Where am I headed?

"Be careful of where you're going, or you may end up where you're headed."

Sometimes I forget this, one of the principles of decision making which I have come to rely on. Sometimes I am lucky enough to remember.

If you have read anything I have written within the last few months, you will know that I had big plans for these two months of vacation before I return to Tokyo. The original plan, to kayak North along the coast of Sweden for a month, was quickly canceled in favor of smaller trips to more varied landscapes. This new plan still had me spending over half of the two months traveling within Sweden, including kayaking the fjords of the west coast, attending survival training in the north, and biking through the south.

When I moved out here to the nature reserve, the kayaking plans quickly disappeared. Although I would still love to make such trips, I quickly saw how much more enjoyable it would be to spend the very short time available here, living as part of a community, working with others, getting to actually know people.

Most recently, the survival training in the north has been scrapped. The more I hang around here, the more I get to know the other people here, and the more I have come to realize that the type of "survival" I am interested in learning about is not how to survive in the woods alone, but rather, how can people survive as a society, without destroying ourselves?

The first thing I quickly got a sense of (although I already "knew" it), was that the kind of survival I want to learn about does not happen alone in the woods. I am sure that I would have learned some valuable tips on how to get by in extreme situations by using what is available from nature. What I am learning here instead is how people get by in sustained, long-term, real-life situations making use of what is available around them -first and foremost, each other.

There is an incredible atmosphere of "your work is my work, my work is your work" here. From people helping each other with the farming, to painting, to building walls, to moving goods, to working in the cafe, to getting ready for a play... While most people have "their own" job, it is not uncommon to see them doing someone else's.

This is possible because there is also an atmosphere of my (insert object or concept here) is your (insert object or concept here). When I ask the farmer if I can have a few strawberries she looks at me like I am crazy for asking... of course I can. My neighbor who lives in the camper fetches me one day to show me where he keeps the key. He's not going anywhere, no need to feed his parakeets or guinea pigs, it's just natural that I, as the neighbor, should know where he keeps the key, just as everyone here knows where the key to my house is.

Of course, I should not be calling it "my house" as Henrick, the owner of the building says, it is no more my house than it is his house or anyone else's house. This is evident not only by the neighbors frequently coming in to use the kitchen, bathroom, or internet, but also when someone new stops by looking for something to do for her summer vacation. Within a week she is moved into the house, no questions asked. In return, although it is not required (no work is "required" here, in fact, the prevalent philosophy is that if it stops being fun, stop immediately!), she frequently helps out in the cafe, or by taking Henrick's phone calls as he takes a long deserved vacation.

It may sound as though this is some sort of hippie commune, but it's not. Many of the people in the "community" don7t live here, and almost everyone here has some other life or responsibilities in "the real world". The professor living in the trailer helps build things and move things around the farm, but he is also a school teacher and leader of a agricultural project aimed at using animals grazing habits to return the Swedish landscape to it's natural state. The couple teaching me about farming are running an organic farming project out of a nearby city. They only keep one part of their project here. Annike, one of the few people actually paid to work here, is a long-time friend of Henrick and has, in the past, spent much time working on a volunteer basis, as does her husband now, who, a professional carpenter, doesn't give a second thought to helping renovate a room in the cafe.

I am learning that this type of survival, based on community, does not appear to be a product of any "how can I get my fair share" attitude". It is not based on a strictly calculated flow of money and goods. People are paid, and goods do flow, but there are no rules that govern this, other than each person's own desire to do what they feel is appropriate. Lunch at the cafe has been, until recently, "pay what you can or feel is right". The only reason there is now a "suggested" price, hand-written on scrap paper and taped to the wall, is that such a concept has proven to be too foreign to many of the visitors. People just don't know what to do when they are actually trusted to do what they feel is right, rather than told what they have to do. People can't believe that they would be welcomed back tomorrow even if they could not pay for the meal they ate today.

One would expect visitors to be amazed at the low prices of the high-qulity goods in the organic food shop (Henrick's main goal is to promote health, and therefore refuses to take the normal margin on the products he sells, sometimes at prices as low as 70% what they would be in some other shops), but what people are most amazed at (as I first was) is that they find no security cameras, not even a cashier. Instead, there is simply a calculator, a notebook to write down your purchase, and a basket to put your money into or make change when needed.

Sure, there have been instances of theft, and Henrick admits to having contemplated locking the door when it closes and hiring a full-time employee to take care of the shop, but he never did. This has perhaps been one of the greatest survival lessons I have gotten from being here... the power, value, and neccesity of trust, and displaying that trust in others if we are to survive as a society. I have no idea how most visitors feel when they go home knowing that there is someone out there who trusts in people he has never met, and that the ability to display that trust is worth more than the money lost to shop-lifting. I don't know if other people go home and feel any more trustful of their neighbors. I only know that I worry less about locking my bike, and I feel better not having to suspect everyone I see of wrong-doing, and I feel better knowing that I am trusted and not suspected of wrong-doing. I realize now how much energy I have spent over the years doubting and suspecting everyone, how much stress I have subjected myself to. This is not to say that I think I will never be burned by trusting people "too much", or that my bike will never be stolen, but I am finding that in the long-term, trusting people is worth more to me and my mental and physical health than the cost of a used bike.

But what was the point of this whole post? Oh yeah... being careful not to stick to0 closely to my plans. If I had been a little more strict, deciding that, as I have been taught by society, that my "inability" to make plans and stick to them means that I am a failure, I would be sitting alone in the woods now eating a pine-cone instead of having spent two days sailing around the archipelago with a sixty-seven year old professor and his sheep dog, Gora (and eating pine-cones). Had I gone to the survival course, I may have learned how to build a fire with two sticks, but I would not have had the opportunity to watch and listen to him as he surveyed the islands for his natural-state restoration project. I would not have learned what animals like what types of terrain, and how he, who has lived self-sufficiently, would use the terrain and resources available on each island if he were to set up a home there. I would not have heard his stories about how he lived for many years as a herder in the far north of Sweden, and how they live now, and the "sustainability" challenges they face.

If I had stuck to my plans, I would not have spent yesterday helping and chatting with Annike, manager of the cafe, about her life, and the twelve years she lived self-sufficiently with her family. I would not have heard about how she raised her kids in such an environment in a way that they did not miss the great "benefits" of modern life, such as nintendo and TV. I would not have had the opportunity to meet her children and see how they are not only "well adjusted", but rather ahead of the curve for their age -despite the fact that they still (at 21 and 23) live without internet at home. For me this is a major "survival" learning in terms of trusting my instincts which tell me that people can survive and lead fulfilling lives without relying on the great "advances" of technology.

Meeting people who have really live this way, and live a richer life than most people I know, has taught me to ignore that little voice that had been programmed into me saying "if you try to live differently you will be an out-cast, a hermit in the woods. You will be the uni-bomber". Although she and her husband have now taken "real" jobs, simply looking for a change and some variety, their current life-style is just as much of a survival lesson for me. I visited her home yesterday in the country-side, saw how they live on so little (though they have the means to live on more) and how it does not effect their ability to be content, rather, it enhances their ability to enjoy and appreciate life. It's nothing new really, and nothing I have not hypothesized or read about, but to see it in real life... makes it real.

If I had stuck to my plan, I may have spent last night in the forest learning how great the tips of spruce trees taste, and how much vitamin C is in them. Well, I learned that anyway just by walking through the woods with Annike and her husband. I also learned several other plants and their medicinal uses and how to make the best tea from them. I had the opportunity to survey their garden, seeing how they have laid out their small plot of land with garden and natural space, tended by chickens, in a way that they could thrive and survive even without their "real" jobs.

How lucky I am that I have not ended up where I was headed. How grateful I am that my parents raised a looser, incapable of making a plan and sticking to it.

* * *

Now I have to get back to real life. There is a strawberry patch that just wont let me go a day without eating several bucket-fulls of fresh berries, and later I will be taking photos for a visiting painter as she puts on a little painting class for local children. Tomorrow I take off for a two day bike trip with a classmate. Perhaps we will take along my survival book and nothing else... just to get some survival training, proving that I am somewhat capable of doing what I say I am going to.

The photos are from our after-graduation party last month. Most of them are classmates, but some (the people with the sailor caps) are of other Swedes at the bar that night for their own graduation party.