One year

It's been one year since the London bomb-attacks. One year since my sister's wedding. Not even one year since I moved to Oslo. It feels like ages. Like some remote past.

I'm guessing this is a good sign, in some way. I was never the one to romantisize the past anyway. Not last year. Not 100 years ago, and certainly not 1000. Sure, we have unstable global politics, a through-and-through commercialized public, environmental problems, technology everywhere. We have obesity and hunger.

But we also have hot water in the tap. Internet. A society that provides money for food and shelter to study. We can live healthy lives. I can live until I'm 80, if I don't spend all day at McDonalds, or start smoking or anything. In general I'm quite happy that I wasn't born in 1281, 1581, or 1781, being completely ignorant, and having to work all day long with backbreaking physical labour, just to die of scurvy under some tyrant captain on a ship in the North Atlantic. No labour union. When I'm 28. Or die from some infection that I got when I cut myself while digging out the latrine.

I've been lucky, but given that, I'm very happy to live now.

We have smoothies.



And I like technology. Technology is our friend. I like cities. I can appreciate that I depend on nature, and still use my laptop. I can enjoy a trip into the woods without being able to make fire in a jiffy. We have matches. It's out of hand though. We didn't think too far ahead. We have global warming, global erosion, global poverty, global obesity, global fear, global war, global injustice.

There's good reason to worry. And do something about it.


We might be doomed on this planet. That's inconvenient. But that probably wouldn't have changed if I were born 300 years ago. I still prefer having to deal with today.