The Search Part 2 — Writing in Iceland

This post is part of a series done for the publisher of my book. See the original here.

Earlier in the year, before my move to Iceland, I read Factotum by Charles Bukowski. It was a strange book, but I ended up learning that he also wrote poetry. Bukowski was quite the character, as personified in his books, so I was curious as to what his poems were about. The first poem I read, I Have This New Room, stood out to me. This was my first time engaging with poetry, and I was impressed by its ability to express so much in so few words. Especially coming from someone so vulgar. I then discovered another poem of his, so you want to be a writer? and felt inspired to make my first attempts at poetry.

Then I left for Iceland.

My goal was to open an art gallery and sell my photos. I set my eyes on the small town of Siglufjörður. I was going to start by purchasing a small house and taking things from there. I had no plans to actually return to my PhD. I had no contact with my advisors or coworkers. It was a conscious decision to give up my entire career and my one lifelong goal in the process. This was my new beginning. Though I had no idea what was in store.

Everything went smoothly until I arrived in Akureyri, Iceland’s “1.5th” city. I was locked out of my Airbnb, and being around Easter (a rather long holiday in Iceland), my host was not responsive. I got in eventually, and I was then ignored for a few days after asking for the internet password. At first, this wasn’t an issue. I took the bus to Siglufjörður and met my real estate agent. She showed me a few properties, and I decided on the one I wanted.

Because of Easter, my other plans didn’t work out. The countryside buses ran only once a day, meaning I couldn’t go anywhere. Most places were closed, and Akureyri is small enough as it is. And I had no internet. With nothing else to do, I wrote poems (including Strange Man, the closing piece to You, Man, Emotion). I kept writing. I decided to write a novel, it was something I always wanted to do but never knew how. So I tried. And I failed. I tried again. And failed again. With nothing else to do and nothing else going on, it was surprisingly easy to be persistent.

But I was never happy with what I wrote. I turned to my poetry for inspiration. One poem, The Forest of Shadows, became the story by that same name. It was the first work of fiction I was happy with. I continued writing, even going as far as to develop an entire world and plotline for another prospective novel.

Soon enough, the time came for me to move to Siglufjörður once and for all. After a week or so, I would move forward with buying the house. Then I would begin my life in Iceland. Though I still didn’t have a plan.

It only took a few days for me to realize I made a mistake. The first sign was the lack of food. The one grocery store ran out of ground beef. The apples started rotting. The walnuts were rancid. They ran out of bread. I paid $1/slice for roast beef – $7 for 100 grams. The Akureyri airport stopped running international flights (indefinitely). It snowed through May. The streets were empty except for children. I did get to walk and hike, but this wasn’t the life I had in mind.

With still nothing to do, I continued writing. I ultimately abandoned my novel in favor of another idea. I abandoned that idea, too. I did take quite a few photos, but there was only so much I could do with the same snowy mountains.

I backed out of the house purchase and booked an Airbnb in Hveragerði, back in the south. Then I waited for my time to leave. I spent a month in Siglufjörður, a total of six weeks in the north.

During this time, I thought about everything that had led me there. I thought about other people and all my life decisions. Above all else, I thought of how I never valued building connections with people. I avoided going alone to events of any kind. I avoided talking to people in general (though I built strong friendships with the few people I did talk to). I never had any problem doing things with people I knew. But I didn’t know anyone in Siglufjörður and there were certainly no opportunities to meet anyone. This also made me wonder about the type of people I wanted to know, how I would meet such particular people, and who I was and how I fit into all of this.

I thought about my career, how I never once even considered studying other subjects. The thought of going back to academia, of spending my days working at a computer, suddenly worried me. I wished I had studied art – embraced photography. Or psychology. Or literature. Any of the humanities or interaction-based fields. I wished I had met people and taken advantage of the opportunities an education in those areas would have offered.

My worst thoughts were of other people: are they actually happy with what they’re doing? While everyone is welcome to live their life and find joy in whatever they see fit, I couldn’t see myself being happy in most others’ shoes. Of course, this begs the question of what does a happy, fulfilling life look like? What kind of career does this entail? Whatever the answers, my only thought is that these must involve other people.

Along with all this, I couldn’t help but wonder about the state of the world and humanity as a whole. What kind of world would lead me to such questions? And do other people feel the same? Needless to say, I spent a lot of time thinking. Thoughts that would slowly grow and develop until I arrived in Hveragerði. Thoughts that would later lead me to write a book.