfully integrated in the new society and our new country became our home, as a teenager I slowly made friends with Swedish kids, even though I with amusement must admit that they all had foreign ties, in one way or another.

Me And My Sister In 1994

During this time, my sister became my very best friend. I recall still today our long daily talks. We discussed everything between heaven and earth and I always looked forward to finding her at home when I returned from school, as we would sit in mine or her room for hours, recollecting our day.

I kept my university friends when I started to work and when I moved away from home on my own, I had a well-established network with only a few friends, but still friends I liked and could count on. The phone was never off the hook and I never felt alone – in fact at times I wish I was.

When I left Sweden as a young adult and moved to the other side of the Atlantic, I quickly found myself in a situation that required solitude and discretion and making friends became suddenly impossible.
And then one day it just happened, as I went through life’s ups and downs, traveled the paths less traveled I found that as an adult I became scrutinized by others, at times viewed as threat and interference and felt unwelcome into new established friendship circles. At the best I could make brief and superficial acquaintances.
It dawned on me then that the connections we make as young are golden.

Whether it is the mindset of younger years, the ability to bounce back so easily or whether it is the will and interest to genuinely get to know people - nevertheless, childhood friends are the ones we should try to keep. There is something infinitely comforting to have known - and have been known by - someone for decades, to have followed them through life’s turmoil and to have shared so many unforgettable moments. It is a magic I will sadly never experience.

I still keep in touch with many of my old friends, those that I made during my teenage years. Still, life has brought us in different directions and the closeness we once felt is long gone. Today, after having lived more than a decade in a new country, I cannot state to have made many new friends.
However life has taught me that it is not the quantity but the quality that counts in the end.
Maybe that is the difference between the friendships we strike as young and the one we do as adults.

Me And Elizabeth

Thus I would like to dedicate this post to my one and only true confidant, my very best adult friend Elizabeth who has become my light in the dark – and serendipitously we met through our common love for a nearby lighthouse.
Her concern and genuine care has kept me sane through many recent storms over the past two years. She has shared my deepest secrets and I hers and her beautiful and unblemished mind and candid empathy has made me once again trust in the goodness of people, corroborating my belief that we should pay attention to who destiny brings our way. Each and every encounter has a higher meaning and the people we meet always have a role to play in our lives.

I have today reached the conclusion that we cannot go thorough life alone. As much as we need shelter and food, we also need love and companionship. And at least one good friend.

There are no rules that define a true friend; however often it is the hardship of life that shows us that true friendship can come from the most unusual and unexpected places.

The Rising Moon.

Driving home from work on Monday evening this week, as I was passing the coast, a magnificent moon was seen rising just above the bay. It was almost full. The evening sky was jet black and absolutely pristine and the image I saw was mesmerizing.

The disc was large and very bright, reflecting in the surf of the "arctic beach", which is still snow covered, but yet once again ice free. Almost as if suspended in the horizon, the nearby lighthouse could be seen underneath the moon as a small light dot, turning on and off with regular intervals. All this created an almost enchanted landscape. I simply had to stop to take a picture.

With my camera at home, all I had in my bag was my iPhone and the pictures I took became unclear, resembling a rather diffused aquarelle, doing no justice to the reality as I recall it on that magical Monday evening.

Determined to capture a better picture on my way back from work at the same time a day later (yesterday), I was equipped and ready with my camera, battery fully loaded. The evening was yet again clear, but to my surprise, no moon was in sight. Bummer! Compared to the sun, which rises and sets with minimal difference from one day to another, the moonrise can differ as much as one and a half hour within a span of 24 hours.

Not that the pictures would have been much different. Not being able to capture adequately the image of the moon has caused my irritation level to rise on many occasions. I love my small "point and shoot" camera, but it has no zoom to speak off and thus my moon pictures continue to look bad.

Just before bedtime yesterday, as I was extinguishing the lantern outside my front door, the white disc was once again visible in the night sky. Smaller then the day before and partly obstructed by clouds. I could not resist taking one more fuzzy shot, this time with my camera.

This natural satellite of Earth holds my everlasting fascination and thus I can not help continuously trying to capture the beauty of this celestial object, no mater the quality of my pictures.

A Light In The Dark.

I live in a city positioned in bay, on the east coast of a Danish peninsula. My house is build on a hill, rising south above the city and throughout a year, I can glimpse the ocean out of my kitchen window. Unfortunately the view is obscured by three magnificent birch trees and by each year, more of it disappears. I often get the urge to find a way of getting rid of two of the trees, but then again, how I could I be instrumental in a such a cruel destruction?

As the autumn progress and the leaves slowly dissipate, the view becomes more free. I love to see the indigo blue waters and often I can watch ships and large ferries travel by, with a course towards other islands and the small peninsula just in my immediate northeast, called Mols. If the weather is clear, I can see the land as well, just lining the horizon.
I pass this very coastline even on my drive to and from work. It is my favorite part of the trip, as I descend down the hill , winding down all the way to the beach and then follow the coastline for about a kilometer or two. The ocean is never the same. When the easterly winds blow, it is rippled with rolling waves, it's foaming ridges hitting the shore. Then again, when the winds turn, it can be pristine and calm, the surface almost as leveled as a mirror, reflecting the colour of the sky.

In the autumn and winter, I drive home after the onset of darkness and I often feel like traveling in a fairy-tale landscape, when the moon is full, reflecting in the midnight blue surface of the bay. I can often see the lights of large container ships in the distance, as they wait for harbor access permission.

There is also one more light in the dark ocean.

Just where the outline of the Mols coastline merges with the sea, a green and yellow light flickers in even intervals. Like a constant point in the vast distance, it directs boats around the very tip of the peninsula, guiding them safely around shallow grounds into the bay.
This is the Sletterhage Fyr in Helgenæs. Fyr is a Danish word for Lighthouse and it is positioned in one of the most fascinating places I have ever visited. Erected on a beautiful beach, it stands tall and majestic against the blue canvas of water and sky. Throughout the seasons it offers fantastic views of the city, of unspoiled and pristine Danish shores and of the elusive Nordic sunsets.