ADHD, Impulsive Choices, and Leaving the Past Behind

I spent my 18th birthday at almost 71 degrees north, high above the Arctic Circle in Norway. Laying on a blue, uncomfortable couch in a cold and chilly bedsit, where I had to cross the shared hallway to get to my bathroom. I had a flu. Life was miserable.

It was the middle of October, by old Norwegian traditions the first winter day of the season. I could feel the blood pulsate in my aching head. Throat was sore. Stomach crying for food.

I had no pain killers or Coke or salt chips. All I had was some lousy microwave meals with ham roast, potatoes and sauerkraut in the fridge. Outside the narrow window, above the portable stovetop, was a snow blizzard. The wind was howling between the post-war houses in Honningsvåg.

I tucked the fleece blanket under my feet and pulled it up. I shivered, laying in fetal position. On the TV Frasier Crane was arguing with his father, hitting too close to home.

What was I doing here? I regretted moving here from my hometown just to pursue high school at the top of Norway, in an almost non-existing place with barely 2000 citizens. Next stop if northbound: The North pole.

Why had I moved here? As a matter of fact, it was so typical of me. It still is. Impulsive decisions. Day in and day out. Move to another place just to study something I will never be? Yeah, why not.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a knock at my door, ripping me out of my negative-thought spiral. It was surely a knock, it had to be, not the wind smacking something against the wall nor the houseowner upstairs.

I barely managed to get up and stumbled across the floor. I opened the door, half-standing, half-bent over, ready to crumble into nothing. Outside the door, in the hallway, stood an older woman. Maybe sixtysomething, not seventy. Her coat was full of snow. Her glasses foggy. In her hands she held a chocolate cake.

“Happy birthday! This is from your mother,” she said, handing me the cake.

“Th-thanks,” I managed to answer.

“Are you okay?” she asked. Gazing at me, white as a sheet.

I put the cake on the counter next to me. “I’m okay,” I said. “Just a little unwell.”

“Do you need anything? Food? Medicine?”

“I’m good, thanks,” I answered, fully aware that the store was a fifteen minute walk away and that I was in need of both food and pain killers. I glanced to the left, the blizzard had packed my window with snow.

I felt empty and alone at a place where I didn’t want to be. Little did I know at that time that it was just the beginning.

When I was 17 years old, I literally took off and left my childhood home. Since then I have been on what feels like an endless journey. I’m now 32.

This is more or less me: Impulsive. Lack of motivation. Easily upset. An adventurer that needs to be on the move. Never in the same place for a longer time. Never in the same boring job for a longer time. Someone who has a hard time settling down. Never satisfied. Always on the look for my next move, then regretting it when life gets tough and my predictable routines and safe space gets demolished.

To be honest, I have never known what I have been searching for with my endless wandering. I only knew that I had to keep running.

The last 15 years I have lived in five different places all over Norway. I have also lived a year in Daytona Beach in Florida, USA. Or as a waiter in Miami called it: The Detroit of Florida.

During the same time, I have had roughly ten or eleven different jobs after high school, some of them pretty decent corporate jobs. Spoiler: I loathe corporate jobs. They restrain you and suck all of your energy out like a dementor in Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. In addition, I have also owned and run two creative agencies, with me as the sole employee. I loved the creative work and hated the pitching, sales and administrative part of it. Unfortunately, customers don’t line up by themselves.

In the last 15 years I have also studied law at The Arctic University of Norway, bachelor’s in marketing management at the Norwegian Business School, Creative Writing at Kristiania University College and attended professional pilot school in Florida. Second spoiler: I haven’t finished either one of the studies. But almost, if that counts for something. Despite having no degree it hasn’t held me back in any way career-wise, but it is a symptom of all the core problems I have yet to untangle.

Since the fall of 2020 I have worked, first part-time, then full time as a journalist. And I kinda like it, at least the writing part of it. I stumbled into it by pure coincidence, but it is the line of work I have managed to stay the longest at. And somehow, rather miraculously, felt good about my work. And that comes from a hard core perfectionist who doubts everything he does, who has to be in total control of his own time and who does not play well with others in the work place. Writing has in a weird way been the light in what otherwise would be the dark.

But times they are a-changin’, as Bob Dylan would sing it.

It’s time to move – once again.

This time to nowhere in particular. Why? I have never tried that approach before, so why not?

Just kidding.

Me and my lovely girlfriend Kristina, who is also a journalist and a photographer, are going to use the next year or so to travel around Italy (and Europe) to write and take photos. Documenting. Telling stories.

We will write about places we visit. Places you should visit. Lessons we learn. Problems we face. People we meet along the way. We want to write about norwegians out in the world, but we also want to write about people out in the world. As writer and creator of Jack Reacher, Lee Child, would put it: “I’m a citizen of the world.”

And so am I and Kristina. (She has lived three years in Australia where she studied and graduated with a bachelor in journalism and criminology. PS! She says avo instead of avocado).

By going on this journey we hope to inspire you, inform you and provide you with interesting stories from the world we share. The world we live in together, with stories by us. But also stories with us.

On November 25th we will leave our small town of Nordreisa in northern Norway. Our first destination will be Tivoli, outside of Rome, followed by Rome itself for Christmas.

So far we have a place to stay until the beginning of January 2025. And who knows where we will go after that. Perhaps we will stay longer in Rome. We might move south, toward milder climate. Who knows.

Finding your place in the world can be a daunting task. At least it has been for me. I never really showed up for myself before turning 28 or 29. Social anxiety and depression have been faithful companions. So has my impulsive and inattentive and unfocused brain been. I have always prefered to be on my own (except with Kristina or very close family members), and combined with my obsession with details and keen interest in certain subjects and hypersensitivity to stimuli (especially sounds and background noise), it has been a life of ups and downs so far.

I’m also a rather private person. I have no social media (posting something to instagram could make me ruminate for days or stay with the screen for days. Was the caption lame? What will people think of me now? I’m so embarrassed by myself. I will never post anything again) or online presence nor do I like parties or gatherings where there are a lot of people and background noise. At the same time I have no problem with sharing my life through words. Writing is kind, forgiving and patient in the way that it lets me breathe and think before I say anything. That’s a luxury I do not have in verbal conversations, and I do often end up in situations where I say little to nothing cause I do not feel comfortable, or I will blurt out something I will regret for the rest of the week.

Life is full of contradictions. I can be an outgoing, extroverted  journalist (and person) both in person and over the phone. Those days I thrive! But I can also be a journalist (and person) that just stares at my phone for days when someone tries to get a hold of me and who dwells about a piece for days after it is published and never wants to write again because I’m shit. Often in the following days after an article is published, I go back and read it over and over again multiple times a day. Surely it must be a typing error or a bad sentence structure somewhere I have missed. It’s tiresome, to say the least.

“But Christer, you are so good with people. You can literally speak with everyone,” I sometimes hear. And it’s true. Sometimes it’s organic, other times I should get an Oscar for actor in a leading role. It’s draining and requires a long charging time. Eye contact, for example, can be so difficult during conversations. Often I have to get the person to repeat themselves, since I used all my mental capabilities to look them in their eyes and didn’t get a single word of what they said.

Lack of motivation is perhaps what I have struggled with the most from day to day as long as I can remember. But there is one situation where I will crush even David Goggings in stamina and power of execution. And that is if you give me a freshly brewed coffee pot, four hours and an empty Word-document and free rains to write whatever I want. Those four hours will feel like five minutes to me.

A couple of years ago I met with a psychologist for a couple of times. I guess she wasn’t the right fit for me, but talking about my life to someone was surprisingly relieving. (I didn’t think I could speak about my feelings to others).  Over the last two-three years my suspicion that I have a diagnosis of some sort have grown stronger. First and foremost ADD/ADHD. Close second, traits of mild autism. Since the age of 17 I have been on blood pressure medication for hypertension, today I strongly believe it has something to do with the things mentioned above. As well as the GI issues I always experience, independently of what I eat, and that I sometimes get very upset when things don’t go according to plans.

I have tried to get an examination for an ADHD-diagnosis, but the doctors said no. “We don’t believe you have it. You’re a high functioning guy who just can’t remember much of your childhood, we believe you don’t have ADHD.” Luckily for me I have in cases like this communication difficulties and a hard time expressing myself verbally. Only if I could write a letter to the doctors where I could explain everything. Also, being afraid of being seen as one of those who has self-diagnosed themselves on TikTok, makes me not want to complain about that decision.

A trait that I have (luckily) managed to put away after many years, is that I can only start working or writing every whole or half hour. A minute past nine? Too bad. Now you gotta wait twenty-nine more minutes before you can start working. In the meantime: YouTube.

But what the heck. Everyone faces obstacles throughout life. It’s part of what we call life.

You might wonder, reading this: Is this going to be a blog about travel and people around the world? Or is he going to be lashing out about his internal life and struggles?

To be frank, I don’t know. I guess it will be a combination of both. We don’t know either who’s going to write when and about what. But one thing I have learned is that you will always figure it out as you go.

By going on this journey we also hope to get closer to some of the answers we are looking for. After 15 years of always on the go, I’m fully aware that I’ll never be able to outrun my past or things that bother me just by going to another place or country. I have experienced that the hard way, many times.

One of the things I hope to achieve with this is to live life on my own terms to a greater extent. I also believe this journey is an attempt to run away from the polar night-phenomenon, when it’s pitch-black and no daylight in northern Norway for two months, and the harsh winter. Living in the cold, snowy dark is straining on my mind and body.

The journey so far has been long, but small steps in the right direction have helped. Some of them love, routines, meditation, physical exercise, no social media and no alcohol. And some extensive self-experiments with supplements and diets – not always successful.

This time I strongly believe something is different, for the better. I look forward (yes, I’m a bit nervous as well) travelling with the one I want to spend the rest of my life with. And I hope you will be a part of it.

PS! Thank you mom for the chocolate cake. It did the job as both medicine and food on an otherwise terrible day.

Until next time,

Chris H.