A little bit of Arby's and a whole lotta love

I'm really struggling these days, folks.  Being pregnant in the early days is no picnic, and I am frankly being a bit of an arse about it all.  Knowing this and stopping the behavior are two separate things though.  I'm ashamed to say I've snipped or sniped or tutted or (gulp!) shouted at many of those nearest and dearest to me over the last few weeks.

It all culminated last Friday when I barked some mean-isms at someone who most certainly did not deserve it.  And, even worse, I barked at that someone in front of another someone that also did not deserve to have to witness it.  (Man, anonymity is awkward sometimes.)  After my little tirade, we all waited a painful interval until it seemed like a socially appropriate time to disband while pretending nothing was wrong. 

As it would happen, the barked-at friend (BAF) and I were heading the same direction from the cafe door.  We took about two steps, and she turned to me and put me in my place.  Not in a nasty way, mind, but in a way that let me know my behavior was not okay.  What was so terrible about it is that I was mortified with myself for letting the crazy slip out... at a friend... in public.  So I did what any self-respecting Bad Mood Betty would do.  I stood on the side of the road outside the cafe and cried. 

And it all came tumbling out - the uncertainty of being a mom, the fear of doing it in a country that's not my own, my confusion about how to navigate the health system, and, finally, my intense cravings for Arby's that couldn't be satisfied in these parts. (I clearly was not working in order of most to least important.)

For those of you not acquainted with Arby's, it is a delight like no other. It is an American fast food joint serving all varieties of roast beef sandwiches.  They have a special sauce called Arby's Sauce (the name might not be good but the sauce sure is), and they serve up one sammy smothered in a cheese sauce so artery clogging you should probably only ever eat one in your entire lifetime.  They also have a delicacy known as the Jamocha milkshake, a clever concoction of chocolate, coffee, and pure goodness.  I wanted all of these things BAD, in a way that only a pregnancy craving can be, but, alas, the nearest Arby's is probably about 4,000 miles away.

After BAF and I settled our differences (which took about 12 seconds) and she talked me down from the perch of impending motherhood (that took considerably longer), we agreeed we would meet on Sunday at her place for a little edumacating in the baby arts to help alleviate some of my fears.  (She has a baby herself so this is relevant.  It would be kind of weird if she didn't.)

So on Sunday I showed up at her place, and awaiting me was Arby's.  Not Arby's from a drive-through in Texas, but honest to goodness, homemade, recipes researched on the internet Arby's.  It was all there - the roast beef sandwich swimming in cheddar sauce, the seasoned fries, the Arby's sauce, and even a Jamocha milkshake. 

I can honestly say it was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.  But while the Norwegian Arby's was awesome, it wasn't what I craved.  What I actually craved was home and familiarity and comfort and for someone to tell me it was all going to be okay - that everyone gets scared at the thought of having kids.  That I can do this being so far from home.  And that I always had someone to call when I needed help.  Being reassured about all of that was worth more than every packet of Arby's sauce in the world. 

So thanks, BAF.  Your kind actions in preparing that meal went far beyond the food I snaffled down.

The S-word

All good little children are warned against using the S-word. In my lectures about cultural diversity and understanding, I like to discuss the other S-word*.

Stereotypes.

You would think as a purveyor of all things tolerance-oriented that I would eschew stereotypes. But I actually think they’re pretty useful devices to help us reflect on our own culture and the different cultures around us. And, if we’re being really honest, stereotypes are almost always born from some (at least small) grain of truth. But admitting that can be uncomfortable as it requires us to acknowledge the less-than-perfect in ourselves and in others.

I have lived with the stereotype of many things, some I have embraced and some I have rejected. But there’s a little bit of reality in many of the things used to stereotype. But we tend to focus mostly on the negative when talking about stereotypes.

In a lecture last week I was discussing stereotypes, and I always use Americans as the example for debate**. I stood at the board, pen at the ready, and asked the class (of all Norwegian students) to tell me about Americans. The list was about the same as what I usually hear.

“Loud!”

Yeah, true enough.

“Aggressive!”

Sure, sometimes.

“Competitive!”

I agree.

“Money-oriented!”

Likely the case.

“Lovers of peace!”

Okay…wait… huh?

Never in ten years of doing this exercise had that particular gem dropped from anyone’s lips. Most often it is along the lines of ‘war-mongering’ (I’ll spare your delicate eyes some of the other choice comments).

After I recovered from the shock of what I had just heard, I asked the student to tell me more. He explained that it seemed like the US really wanted to work with other countries for the betterment of the world, and it also seemed, in his opinion, that the US was trying to right some of the overly-aggressive (and warhead-led) charges of the past decade***.

Well, I’ll be.

This warms the cockles of my heart as, when teaching stereotypes, I always prepare myself for the negatives, and this gentlemen reminded me that the best thing about stereotypes is that they can change, and sometimes even for the better.

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* No, not socialism, for all the Republicans out there. Just to clarify.
** As I have previously mentioned, it’s always safer to let others laugh at you in a potentially uncomfortable classroom situation than it is to dare to laugh at anyone else.

*** If you don’t agree with this fellow’s assessment, that’s fine. It’s not about consensus – it’s his opinion.

Coco and Chanel

As of today I am 8 weeks pregnant*. And about 32 years crazy.  I am concerned about the intersection of these two items.

Even though Husband and I admitted it to very few people, we have been trying to have a sprog for almost a year with no success.  We flat out denied we were trying more often than not. And every time someone announced a pregnancy, sure, I was happy for them, but I always felt a little niggle.  It was becoming such an issue that I was starting to get a little touchy about it, so one of my Stavanger besties decided that it wasn't a fertility issue - it was a snobbery issue. 

But it wasn't me being a snob - it was my ovaries.  My friend dubbed them Coco and Chanel, because they were snotty little French** ovaries who demanded only the best and would hold out until they got it. So Coco and Chanel let me chart and test and visit the doctor for countless months.  And when I finally got fed up with it and decided to put a kibosh on the whole 'medicalization'*** of things, it happened. 

Irony of ironies, Coco and Chanel only put out when Husband and I were actually in Paris.  It turns out my ovaries weren't just snooty, but they were also downright xenophobic and wanted to be on their home turf. 

They also timed things perfectly so as to ensure that the very expensive and all-inclusive cruise Husband and I were booked on in October saw me sipping nothing more than sparkling water.  They timed things so as not to allow me to travel when one of my oldest friends gets married in Texas next summer.  So that's Coco and Chanel all over - snooty, xenophobic, with a comedic sense of timing. 

Once we confirmed the good news****, we had to find a doctor here in Norway.  And we were lucky to find a wonderful Icelandic specialist here in town.  She answered all our questions, allayed my immediate concerns, and gave me a road map for the next few months. I know a lot of people have had less-than-fortunate experiences with having babies here, and while I have never been a 'glass half full' kind of gal, I am going to remain (perhaps naively) optimistic until I have a real reason not to.  And honestly, I am not looking for a reason without some pretty significant event pointing me that way.

My reasoning is this - there's a lot of babies kicking around Norway, so they must be doing something right.  A trip into town is like coming across the stroller mafia.  Also, Norway boasts the fifth lowest infant mortality rate in the world (3.3 deaths per 1000 live births)*****.Those are pretty good stats, and I've always been one to err on the side of the numbers.  Plus,  I don't pay a penny for the delivery, whereas in the US, without health insurance I could pay a minimum of about $9,000.

This is not to say I don't wish I was back home.  I actually wish that more than I ever have in the almost decade I have lived abroad.  But it's not because of the actual mechanics of having a baby - it's because almost all of my best people are back home.  It's times like this you want to be with the people who knew you in your first grade reading group, or went with you to high school dances, or celebrated holidays (like Fishmas - it's a real thing) with you during the first years after college, or were your first expat friends in a new place. I'm lucky to have a few of my best people right here in Stavanger, but I have found myself wishing I was a little closer to more of them.

So for now I will make due with planning a last hurrah trip to the States to stock up on Baby Gap.  With all the money I saved from stopping smoking, there has to be at least a few good outfits to be had. With me as a mommy, the child is likely to be well-accessorized if not well-adjusted!
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* Some people are surprised we are telling this early.  There are two reasons: first, we have had our first scan, and based on the results the doc told us the chance of miscarriage had dropped from about 20% to less than 5%.  The second reason is that I am totally rubbish at keeping secrets.
** For the record, I do not think all French people are snooty.  But Coco and Chanel are.  If they were women they would be tall and thin and wear Hermes scarves and carry handbags so posh you've never heard of the designer.  This is all the funnier because I am neither French, nor tall and thin, nor couture.
*** This is not a real word.  It's like a CNN bastardization of the English language, but it makes sense in context.
**** We confirmed via tests purchased in three different countries along the cruise route.  I now know the word for 'pregnant' in Greek, Italian, and Catalan. I'm not sure how useful this information will ever be again.
***** My own native land, the US, is number 33 in the rankings, with 6.3 deaths per 1000 live births.

Stopped

This has been 72 hours fraught with nerves. On Monday morning, Husband and I stopped smoking.

And it hurts.

A lot.

The craziest thing is that we have both been here before. I smoked all through university, then quit when I moved to Scotland in 2002. I remained smoke-free for 3 years, until a bad breakup with the reason I moved to Scotland sent me scuttling for the Marlboro’s.

A few weeks before Husband and I married in 2006 (it was a short engagement, as mentioned previously), we agreed to stop again. (I think it was mainly because he was scared of his mom finding out. She’s a formidable woman.)

So stop we did, and it was a little easier as we had the excitement of a wedding, reunions with old friends, and an Italian honeymoon to take our mind off things. Incidentally, we started again almost immediately after his mother was out of earshot (or 'smell-shot' I guess would be more apropros).  So I'm not sure that time really counts as quitting at all - more of a little break.

This time is markedly more difficult. We actually decided to stop last Friday when we went on holiday. We lasted about 6 hours, which was the time it took to fly from Stavanger to Athens, check in to our hotel, and situate ourselves at an outdoor café.

We ‘stopped’ again every morning of our holiday, for approximately 5 hours, until we both got the post-lunch/ no-nicotine shakes, and went scrambling for a pack at the cruise ship bar. We finally pinky-swore that when we got on the plane to return home on Monday, that would be it. So we inhaled our last fag* at a hotel in Barcelona Monday morning.

Monday night was not too bad as we were busy travelling all day, and by the time we got home we were so exhausted all we could do was collapse into bed. Tuesday morning we both woke up feeling what I can only describe as seasick and hungover, rounded out with a touch of the swine flu. We mutually agreed speech was not necessary and both stumbled around silently, only stopping to frown or grunt at one another.

I’ll spare all the other details, but suffice to say, while it is not quite as dramatic as a detox scene from Trainspotting (oh, you know it if you’ve seen it!), it is rather unpleasant. Today I no longer want to shout at people, so I feel this could be the turning point. Onward and upward!

But why did we decide to stop?

Sure, there’s all the health reasons, and I am not minimizing them, but if they alone were enough then no one would smoke… ever… as we know cigarettes lead to bad things in your body.

We stopped due to simple economics.

In Norway, a pack of smokes costs about 80 nok. Since I smoked about a pack a day, multiply that 80 nok over 365 days. That’s 29,200 nok a year. But wait! Husband smokes the same amount, so that’s actually 58,400 nok. At today’s FX rates, that’s about $10,500.

I ask myself how likely it would be that I would set fire to $30 every morning when I woke up. I think we can all agree that just seems foolish. But I was effectively doing the same thing in the form of a cigarette. While that might not be an altruistic or health-concious reason to stop, it's my reason, and it works for me.

So, yes, kids, smoking is bad for you. But it’s not just bad for your lungs, it’s bad for your bank account as well. When I consider the entire cost of my MBA was what I spend on cigarettes in a year now, it helps put things in perspective (although smoking was decidedly more fun than the MBA, and it gave me more to talk about at parties).

So here I am, yet again a non-smoker. If we know each other in real life, it’s probably best to let the beast lie another few days before prodding its cage!
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* As a point of cultural trivia, a ‘fag’ is what some Scots call a cigarette. Imagine my surprise. It led to all kinds of confusion, some funny, some not.

We're number one! ...or are we?

All my Norway Facebook friends are posting, reposting and cross-posting. Big news in these parts, the UN has announced Norway is the best country in which to live.

Husband originally called to tell me this. What I thought he said was "Hey! Norway is now the best place to live. The UN posted a poll on Facebook!" He let me rant on about shoddy data collection methods for a wee while before he corrected me. What he actually said was "I posted it on Facebook!" I really should listen to Husband a little better.

In any event, just because the results weren't collected by a Facebook poll, as a student of statistics and research methods, I still do think it's worth considering the methodology of the poll. I'm not here to comment so much on the results of the survey, but rather to really understand how Norway got to number one.

The Human Development Index (HDI) provides "a broadened prism for viewing human progress and the complex relationship between income and well-being." However, there are some important limitations of the index, namely that it does not include any factors related to gender or income equality, political freedom, or human rights (of course some clever souls have created separate indices for those).

It's worth noting that this is not actually news. Norway has held the number one spot every year since the HDI was initiated in 1980 (see page 167 of the full report*). It's also worth noting that Norway did not win the top spot by a landslide. Norway's 2009 HDI was 0.971, whereas the number 2 and 3 spots were taken by Australia and Iceland with scores of 0.970 and 0.969 respectively.

The methodology of the HDI has also changed. The report authors mention this on page 170, noting that "The human development index values in this table were calculated using a consistent methodology and data series. They are not strictly comparable with those published in earlier Human Development Reports." If it's consistent, then it should also be comparable. A fundamental measure of 'good' research is that it is reliable, which means that the same tests can be repeated using the same instruments. To change these instruments mid-stream calls into question the statistical constructs and comparability of the annual reports.

One of the reasons the underlying tests that comprise the HDI have changed is because the focus of the report has shifted. As of 2009, the report focuses on migration and opportunities available to immigrants in more developed countries. So the report is not necessarily measuring the best place to live, but rather the best place in which to live if you are in one of the less-developed countries looking for a new home that will afford you a longer life expectancy, easier access to education, and more economic opportunity. The HDI is not a measure of where you can find the best healthcare, school systems, and jobs (assuming these are measures of a good place in which to reside). It's more a measure of how to find better versions of those things based on where you originally come from.

So is Norway really the best place to live? Perhaps. But UN statisticians can't decide that - it's up to each of us to find our own best place. And you probably don't even need statistics to do it.

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* I refer to the full 2009 Human Development Report when mentioning page numbers. You can check out the full report here.

Janteloven

I learned a new word this week: tilbakemelding. It means “feedback”. Feedback is something I’ve been exposed to for many years, from having a supervisor red-line a research thesis to receiving criticism on my teaching style*. I roll with it, because I truly believe that criticism makes you better**.

I, like many other lecturers, use feedback as a teaching tool. I have recently been tasked with preparing a group of students for an upcoming international competition conducted in English, and I decided to use a 'trial by fire' method to whip them into shape as I didn't have much time.

I made them each stand up and give a presentation about whatever struck my fancy, and then I gave them feedback on it – I pointed out the good and the bad. But to help them gel as a team, I also asked the students to give feedback to each other. I’ve used this technique before when teaching in the US and the UK with great success. I should’ve known better in Norway.

Student 1 stands up and gives an adequate presentation. After giving him some pointers, I opened up the floor to the other students. No one budged***. So I gently nudged another student to offer some thoughts. This is how the conversation went:

Me: “Student 2, how did you think that presentation went?"
Student 2: “It was okay.”
Me: “Could you expand on that? What did you like?”
Student 2: “I like that he spoke so slowly. It made it easy to follow.”
Me: “Great! And were there any areas for improvement?”
Student 2: “Yeah, I thought he spoke too slowly. It made it hard to follow.”

And herein lies the problem with asking a Norwegian to give feedback. It’s not that they don’t have any constructive thoughts to offer, but it is very culturally uncomfortable to be seen to criticize another person. This means that there is rarely a harsh word said, but, likewise, there is rarely strong praise given.

After one of my very first lectures in Norway, one Norsk gentlemen approached me and said, “Thank you for the class. It was okay.” I was devastated. “Okay” in my book means barely adequate or could have been (markedly) better. I tried to take it on the chin and wandered back to my office feeling a bit dejected.

A few months later after another lecture, the scenario repeated itself. But this time, after receiving the ‘okay stamp of mediocrity', I decided to push it. Again, I want to do the best job I can for my students, so if there was an issue, I wanted to know about it so I could address it.

“You say you feel it was okay. What could I have done to make it better?” I asked. He looked at me, puzzled. He then explained to me that, when a Norwegian says something is ‘okay’, that’s likely the American equivalent of doing a handstand. Very understated, these Norwegians. He went on to tell me that to get told something is ‘okay’ may well be one of the nicest compliments to get from a Norwegian. This did not compute for me.

And then I discovered janteloven (Jante Law). Janteloven is a set of loose guidelines dictating proper behavior in Norwegian**** culture. According to Wikipedia, janteloven is made of up ten points:

1. Don't think that you are special.
2. Don't think that you are of the same standing as us.
3. Don't think that you are smarter than us.
4. Don't fancy yourself as being better than us.
5. Don't think that you know more than us.
6. Don't think that you are more important than us.
7. Don't think that you are good at anything.
8. Don't laugh at us.
9. Don't think that anyone of us cares about you.
10. Don't think that you can teach us anything.

If that isn’t a testament to an ‘us and them’ culture, I just don’t know what is. I’m not saying it’s bad (or good), just different. I was raised in a way that was almost completely opposite to these teachings, hence why I probably have little cultural clashes about things like tilbakemelding. It also explains why the praise is muted and the criticism softened.

I can’t totally get on board with janteloven, I must say. I think there’s value in humility, but I also think there’s equal value in self-confidence and knowing your abilities. I would rather see balance than extremes.
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* These ‘criticisms’ are usually masked as ‘teaching evaluations’, but students never say the nice things. It’s only the angry ones who seem to take the time to fill them out.
** That’s kind of a lie. I think criticism with the right intent makes you better. Just slagging someone off for no reason is not productive and it just makes you look like a meanie.
*** What this actually means is that everyone suddenly became very interested in a tiny speck on their desk and stared intently at it. People, please don’t think that by not making eye contact with me that I can’t see you. I know you don’t want to be called on. Which is exactly why I will call on you first.
**** And Danish, Finnish, and Swedish culture as well.

Me being me

This week has gone quickly and has left me a little knackered. After an eating, sleeping, and TV-watching weekend in Paris, I was thrust headlong back into the grind as I faced three presentations this week. They were all in some way about international human resource management and culture.

At the second presentation, made to a group of recent university graduates working in the oil industry, I spent an hour describing different academic constructs related to culture and discussed how to avoid pitfalls and conflict solely based on differing cultural expectations. I’ve given this talk (what feels like) a zillion times, and I breezed through, peppering the dialogue with examples of cultural gaffes I myself have made*.

After I finished talking, I opened up the floor for questions. In some ways I don’t know why I go through this exercise as there is rarely a question to be had** and I end up standing at the front, silently and desperately pleading for someone else to open their mouth.

And one recent graduate did just that – opened his mouth, I mean. I hadn’t anticipated that my explanation of my own cultural gaffes would actually deny me some credibility as a cultural “expert”***. He asked:

“If you know so much about culture, why do you make mistakes with it yourself?”

Good question, kid.

At the time I breezed off an answer I thought would satisfy the herd, but the question stuck with me. Why do I make the very mistakes I advise others how to avoid?

I think it comes down to emotion. Even if you know the ‘right’ answer or the ‘correct’ behavior in a given situation, when you are feeling stressed or defensive or sensitive, you revert to your core. And often my cultural core is diametrically opposed to the situation with which I am dealing.

So even though I know that raising my voice to a Norwegian will get me nowhere, when I am being told that my visa will take four months and not the promised four weeks to process, I revert to type. I become that stereotypical aggressive American. Even though I know that conflict is not resolved through hard negotiation tactics in Norway, I still use ultimatums as a bargaining chip. This strategy rarely works, but I can’t seem to help myself.

I can’t seem to help myself because, no matter how many layers of other cultures I wrap myself in, at my core, I am what I am and what I always was and what I likely will continue to be.

I think this realization is in some way freeing as I am allowing myself to make the mistakes I know I shouldn’t. But to be any other way wouldn’t be me being me. So I will keep telling others how to avoid cultural conflict, and I will do a pretty good job at avoiding it myself in most cases. But when I slip up, I will permit myself to be wrong and know that it’s okay.

It’s just me being me.
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* One of the most important lessons I learned when talking about anything that could be perceived as uncomfortable is that you are safer making fun of yourself and having a group laugh at your own expense than you ever will be trying to use veiled humor directed at the audience. I learned this lesson only after managing to insult about 150 Norwegians with what I thought was a funny anecdote about the perceptions of Norwegians by foreigners. Let’s just say 150 sharp intakes of breath and about as many dirty looks later, I resolved never to make the same mistake again.
** My own take on this is not that there are not questions, but that a Norwegian, no matter how beautiful their spoken English, feels awkward speaking English in front of their fellow countrymen. I sympathize with this as I know the level of panic if I even have to utter one sentence på norsk into a microphone, so I just appreciate it and move on. I still do hold out hope that one brave soul might ask away.
*** I put “expert” in quotes as I am really an expert in nothing but the preparation of Tex-Mex food and celebrity trivia.