Creating Hygge
Hygge: a soft warm feeling of peace of mind; a nest of togetherness & undisturbed presence
At the time I’m writing this, it’s been over a month since I’ve been back at Swat after spending nearly a year in Los Angeles. While I’m happy to be back on the campus that I love (and to experience seasons), I still occasionally find myself missing the familial ambiance I was surrounded by.
Life seemed to move slower back home. Time seemed to endlessly stretch over, with each day looking painfully similar to the one before, spent within the confines of my bedroom. On campus, my days have happily started distinguishing themselves again. Many of my friends on campus have expressed the same sentiments. So when I ask about what kept them moving forward this past year, they often emphasize the comfort that they found in the little things. By the same token, there was a great deal that kept me afloat, especially my family, and the small moments of quiet celebration of enjoying each other’s presence. Friday evenings were often spent gossipping in the backyard and watching the sunset or enjoying wine and cheese plates—which, if you ask me, never fail to make life seem grander than it actually is. In my case, the backyard table became the primary place for togetherness, and considering my bedroom eventually doubled as my workspace, it also became my new place of escape from the demands and expectations of everyday life.
With this extra time on my hands, I actually started reading the books I’ve long accumulated on my bookshelf, including Marie Tourell Søderberg’s Hygge, the Danish Art of Happiness. Søderberg offers a universal and personal exploration of the concept of hygge, a Danish word that refers to finding happiness in the little things in life. The author, a self-described “hygge aficionado” describes it as something to strive for, “like a compass, steering us toward small moments that money cannot buy...finding the magic in the ordinary.” Above all, however, hygge grows out of the sincerity of the things we surround ourselves with, the comfort and joy of the seemingly mundane aspects of our lives.
Apart from the time I spent with my family, I found my hygge in the hobbies I had lost touch with. At times I felt fatigued by spending hours in front of a screen, and so I treasured the moments I could put life on pause—be it early mornings with a cup of tea, or December nights reading by the Christmas tree. Warm days were spent painting and collaging in the backyard, and cold evenings were spent indoors baking cheesecakes and watching period dramas with my sister. I started drawing and journaling again. Additionally, living in isolation gave me the chance to engage in my love for writing letters, which became a new intimate form of communication between me and my friends.
Having a word for these moments makes me attuned to when they’re right in front of me, ready for me to collect. This past year, hygge looked like a string of lights illuminating the backyard, newspaper clippings and magazine scraps strewn over the table, as well as evenings of laughter with my family. Now that I’ve found myself back in the hustle of Swarthmore, my hygge will likely look different, but I’ll strive to cultivate these moments and appreciate them all the same.
