Hygge
Feb 5, 2016
Even before I got to Denmark, I learned about the concept of hygge. It’s a word that the Danes and various other academics – and non-academics, for that matter – like to discuss and debate, as it has no direct translation into English. There are entire courses centred around defining hygge and I’m sure countless dissertations have been written on the meaning of this word. I wasn’t particularly set on figuring out what hygge is when I first got here – it was buried beneath many other to-do items for my time in Copenhagen.
But tonight, I found myself at dinner with six Danes and one fellow student from abroad. I had the privilege of eating dinner with one of my classmates and his host family and their neighbours. I knew that I wanted to see more Danes and get a glimpse into their lives and their stories and this was one of the easiest ways to do so. When we first arrived, the host parents and their friends – two couples from the same street – were enjoying beers and wine, standing around the kitchen island. Before I knew it, they brought us into the conversation. It wasn’t the kind of introduction to a conversation that feels like a cold shower – it was more like submerging myself into a perfectly heated bath. I found myself talking to their Norwegian neighbour (who married a Dane) and how her son was going to America to study abroad and before I knew it, I was telling her all about places to visit in Boston. Moments later, she was asking for my email and contact information so she could ask me for more details closer to their travels.
Soon, there was a flurry of action and it was decided that everyone was going to eat dinner together instead of returning to their respective homes. I had been under the impression that this was the plan prior to the announcement though it may have just been a well-orchestrated dance. Regardless, the friends gathered around the kitchen helping with various chores, setting the table, retrieving more wine and beer from the basement, washing, chopping, cooking. By the time we sat down to dinner, I was hearing about one of the neighbour’s mother’s travels to Iceland and sharing stories of my own time there.
A candle was lit and the table was set. A large pot of curry and a large coriander of noodles were placed on the table with more wine. Everyone sat down and helped themselves. We all toasted – “Cheers,” for the benefit of us two foreigners, to which we offered up “Skåll” – and dug in to the meal. As we ate, one conversation sometimes captured the entire table’s attention and sometimes meandered into a series of small discussions on different corners of the table. I heard about Danish politics, nudity, stories of the families encounters with nudity (really, I did), people’s experiences, what they did for work, and all sorts of other things that I would expect to hear from old friends – which, of course, they all are to each other. What really got me was how seamlessly they managed to integrate us into the meal – oftentimes, when there is a new party added to a meal or other gathering, I feel like the conversation is either strained to include the newcomers or slightly exclusive to them. I didn’t feel that at all.
After one glass of red wine for me (and many for the others), one of the friends started to gather dishes and said that it was time the hosts served us coffee. The hosts and neighbours were really so close that it felt like I was being invited inside their home collectively rather than just the homes of one couple. The hosts jokingly said that this one neighbour in particular was really just an extra member of the household. Everyone helped clear dishes and glasses and then coffee was served for all along with a huge tin of Quality Street chocolates. (Nothing quite like British chocolates to feel at home!)
At some point before chocolate and coffee, I was invited to a movie screening of Inequality for All at a local union meeting that one of the neighbours is coordinating. Before I knew it, I was talking to him about my experience, my background, my family’s story, and even my own confusion around what I want out of life. It’s not that I usually am a closed book but it’s rare when I feel like I share so much about myself and it’s so meaningful. I didn’t have many well-formed opinions on the topic but I felt like each experience or memory I shared was considered and built upon in a truly human way – it wasn’t that this was just an intellectual exchange: it was a combination of human experiences and emotions. I was asking questions and trying to learn more about Danish life in a way that I had never considered before – as someone who knows a bit about labour unions in Canada, I had never given any thought to how that might look here. I was talking to a man who had worked manual labour all his life and was now writing articles, speaking on the radio, and working with people in Parliament, and trying to share a message about inequality in society. I certainly didn’t form any more of a stance on these issues than before from this conversation, but I felt curious, included in the discussion, and invited to be involved. And inspired, because I genuinely heard so much passion for a matter.
As the conversation progressed, I found that the invitation to the event had become an insistent you-must-attend. Suddenly, after that, my parents were being invited to visit and even stay at their house. Then invited to Friday dinner. And so on and so forth. It was just incredible how a few mere hours had brought me into this little world. The way in which everyone knew one another and was so comfortable in this space reminded me of the best kind of family or friend party, where everyone is a host in their own way, where conversation is so fluid you don’t even have time to go to the bathroom, where the house is filled with yellow lights and warmth that just washes over you.
I learned later that one couple had lived in the area for 20+ years while the second had lived there for 8 years, and the last had lived there for just over 4-5 years. It’s amazing how friendships can be formed and flourish. The women told us about how they’d gone to the Carlsberg brewery for one of their birthdays and showed us photos. The men talked about this one time they all went to Prague and went out on a beer tour and all got sad because they missed their families, and drank away their sorrows. We were invited to go to the brewery with them. My classmate was invited to stay with one of the women’s relatives in Norway. We were told that we could go to Arhus to visit one of the men’s brothers.
Obviously, it’s merely minutes after the dinner. A skeptic might question whether these offers are genuine. But I think they are – I was assured countless times that my parents really could stay at their house. I promised multiple times to show those visiting Boston around and really meant it too.
Towards the latter half of the conversation, I was asked about where I’d been in Copenhagen and what I thought on Denmark so far. I struggled to give a good answer but I tried to express how wonderful the dinner was. I talked about how much I appreciated people’s openness and bluntness. I talked about how I thought the Danes were less politically correct. And they talked about how they thought Americans were very open. It turns out we all had our own impressions and stereotypes and my impressions even differed from those of my classmate. It was fascinating to have these sorts of conversations in a real setting. I realized that I didn’t really have good examples to back up my impressions; rather, they were gut instincts more than anything else.
Multiple times I suggested I head out given it was getting late, but the conversation and the invitations just kept coming. It was like trying to leave a candy shop but instead of candy, I was surrounded by warm people and their enthusiasm for sharing their lives. When I left, I was bathed in this warmth and satisfaction. When people talk about the warm fuzzies, I think this is what they mean. It’s when you’re so happy where you are, you miss everything that makes your heart ache just a little less. It’s when you can’t believe what you just experienced and you want to blink to make sure it’s real. It’s when you can’t wait for the next time you get to do this all over again.
It was kind of like that time I finally figured out I had a headache. My head just hurt. No one had ever been able to describe a headache to me before and I had never been able to understand what that felt like. Then when I finally got a headache one day, I just knew it was a headache. Similarly, though much more pleasant, I walked out and knew I had just found hygge.
Comfort, happiness, belonging, satisfaction, curiosity, warmth, and familiarity in the unknown.