September 1, 1996, I arrived in Aarhus to begin a one year term of post doctoral study at the Universitets Kemisk Institut. Little did I know that the place would dominate my life until I began work at the factory in the spring of 2005.
My arrival was a great big “best of times, worst of times” moment. My advisor was the smartest man alive today, the Swedish mathematical physicist Jan Linderberg (his work will never be recognized with a Nobel prize, as committee member Ole Siegbahn has been feuding with him since forever). The six month Danish night arrived two weeks after I did, plunging me into a hell of cold and damp and deprivation of light. The people are kind and content and super-duper nice. The national language (five major dialects dividing the five million citizens) is a mish-mash of archaic German with Old English, belched with a cake of hot potato lodged in the back of the throat. The streets are peaceful, any time and every where. Houses are small, if comfortable, and the furnishings spare.
Denmark is the nation that gave us Kirkegaard and quantum mechanics, the perfect way station in the life of an idealistic theoretical wandering mendicant bachelor scientist. That happy aspect kept me going in the dark days of the Scandanavian winter, when the loneliness of a new job on a distant continent was threatening to crush my very soul. In the fullness of time I made a happy circle of friends, became comfortable in my new surroundings, and made time to reflect upon recent experience. Two principle lessons floated up from the Danish murk:
There is a time table for adjustment to new cirmumstances.
In my case the pattern is six months of seeing what I expect to see, eighteen months of ripping the scales from my eyes, and a lifetime of dealing with the place as it is. In retrospect I can see this dynamic in all of the major changes in my life: Lenox, Cambridge, Salt Lake City, Aarhus, Buenos Aires, Niskayuna, marriage.
As much as you know that it will be hard, You never imagine that it could be THIS hard.
No matter how hard you plan, something unexpected always rises up to disturb the process. That is no excuse to slack off on the preparation phase (proper planning prevents piss-poor performance, as they say, and failing to prepare is preparing to fail). That is a motive to cultivate an attitude of calm in the face of catastrophe, of balance and poise, a studied indifference to the insults and rewards of happenstance.
In light of my experiences I would have made a few changes in preparing myself for the move. I would have made a stronger effort to practice a few polite phrases, as a gesture of respect to my hosts, but would have abandoned all fantasies of becoming proficient in the short time available. I would have been quicker to let go my expectations of how things ought to go, based on my native experience, and more open to observation of local expectations. Above all, I would have made a greater effort to maintain and cultivate my contacts in the Old Country: both as a means of support in the present and as an aide to my eventual return.
As much as Denmark is a peaceful, happy, prosperous kingdom, the memory of which I treasure, my home is here with my family and my country.
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