It’s the dead of winter in Scandinavia, and everyone is supposedly winter depressed as we only have very few hours of daylight and barely any sun. But we had frost last night, and woke up very early to a city covered in a fine white sheet. As the day wore on this poetic view changed and we are left with the perfect Nordic Noir. Time for ‘hygge’. Time for family. Time for hot mulled wine and candles. Blankets of clouds cover the city with dusty rain.
Surprisingly, this mood is more poetic and interesting to me. I don’t get depressed, I enjoy the melancholy beauty. Makes me feel. And that is one of the challenges of my schizotypy, that I’m often encapsulated in a fog and feeling the highs and lows can be difficult. So the ‘noir’ is a time for reflection. And reflection on other things than myself. Which is something I have a tendency to do. Time for good books, and since it’s just been Christmas, I have a neat little stack of new comers to my bulging shelves. Books are an escape, but also a trigger/short cut to emotions outside of what my daily life offers. I need this escape, as I’ sure many schizotypal people do.