Advice.

During my lifetime, many people have given me advice.

My grandmother regularly tells me to "be good, be kind, and don't do dumb things."

My 6th grade teacher once cried at my conference telling me to continue in my education. It was strange.

My mother has always encouraged me to listen in on conversations in Spanish at the grocery store because you never know when you'll hear something interesting.

These examples may be a little silly (though that does not negate their legitimacy), but since being in Sweden I have received a great amount of advice. Perhaps this arises from my undecided future. I am in the process of hearing back from around 10 fellowship programs, graduate schools, and research position applications. Next year I could end up in Iceland, Seattle, North Carolina, the U.K., Minneapolis, Munich, or Boston. Truthfully, I can't tell you which one.

This relative lack of answer to the ubiquitous question of, "Oh, what are you doing after graduation?" has led me to reflect on how readily we give our opinions and consider how often I actually take the advice offered.

Advice itself is somewhat neutral. Yes, I will admit that there exists 'bad' advice and that sometimes people like to pretend they are knowledgeable in areas they know nothing about. But the power in words is how they can spur or prevent action. Advice means nothing if the person receiving it dismisses it. It is when we critically consider advice that it changes us.

My current situation has me thinking on this topic because for the first time I believe I may have found a niche for myself in the academic world. I love what I'm researching and the possibility of becoming an epidemiologist is exciting for me. I am fascinated by investigating potential links between psychiatric disorders and birthweight or connections between common genetic variation and the development of autism. Being in an environment where fellow researchers thrive off pursuing this topics is invigorating and wonderful. Yet the pathways my co-workers have taken to reach this field are many.

As these last few weeks have flown by, the range of advice I have received reflects this diversity in background. I have been advised to take a year off (or two or three) and to travel the world. To consider critically the role a husband and family play into my future and career path. To apply to many things and to be choosy. To follow my heart. To be willing to try something adventurous and challenging. To get a paying job. To be careful with my time and to be generous with my heart. To be careful with my heart and generous with my time.

I am coming to realize that this early-20s phase is a confusing time. It's the age when people start getting married, go on to graduate studies, get full time jobs, or maybe do a combination of these. This is the time when people start thinking (I hope) about what kind of adults they want to be and what kind of role in society they want to play.

So to the people who are giving me advice, thank you. While I may not always take it, I appreciate it. While I may not currently seem like I am appreciating it, I probably will in the future. The advice you give challenges me. It helps me consider what I truly want after graduation from college and to realize it probably won't go as I plan. Most importantly, your life experiences open my eyes to the myriad of possibilities open to me as I go forward.

Because isn't that the purpose of advice? We pass down the lessons we hold most dear in the hope that the next generation learns from them.

Right now, I'm just trying to learn.

Nevertheless, I can't help but wonder if Granny had it right from the beginning. Life would be better for everyone if we all were nice, were good, and didn't do dumb things.

Woman Cannot Live on Powdered Soup Alone.

Over the past week, one simple truth rises out of the predictable clutter of cultural adjustments standard upon moving to a foreign country:

Food plays a role in defining our human experience.

As this may seem a strange truth to dwell on during my first week, I will develop it further. 

Sweden is expensive. While I have traveled to large cities in the U.S. and experienced the price hiking common in such larger locales, I have taken for granted the availability for cheap food. I assumed that the McDonald's Dollar Menu (or its foreign equivalent) would always be available to pick up on an alimentary whim. As with many other times in my life, experience has proved my preconceived notions wrong. 

Eating on a budget in Stockholm has been my greatest challenge. Yes, it surpasses the difficulty inherent in not speaking the native language of a country. Yes, it precedes the loneliness of only have acquaintances and no friends yet. When paying one's way (flight, rent, etc.) completely, the idea of paying $10 for a simple sandwich in a cafe is difficult to stomach (literally). 

To expand on my diet over the last week, I can explain it in three simple points:

1. Powdered soup. Prior to coming here, I didn't even know this existed. It does and it comes in various flavors/colors. Even better, the box contains a 3-pack for a mere $1.50 (10 SEK). Just add boiling water and voila: a meal. Kind of. I'm partial to the Redd Grönsack (whatever this means) one - it even had 4 peas in it once. See, Mom - I am getting my vegetables!

2. Salami & cream cheese sandwiches. I think they somehow make their loaves of bread here longer and cut the slices more thinly. For a woman who did not buy a loaf of bread all of fall semester at Gustavus, attempting to eat through roughly 30 pieces of break in 6 days is a feat I have yet to accomplish...I have until the 9th to finish it off before the "Best By" date rolls around. Wish me luck.

3. Lattes. These are truly always my downfall. They are an addiction I can't quite overcome and the espresso machine at work (free!) is not helping. But even so, Swedes are known for their outrageously high consumption of coffee and the most charming of cafes seem to dot every corner of this beautiful city simply to tempt me. Lest you think I am too easily swayed, I will let you know that I have consumed only 3 (a prodigious accomplishment in my mind) as they cost a whopping $5.80 (38 SEK) for a small. Yes, that is correct. I have spend almost $20 on lattes while eating powdered soup. Life is full of contradictions.

Before I got sidetracked on my love for lattes, I was contemplating on how the food we eat shapes our outlooks. This weekend I explored Gamla Stan, the oldest part of Stockholm, and while admittedly the most touristy, it was endearing in its quaintness. Narrow cobblestone streets divide beautifully old buildings whose street level rooms have been converted to cafes, restaurants, and shops. Christmas stars and candles still light up the upper level windows and give the area an intimate feeling. Yet as I wandered through this idyllic area of Stockholm, all I could think of as I looked into the cafe windows was the food I could not afford. As I munched on my salami & cream cheese sandwich, I wasn't able to fully appreciate the beauty surrounding me and I felt like I was missing out on the true essence of Gamla Stan by being unable to partake in its food. 

It got me thinking. How much does food contribute to our experience? There is something special about sharing a meal with people you care about - not eating at your desk or while you walk, as I have over the last week. Perhaps I am overanalyzing its importance because I am also missing those I care about, but food plays a key role in my happiness and my connection with others. Some of the most meaningful and memorable experiences of my life have occurred while sharing a latte in a coffee shop or over oil-spitting fondue pots at Christmas. 

As I look towards this new week, I vow to make healthier choices about my food choices. If it means buying one less clothing item at H&M (or the 20+ other stores like it) in order to eat a vannilbulle while drinking a latte, then so be it. If a $6 latte is the price I have to pay for a more positive outlook, I may come home broke. Yet I can't help but think that only by trying the food here will I truly appreciate Swedish culture in all of its fullness.

Needless to say, I bought a gyro tonight for dinner and it was delicious. You know, woman cannot live on powdered soup alone. 

Arrival: Stockholm.

I have arrived in Stockholm, Sweden.

Under normal circumstances, I enjoy traveling and the new places, people, and experiences that accompany it. Nevertheless this trip, while definitely including new experiences, does not rank highly on my list of most relaxing journeys.

The following is my travel schedule for the last 24 hours: a car ride to the Minneapolis airport, a 1-hour flight to Chicago, a tram to change terminals, an 8-hour flight to Stockholm-Arlanda airport, a 40 minute bus ride to Stockholm City, a 15 minute metro ride, and a short walk. When preparing for this journey, I assumed I would be tired by the end. I did not plan on being sick.

I came down with a lovely (sarcasm here, everyone) case of the stomach flu. Per usual, it conveniently reared its ugly head first in the security check line at the Minneapolis airport. For those who have not experienced something like this, I would like to draw your attention to the fact that: 1. This is not hte ideal place to bolt to a bathroom, 2. When you need to make it to your gate on time, you do not have time to get back in line, and 3. Security guards are actually very nice to sick people puking in their garbage cans. Needless to say, the next steps of my journey were less than enjoyable. I am glad to say the last bout occurred on a platform of the Stockholm metro around 12 hours ago and I am feeling much better.

The room I am renting, which I have now unofficially dubbed "The Big Yellow" due to its color scheme, is very cute and my land lady has been lovely. She even made me tea when she heard I was feeling poorly! Everything is unpacked and as always, I have brought too many clothes for a month. Someday I will learn...

Now that the worst (I hope) is behind me, I am excited about being in Stockholm. I will be here for the next month researching at Karolinska Institute in the Department of Medical Epidemiology and Biostatistics. With a post-doc researcher here, I will be working on her research in psychiatric genetics, specifically schizophrenia. I am very excited about gaining first hand experience working in epidemiology. Considering that I have applied to graduate schools in this field, I am hoping that I like it! I certainly have a lot to learn and I have a great feeling about this month.

While the research aspect of this opportunity is important, I am also hoping to connect with a few friends in Europe and learn more about my Swedish heritage! Grandpa Gunberg always refers to Sweden as the "Homeland" and I am hoping to understand my own Swedish roots better while concurrently exploring modern Sweden.

Tomorrow is my first day at Karolinska.

Here's to new adventures, new friendships, and new life lessons.

Dark Chocolate.

My life feels like dark chocolate.

While that may sound weird at first, let me explain.

This past week has been an overwhelming mixture of joy, tears, relief, disappointment, laughter, anxiety, fatigue, and disbelief.

On Thursday, I found out my family's arrival was delayed until Sunday due to the ash cloud spanning the Tasman. I was incredibly disappointed. I spent my day moping a bit and studying for finals.

On Friday, I took my second final: Classical Tragedy through Mythology. I was rather glad to be finished with that one.

On Saturday, I took my Inorganic Chemistry final. It was an immense relief to be finished with that.

After my exam, Saturday brought me to tears. I am not sure whether they were tears of joy or of sadness. Most likely both. My mother called me from Sydney to deliver the news that they will not be able to arrive until Tuesday due to the ash cloud. Four days after their planned arrival. Just as I was absorbing this difficult information, the phone was given to someone else in Sydney. Someone I thought was on the other side of the ocean spending time in Minnesota playing frisbee golf.

My boyfriend Justin is in Sydney with them. Even now, I can scarcely wrap my head around all of the planning and white lies that were put into making his arrival a surprise and had the ash cloud not gotten in the way (quite literally), I think the airport would have experienced an incredible amount of screams and tears when I saw him.

While it is truly unfortunate that the Lucht family + Justin are marooned in Australia, I have grown to recognize that there are also some positive aspects of this situation. I have been able to study for my last exam without distraction. They have been able to spend a few days in the lively city of Sydney seeing incredibly architecture, tasting great food, and experiencing Australia. I have time to pack and get all of my things together before they arrive. They will have recovered from jet lag by the time they get to me.

During church this morning, the pastor spoke about hope. He spoke about the importance of it in our Christian lives, especially when we face disappointment.

In the stressful events of the past few days, God has been showing me just that: in the difficult things of life, there is always hope.

In those things that seem too bitter, there is still sweetness.

It's like dark chocolate.

Ash Clouds, Ash Clouds, Go Away. Come Again...Never.

I am not ready to leave New Zealand quite yet. Instead, I have the privilege of showing my family the country I have lived in and the people I have grown to love. I get to see their reactions when they witness the grandeur of the Remarkables on the South Island and hear their laughter when they meet my awesome homestay family.

There is only one problem.

A certain Chilean ash cloud looms ominously over Southern parts of New Zealand and Australia.

If this occurred almost any other week, I would note it as an interesting phenomenon and move on.

I cannot do that this week.

My family arrives in three short days and they connect through Sydney, out of which flights have been grounded on multiple occasions in the last few weeks.

So please, Mr. Ash Cloud, skedaddle. Perhaps Chile would take you back?

The Lucht Brigade

I love calculating. Whether it is how many points I need on a test to do well for my final grade or the amount of time it will take me to travel somewhere, I just love using simple math to figure out life's daily problems.

Lately, I have become rather obsessed with an even simpler type of math: counting.

I love to count. I love to count how many days of finals I have left. I love to count how many weeks until I board the plane home. I love to count how many 'sleeps' there are until my wonderful family gets here.

It seems as though every morning I wake up and my brain automatically calculates my new set of numbers. 11, 3, 9.

While I see no incredible harm in knowing the number of days until my time here in New Zealand is finished, I am struck by the danger of living only for the future instead of in the present. Too often I become stuck in wondering, wishing, and hoping for, what I imagine, a time when life will be easier. More filled with love. More figured out.

Something tells me that day will never come.

The world is a messy place. Things can be difficult. School can be challenging and relationships can be straining, but I know this: no matter how much you believe attaining something or reaching some time will make everything better, it will not.

My experience here in New Zealand has been unbelievable. It has been the most challenging thing I have ever done and while I think I have cried more in these 4+ months than in any other, I have grown and experienced more than I ever imagined possible. It wasn't done sitting and waiting in my cozy little bedroom in the basement for the time to pass. Instead, it happened through doing. Through action. Through engaging in the world around me just where I am.

As I count down now, I recognize that I need to continue to give my presence to my life here in Auckland, but I could not be more excited to share this place with those I love the most and to have them be present here too.

Be prepared, Auckland. The Lucht Brigade is coming.

To Be a Hobbit.

This last weekend, I traveled around the Coromandel peninsula with some of my friends. We saw things ranging from a hot water beach (after digging a hole in the sand, you bask in the hot water that fills it) to Cathedral Cove, which was featured in the Narnia movie "Prince Caspain". It was a very cool Saturday.

It was Sunday that brought me to Hobbiton. The site of 'The Shire' is outside the small town of Matamata and boasts the hobbit holes featured in the Lord of the Rings trilogy as well as the upcoming movie of 'The Hobbit'.

It was all very cool and while I cannot post pictures due to copyright, I urge you to take my word for it that the small dwellings are incredibly picturesque. If possible, I would not mind having a round and colorful front door on my house in the future. While I have been told it would be an inefficient use of space, I maintain that it would add a character that far surpasses any lost space.

One thing that struck me while I peered around at hobbit holes and the quaint gardens of 'The Shire' was how incredibly real things can appear when they are truly not. While to my eyes, the sets looked flawless, I knew in my mind that they were merely constructions.

Sometimes I wonder if we try to appear like these movie sets: put together with things perfectly placed. We like to give the impression of being people in control of our relationships, our academics, our futures, our emotions, and our experiences.

I hope to always freely admit my life is not like that. It seems to me that as soon as I figure out one aspect of my life, another has dropped off the deep end. My relationships sometimes take a hit as I focus on academics and vice versa.

In Hobbiton, occasionally some pesky tourists disrupt the carefully erected facade. It is discovered that behind those cute round doors lie only cement retaining walls.

My prayer this week is to be someone real. Someone who freely admits mistakes and difficulties. I am praying to be someone whose life reflects God despite of and through my imperfections.

I am also secretly praying to be turned into a hobbit.