The Year of Living Danishly

by Helen Russell

  After two weeks of paternity leave post-birth, Lego Man goes back to work before tying up loose ends to take ten weeks off to care for his baby. He has a big shiny job at one of the country’s most profitable companies, but a dad taking time out, fully paid, to look after his child is recognised as something that’s important and so is encouraged. Lego Man learns how to do bath time and bedtime, and also learns how you can feel like you’re going insane by 2pm on a Tuesday when all you want is an hour’s uninterrupted sleep, and maybe a shower. He understands how looking after a child 24 hours a day can be hugely rewarding but that it’s also relentlessly tough. He knows that, some days, all you need is for someone to come home and say, ‘You’re doing a great job, here’s a snegle’.

  When the time comes, Little Red can start at a vuggestue or dagplejer with other under-threes where he’ll get to play and create and learn, with 75 per cent of the cost picked up by the state. This means that Lego Man and I can both afford to continue with our careers far more easily than we could in countries where childcare is akin to bankruptcy.

  US psychologist Abraham Maslow said that there was a five-tier hierarchy of human needs, each of which needed to be met before you could move on to worrying about other things, culminating in the hallowed goal of ‘self-actualisation’. These needs started with the ‘physiological’ (the basics: food, water, sleep etc.), followed by ‘safety’ (security of body, health and employment). Both of these needed to be in place before you could move on to the third, ‘belonging’ (friendship and sexual intimacy), then the fourth, ‘esteem’ (confidence and respect) and finally to self-actualisation (morality, creativity and problem solving).

  Danes have their physiological needs and their safety taken care of by the state, allowing them to move onwards and upwards more easily. They’re in school with the same people for ten years, allowing deep friendships to develop, and they’re well-informed and encouraged to get on with things in terms of sex. With a focus on creativity in schools and nurturing future job talent, many Danes are getting a leg-up right to the summit of the triangle. By contrast, some developed countries haven’t even got past the second rung of ‘safety’ – with no healthcare or job security (hello, USA).

  Thinking about it this way, it’s no wonder Danes are so happy. They have an obscenely good quality of life. Yes, it’s expensive here. But it’s Denmark – it’s worth it. I don’t mind paying more for a coffee here because I know that it means the person serving me doesn’t a) hate me or b) have a crappy life. Everyone is paid a decent wage, everyone is looked after, and everyone pays their taxes, just as I pay mine. And if we all have marginally less money to buy more stuff that we don’t really need anyway as a result, well I’m starting to think it’s a deal worth making.

  ‘It’s like Buddha teaches us,’ pontificates American Mom one rainy Thursday.

  ‘Buddha?’ God, I love Americans, I think. If it’s not Oprah it’s Buddha.

  ‘Sure. He teaches us that desires are inexhaustible. The satisfaction of one just creates new desires, like a cell multiplying.’

  I dearly want to give her a good old cynical British eye roll in response, but in spite of myself, I find I agree. Living Danishly has given me a glimpse of a more meaningful way of being. An understanding of how life should be, or at least, how it could be. And I like it.

  Of course, it’s not perfect. Yes, the winters suck and I wish that Denmark’s daylight hours were a little more evenly distributed throughout the year, so that we weren’t living in Mordor in winter and the land of the midnight sun for three months in summer. But we are where we are, and despite my newfound Viking powers, I can’t push Scandinavia nearer the equator (though I might have another try sometime soon). It’s not Australia, or any of those other, slightly more climatically temperate countries that also jostle for the top spot in terms of quality of life and happiness on global surveys.

  But I always feel as though these non-Nordic pretenders to the throne are cheating, somehow, by living in places with year-round sunshine. It takes strength of character to survive at the top as the world’s happiest nation throughout six months of frozen darkness every year. And life can’t always be a sunny, unicorns-using-rainbows-as-skipping-ropes-style utopia. But a steady, safe, nurturing environment that you can rely on today, tomorrow and in a year’s time is a pretty special next best thing. There are still highs – the first summer strawberries, Little Red learning to smile, the day I can drink again (in no particular order…). And of course there are lows. But for all the Danes I’ve spoken to over the course of the year, the lows tend to be personal – unavoidable human truths. The rest? Well, that’s taken care of in Denmark.

  There are still problems. It’s a homogenous country and there are sometimes gaps between the rhetoric of living Danishly and the reality. A small sector of society is intent on blaming immigrants for everything, from crime to missing meatballs. But there’s nothing rotten in the state that isn’t also afflicting other countries, with none of Denmark’s advantages. Danes are facing the same issues as the rest of the world, but despite the Dansk Folkeparti’s gains in the 2014 European Elections, Helle and her Social Democrat government are still in charge. And attempts are being made to help native Danes understand those from other cultures. In 2014, Copenhagen’s low-rise skyline changed to reflect the continued attempts at accepting and welcoming the city’s Islamic community with the addition of a 65-foot tower as part of Scandinavia’s biggest mosque. This combines traditional Islamic features with some typically Scandinavian design touches in an effort to encourage integration. The place has changed even while we’ve been here, with The Big Town becoming more ethnically diverse and better provisions being made to help ‘foreigners’ like me feel at home. Danes want to be thought of as tolerant – it’s important to them. And so The Danish Way is slowly adapting to incorporate new influences and arrivals.

  A year on and I feel as though I understand more about what it is to live Danishly. Danes are a discerning lot. Not for them the overt friendliness of Southern Europeans or Americans, nor the rictus-grin-politeness of the Brits. Danes are blunt and direct and trusting and secure in a way I’ve never encountered before. It’s very unlikely that someone will tell you to ‘have a nice day’ in Denmark. But if they do, you know that they really mean it. And if your neighbours ignore you in winter, you know not to take it personally: it’s dark, it’s cold, they just want to get inside and get hygge.

  I’ve picked up some of the language too, so that I can now grasp a little more of what’s going on around me and converse on about the same level as Friendly Neighbour’s niece. Friendly Neighbour’s niece is only two years old, but she is Danish, so this is progress. I can also order coffee, tea and almost any cake my heart desires in a bakery and be 90 per cent sure that I’ll get what I ordered. I have friends here. Lovely, generous, strong, reliable, hospitable people. I’m regularly touched by their kindnesses, thoughtfulness and patience when I ask them endless questions about all things Danish.

  Once Lego Man and I have emerged from the initial fug of newborn madness (who am I kidding, I’m still in it. Any strange typos are because I’m writing at the same time as jogging an eight-week-old over my shoulder while he vomits and defecates simultaneously, occasionally kicking out a few rogue characters on the laptop keyboard), we Go Out. It is my birthday and we make a reservation for lunch. This requires military-style planning and five trips to and from the car to make sure that all the equipment needed to survive remotely with a baby has been packed, checked and double-checked. Once this has been accomplished, I realise that I’m still wearing pyjamas so go back inside. I throw on an outfit that I hope says: ‘I may well be covered in baby milk/bodily fluids, but I’m OK with that.’

  We drive to The Big Town, park the car, and then spend several minutes reminding each other how to assemble the pram. Fortunately, the day is mild and the sun is threatening to peek through the clouds, so for once, the elements aren’t against us. Little Red doesn’t w
ake when I lift him from the car seat and gently lower him into his bassinet, pulling a hat over that still-staggering head of licking flames and wriggling mittens onto tiny hands before tucking them under blankets. As we walk to the restaurant, I smile fondly at the porny pony fountain that I haven’t seen for a couple of months now and then catch sight of myself in the toy-shop window. I take in the girl with the scarf wound around her neck, the Wayfarers on to disguise under-eye bags and the messy topknot, to keep hair clear of little pulling fists. I’m amused to note that I look very Danish. But I also look relaxed. Like the kind of person I always hoped I’d be when I grew up.

  I’d thought I was doing all the right things to get to this point in my former life – working hard to be successful and trying to please everyone. But I never seemed to succeed nearly enough to make all the effort worthwhile. I felt tired, hungry (often literally) and ephemeral, blown about by the currents of whatever was going on around me. But now I feel safe, secure and solid. In a good way, and quite apart from any post-pregnancy pounds I’m carrying. I’m content and, yes, happy. I’d say I was a nine out of ten (I’m still waiting to be crowned queen of Sylvania-land).

  I loop my hand through Lego Man’s arm as he pushes the pram up the small incline to the restaurant. He’s busy telling me how he’s already stockpiling Duplo – Lego’s little sibling – for our son, assuring me that it’s ‘an investment’. I tell him that I can see my toes again in a stationary position. This is about the level of our sparkling repartee at present (did I mention the whole lack of sleep thing?). I start thinking about what I’m going to order and can almost feel the bubbles of the prosecco I’ve promised myself exploding on my tongue.

  ‘So next year,’ Lego Man starts, and I realise I might have missed something after the bit about the Duplo.

  ‘Next year? Yes, well…’

  It’s decision time and Lego Man is looking at me hopefully. He laid his cards on the table months ago and I know that he’d like to stay. Now, it’s down to me. I look around at The Big Town’s new Latin Quarter that we’re booked into for lunch and spot an Asian supermarket and an Italian deli I haven’t seen before. I could live in a country with snegles, dim sum and decent Parma Ham? It’s almost too good to be true. The sun is shining now and our son is napping. As a new parent, life doesn’t get much better than this.

  ‘I suppose Denmark’s not so bad,’ I say.

  A slow smile starts to creep over Lego Man’s stubbled cheeks (he’s growing a beard for his paternity leave – everyone needs a project), but he still wants to hear me say it: ‘So you’ve enjoyed your year of living Danishly?’

  ‘It’s been o-kay,’ I concede.

  ‘Just “OK”?’ he asks. I shrug and his face falls slightly.

  ‘But just to check, I think we should try making it two…’

  He beams. Then he puts the brake on the pram like a responsible parent and gives me a bear hug. This is still slightly painful but I tell him I appreciate the sentiment.

  We’re staying. The Nordic dream may have its flaws but Denmark is still the best place for us, right now. And I’m excited about what the next twelve months will have in store.

  We arrive at the restaurant and we’re shown to our table. It’s by the window in a sheltered courtyard and Little Red is still sleeping. So we leave the pram outside.

  Top ten tips for living Danishly

  OK, so I can’t drag everyone to Denmark and none of us have control over our chromosomal make-up (yet). But there are a few things Danes do differently that can be put into practice wherever you are.

  1. Trust (more)

  This is the number one reason the Danes are so damned happy – so try it. You’ll feel better and save yourself unnecessary stress, and trusting the people around you can make them behave better, so it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  2. Get hygge

  Remember the simple pleasures in life – light a candle, make yourself a cup of coffee, eat some pastries. See? You’re feeling better already.

  3. Use your body

  Cycle, run, jump, dance, have sex. Shake whatever you’ve got. Using your body not only releases get-happy endorphins, it’ll also make you look hotter, Danish-style.

  4. Address the aesthetics

  Make your environment as beautiful as you can. Danes do, and it engenders a respect for design, art and their everyday surroundings. Remember the broken window syndrome, where places that look uncared for just get worse? The reverse also applies.

  5. Streamline your options

  If living in Sticksville has taught me one thing, it’s that cutting down on choice can take some of the hassle out of modern life. Too many options for things to do, places to eat (ha!) or what to wear (hello London wardrobe) can feel like a burden rather than a benefit. Danes specialise in stress-free simplicity and freedom within boundaries.

  6. Be proud

  Find something that you, or folk from your home town, are really good at and Own It. Celebrate success, from football to tiddlywinks (or crab racing). Wave flags and sing at every available opportunity.

  7. Value family

  National holidays become bonding bootcamps in Denmark and family comes first in all aspects of Danish living. Reaching out to relatives and regular rituals can make you happier, so give both a go. Your family not much cop? Start your own with friends or by using tip #3 (the sex part).

  8. Equal respect for equal work

  Remember, there isn’t ‘women’s work’ and ‘men’s work’, there’s just ‘work’. Caregivers are just as crucial as breadwinners and neither could survive without the other. Both types of labour are hard, brilliant and important, all at the same time.

  9. Play

  Danes love an activity for its own sake, and in the land of Lego, playing is considered a worthwhile occupation at any age. So get building. Create, bake, even draw your own Noel Edmonds caricature. Just do and make things as often as possible (the messier the better).

  10. Share

  Life’s easier this way, honest, and you’ll be happier too according to studies. Can’t influence government policy to wangle a Danish-style welfare state? Take some of your cake round to a neighbour’s, or invite someone over to share your hygge and let the warm, fuzzy feelings flow.

  Acknowledgements

  I am immensely grateful to all the experts who generously gave up their time to speak to some strange Brit. I continue to be humbled, amused, inspired and invigorated by all the things you taught me.

  Thank you to my agent, Anna Power, for having the best superhero name in publishing and for endless encouragement and cake. And to my fabulous editor, Kate Hewson at Icon, for her expertise, enthusiasm and fun cat facts.

  Big thanks to our Danish crew for their support and sanity – Team Vejle (Tara, Liberty, Henrik, Chesney, Fee, Kath, Hjarne, Christine, Fen, Jules, Ana, Matthew, Craig, the choir); Team Billund (Frauke, Stephen, Nichole, Jackie, Karina, Cindy) and Team Aarhus (Sophie, Mick, Emmerys Bakery…).

  Team GB, you have been brilliant as ever with the ‘you can do it!’ texts and Cadbury parcels (especially Chrissy, Emily, Sarah, Joe, Caroline, Lucy, Sally, Kate and the Gail Plait Gang).

  A huge ‘thank you’ to my family, in particular Rita, John and Andrew for their intrepid expeditions to Sticksville. And to my mother, for just being her.

  None of this would have been possible without the serious-looking blond chap and his love of Lego bringing us to Denmark in the first place. Thank you for forcing me out of my comfort zone whenever necessary, and hurrah for Danish paternity leave, without which the contents of this book would have remained the deranged scribblings of a sleep-deprived new parent.

 

 

 
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