Walls, Bridges and Norway

A view from under the bridge in Turku

The past few days have been rather snowy in Turku. The roads are covered in a packed layer of snow, with ice patches camouflaged under the white. While walking to class today, I saw a guy descending from the hill to the footpath under the bridge. He took a step onto the sidewalk and jolted back with his arms flailing out. This all occurred in the matter of seconds. He quickly regained his balance and kept walking as though nothing had happened.

I’ve seen so many people nearly slip, the same way this young man did. Most casually keep walking, sometimes they share a laugh with their companions if they are walking with others. A few actually fall to the ground, get back up, and continue on. I’ve done both on many occasions.

But today it struck me that this sight is very endearing. The word cute also came to mind to describe it. And then I realized how terrible both thoughts sounded, even in my head.

I had to reflect about it for a while before I understood why the sight of someone nearly falling could be so lovable. The answer lay in vulnerability.

In Norway I learned the power of vulnerability. The idea was not new to me. I had heard countless times that we form meaningful connections with people when we are willing to open up to them. It wasn’t until I was faced with the challenge of creating a bond between many, many strangers in the space of 10 days that I realized vulnerability is a way to fast-track the process of getting to know a person.

Trondheim's Old Town along the Nidelva River

The first five days, however, I was the exact opposite. I built a façade, an outward demeanor of friendliness and cheerfulness but inside, I was constantly fighting myself, telling myself I had to be strong and hide away the insecurities that were bursting to break free.

My hosts saw through it. Perhaps because I was living with them, they had more of an

opportunity to do so than even the people in my workshop. In the morning the walls hadn’t come up yet and by the evening I was tired and found it more difficult to keep the façade going. But I kept some walls up even with them. It didn't work for long though. Eventually, two of my hosts broke through the wall and I laid bare the insecurities that had been bottled up in long heart-to-hearts with each.

Two of my hosts, Fredrik and Frederic attempt to take a selfie with me.

We had the privilege of listening to a Nobel Peace Prize Laurette, Shirin Ebadi. In her speech, she talked about the importance of building bridges instead of walls. Walls are comforting, they protect us from the outside world and allow us control over what comes in and out. But walls lead to seclusion and loneliness. We become wrapped up in our own heads, our own thinking and keep the rest of the world out, even when it offers help. Looking through a window we still cannot get a true sense of the outside world. 

I am eternally grateful to my two hosts who tore the wall down. And eventually they paved the way for the rest of my workshop members as well. I only wish I had been able to tear it down sooner because by not doing so, I missed on an opportunity to build many bridges.

The credit for this post goes to Alex, whose gave words to my half baked ideas.

Instead, I kept trying to maintain my façade. This is the same façade of cool indifference that we all keep when we walk along the street. It takes almost slipping on the ice to break through it and, for a fraction of a second, expose the humanity within.