the uncomfortable middle

Norway and Sweden have strong “siblings who have been fighting for 800 years and now mostly roast each other at family gatherings” energy.

Bakklandet is a perfect example of Norwegian stubbornness.

The historical version of the conversation seems to have gone something like:
Swedes: “We burned your town down.”
Norwegians: “Rude.”

rebuilds everything in wood

Swedes: “You rebuilt it in the same flammable material?”
Norwegians: “Yes.”
Swedes: returns with more fire
Norwegians: “This is becoming a pattern.”

The thing that always amazes me about Trondheim is that so much of it survived at all.

Those warehouses along the river are basically a monument to collective optimism.

Or collective denial.
Possibly both.

“Surely nobody will burn them down again.”

Historically, Trondheim had several devastating fires, and much of the city has been rebuilt multiple times. Yet Norwegians kept returning to wood because:

* it was abundant,
* they knew how to build with it,
* it worked in the climate,
* and, perhaps most importantly, people tend to rebuild with what they know.

Which is a very human story.

Humans are constantly rebuilding familiar structures even after those structures have failed us.

Sometimes that is wisdom, a habit or because stone is expensive and the wood is right there.

My mind immediately goes to the stories hidden underneath places.

Most tourists see Bakklandet and think: “Cute cafés.”

I hear: “The Swedes came up the river with fire.”

I walk through Ålesund and think: “How long did those women wait on their porches for their sailor husbands to return?”

I look at a rental apartment and think:

“How does this fit into a three-year transition plan for five people and a future house purchase?”

My habit of seeing the human narrative underneath the scenery keeps me alone, though.

Most people stop at the event.

Cheating, lying, stealing, hurting others.

The story is complete.

I have never been able to leave it there. My mind immediately wanders backstage. What happened before that moment?
What fear was hiding underneath the behavior? What wound was being protected? What belief was being defended?

I am not interested in excusing people. I am interested in understanding them.

Unfortunately, understanding is often mistaken for agreement.

If I ask why someone behaved badly, people assume I am defending them.

If I acknowledge that someone suffered, people assume I am dismissing the suffering they caused.

If I point out that a villain is also human, people think I am trying to make them a hero.

I am doing none of those things.
I am simply looking beneath the scenery.

The difficulty is that once you see the machinery, it becomes impossible to pretend it is not there.

The angry man becomes a frightened boy.
The controlling woman becomes a neglected child.
The addict becomes a person trying desperately not to feel something.
The liar becomes someone protecting a version of themselves that cannot survive the truth.
And so I find myself standing in places where very few people want to stand.

Not on one side. Not on the other.

But somewhere in the uncomfortable middle, looking at the whole picture and wondering how we became what we are.