I’ve been to Denmark a few dozen times now because half my family lives there. Every time I’m there, I announce, “I want to see Skagen” and by the end of the stay, I’ve run out of time.
“Næste gang, næste gang, next time,” I and they say, both of us meaning it truthfully. It’s been said so many times that it has become woven into the family lore. “Næste gang” has become to mean only one thing; a drive up to Skagen.
But not in July or August. Too many tourists. I want to go between October-March. Of course, any self-respecting Dane thinks I’m nuts to go to Skagen in the winter, so they try to talk me out of it, but the beauty of nature is to observe it with the absence of people, especially Americans. They make the quiet loudness of the sea ugly loud.
“Næste gang.”
The part of Skagen I want to experience is seeing where the North Sea and the Baltic Sea meet. Because of their different densities, a clear dividing line that starts at the beach and disappears into the horizon can be seen.
But this isn’t about Skagen; it’s about “næste gang.”
We assume there will always be a next time. We’ll see you next time, we’ll drive up the coast next time, we’ll go out for ice cream next time. Next time we meet, we’ll do that thing and say those things. Next time, I promise. Sometimes, we even pinky swear.
When I was starting out my working career, thirty-eight years old was when most of the men I worked with were having heart attacks. If you didn’t have a heart attack by the time you were thirty-eight, you were doing pretty good, but if you did, well, it wasn’t your lifestyle or the stress of your job, kids, money, marriage or any of that; it was just normal.
I’ve managed to live over six decades now and not have a heart attack. In fact, the last pre-surgical assessment I did in November last year they do to make sure your heart can survive the anesthesia revealed a strong beat and normal rhythm. Nobody said, “the heart of a healthy, thirty-eight year old man” but that’s what I heard in my head.
“Næste gang.”
For many of my co-workers in my earlier life, “next time” meant the next heart attack, most of whom would not survive. I’m not conflating a trip to Skagen with a heart attack, but maybe I am. I know how fleeting and precious life is on this side of a heart attack, but without having seen Skagen, I’m not sure how much it compares.
I am, however, getting a bit anxious with each passing day, that I may never see Skagen on this side of my mortality.
Huh. @Substack doesn’t know what to do with the vowel “æ” in a URL. Y’all need to work on that if you want to grow your international audience.
Powerful post, G.