I Don’t Take Pictures Anymore
Woe is me and all my problems: living in a wealthy country, earning a livable salary, maintaining a vibrant social life, and actually (mostly) enjoying my highly-flexible job. While working less than full-time. Meanwhile, there are people whose greatest concern is putting food on their table or actually affording their rent in the first place.
It’s not that I’m ungrateful, rather it’s the idea of how things could be. I’ve been put into quite the mood recently over my living situations. Yes, I have a new and very nice apartment in a great location. But it isn’t my apartment. I share it with another person, and the way we use that space is very different — not that I have any complaints about him. I want a home. I want to decorate and style my home. I want to feel comfortable in my home. If I want to buy a desk and a chair, I should be able to do that. Yet I can’t. I can’t paint the walls, change the lighting fixtures, replace the pictures, swap the furniture.
Why not? I’m splitting $2,200/month for a 70sqm apartment. To buy a 70sqm apartment, a decent one, will cost me $580,000 here in Reykjavík. Assuming I make a measly down payment of $400,000, the remaining loan will require my salary to be around $6,000/month (to qualify). In summary, to buy a tiny apartment, I need $400,000 in savings in addition to a $6,000/month salary. I’m not buying an apartment. It’s impossible. Hence my complaints.
Meanwhile, my finances are wonderful. I can afford clothes, going out, traveling, subscriptions, nice things here and there. But I’ll never have a home. Whereas in another country, like the US or Finland, I could live like a king. I can quite literally buy 10 apartments in Finland for the price of one in Iceland.
So, what does this have to do with taking pictures? I haven’t been taking any, and I want to say it’s because my nice (and now older) camera is fairly large. The lenses are also very big and heavy. It’s not something I can carry around without much thought. This prompted me to consider buying a smaller camera for the sake of always having one with me — to inspire me and motivate me to create again. Now comes the fun part: What is the cost of this smaller system? Around $2,200. To import this? $650. However, I can buy a round-trip ticket to mainland Europe, buy the camera (and some other things) there, have a nice vacation, and save money in the process.
That is the essence of what is wrong. I don’t want to buy the camera because I feel like I need to save every penny in order to one day buy my own apartment. I don’t want to buy the camera because of the absurdity of Iceland’s import fees and how they can be avoided by literally going on a vacation. But I do want to take pictures. I understand that as far as problems go, this is a good problem to have, but what a frustrating problem it is nonetheless.
It makes me feel like Iceland is not the place I thought it was. Society here is impenetrable. I’m very lucky to have found my job, but there’s no hope of anything more — or so it feels. I’ve seen all the galleries, I’ve been to all the stores. I’ve gotten “in” with the art/writing community here, but it’s so small as to feel pointless. And I’m so tired of the people I grow to like leaving after only a few months. And there’s nothing more: that is Reykjavík. I’ve seen everything.
Perhaps it is no shock to say that, once again, I’m thinking of Finland. I don’t want to leave behind this life I built for myself, but I feel an indescribable emotion when I try to express that Iceland does not feel like the kind of place where I can be creative. There are so many worries and pressures on me at all times that I can’t take the steps to do what I want to do, like taking pictures. I am aware that buying a new camera won’t magically make me want to take pictures, but if I buy the camera, I know that I will take more pictures — even if only out of guilt for spending the money. The same goes for writing: I am so desperate for space. Space to sit and breathe and write. One year, I have been here. I do not have the space to sit and breathe. Let alone write. Because to afford somewhere comfortable will cost my soul.
I’m going to visit Finland for one week in December. I’m going to buy that camera, and I don’t care if I don’t even touch it. I will buy it out of principle: to do whatever it takes to achieve my goals. I will carry it with me everywhere until I work up the energy to take it out and take a picture every once in a while. I can always sell it later.
I realize now the impact Iceland has had on me, in forcing me to learn and grow in so many ways. Maybe Iceland has already served its purpose. Maybe it’s only just getting started. Maybe I’ll move away next year. Maybe I’ll never leave. I don’t know, nor does it matter. It has taught me how to live. Not for the future, but for today. I now know how to express myself, how to build a community, how to build good and meaningful connections with people. I wouldn’t say I am quite yet “free,” but I have learned what it means to be free as a human.
If I needed to start over from scratch in another country, it would be one of the most difficult things I’ll ever need to do. But I did it once before. I can do it again. And this time I actually know how — I did it all blindly last time. If I can bring my entire workplace together, sponsor offshoot communities, and inspire people to live their best lives, then surely I can find one more community elsewhere — or build yet another.
And perhaps most importantly, I can certainly learn to take pictures again. Just like I learned to be a writer. And speak Icelandic. And Finnish. These are the things I should focus on, not money. And that requires me to put away the notion of ever buying an apartment here. I’ll admit that it is immensely painful to throw aside such a major dream of mine, but it is stopping me from living my life. So I’ll buy a new camera instead and pay my tithe to the government.