Så Är Det Bara: How I Learned to Stop Giving a Fuck and Had the Greatest Jolly Day Ever
When a ninja-level cognitive reframe strikes mid-day and suddenly everything weighs nothing. No technique. No effort. Just—poof. Light, free, alive.
PROLOGUE: The 62 Days of FUCK
Scene: Any kitchen. Every kitchen. THE kitchen.
It begins November 1st. The Halloween candy isn’t even digested¹ and already—ALREADY—someone in the family group chat types the words that launch a thousand passive-aggressive ships:
“So... who’s hosting this year? 🎄”
And thus begins the COUNTDOWN. Not to joy. Not to peace on earth. To the most elaborately choreographed psychological warfare since Sun Tzu put down his pen and picked up a ladle.
Sixty-two days of:
“I’m FINE with whatever” (translation: I will remember this betrayal until heat death of the universe)
“No no, YOU pick the date” (I have already picked the date, choose wrong and perish)
Seventeen separate text threads about whether Aunt Margit can eat gluten NOW or if that was LAST year
The Great Parking Discussion of who drives, who gets picked up, who “just takes the train actually it’s easier” (LIAR, nothing is easier, you just want an escape route²)
ACT I: THE GATHERING Subtitle: Sisyphus Had It Easy, He Only Had ONE Boulder
The cars arrive. The TRANSPORTER³ has been summoned because—of course—the present for Farmor⁴ doesn’t fit in ANY vehicle owned by ANY family member despite THREE SEPARATE MEASURING SESSIONS.
UNCLE BENGT: I said it was 47 centimeters. MOTHER: You said FORTY. SEVEN? UNCLE BENGT: The box. Not the— MOTHER: THE BOX IS THE THING, BENGT. FATHER: (already in garage, has located beer, will not be seen for 40 minutes) COUSIN ERIK: (filming for TikTok, will be asked to stop seventeen times, will not stop)
The delivery arrives. A man who looks like Jason Statham’s Swedish cousin emerges from a vehicle that has absolutely done at least one illegal U-turn today. He carries the box like it contains nuclear codes. It contains a foot spa.
THE CHILDREN spiral through the door like TASMANIAN DEVILS⁵ in matching sweaters that someone (AUNT LENA) thought would be “cute for the photo.” The sweaters will survive fourteen minutes. One is already in a tree. Not ON a tree. IN the tree. How? Nobody knows. NOBODY. ASKS.
ACT II: THE KITCHEN Subtitle: Where Gods Are Made and Mortals Learn Their Place
The kitchen.
The kitchen.
THE. KITCHEN.
Here stands GRANDMA⁶. Five foot two. Seventy-eight years old. Has not raised her voice since 1987 and never needed to again because she discovered THE LOOK. The look that says: I have survived wars, famine, your grandfather’s “experimental” meatball phase, and the 90s. You are a CHILD playing at CHAOS. SIT.
She stirs. The universe organizes itself around her wooden spoon.
GRANDMA: (barely audible, yet somehow heard by every molecule) Erik. Phone. Now.
COUSIN ERIK: (puts phone away instantly, does not remember making this decision)
MOTHER: Mamma, should I— GRANDMA: No. MOTHER: But the— GRANDMA: Nej. MOTHER: I just thought— GRANDMA: (THE LOOK) MOTHER: (becomes eight years old again, stands in corner, will later claim this was her choice)
The AUNTS arrive in the kitchen. This is a RITUAL.⁷ They have been doing this for forty years. They do not need to speak. They MOVE. Potatoes appear, peeled. Gravies materialize. The Janssons frestelse⁸ assembles itself through sheer collective will.
YOUNG NEPHEW OSCAR (age 9, menace, would make Dennis weep with inadequacy): “Can I help?”
THE AUNTS: (in unison, a chord of ancient feminine power) “Go find your father.”
Oscar does not find his father. Oscar finds the garage. Oscar finds the beer fridge. Oscar opens a Pripps Blå. Oscar is seven sips in before anyone notices. Oscar will be a LEGEND. Oscar will also be grounded until February.
ACT III: THE LIVING ROOM Subtitle: A Study in Strategic Seating
The couch holds four. There are nineteen people. This is CHRISTMAS.
UNCLE LARS has claimed THE CHAIR. The good chair. The chair with the view of both TV AND kitchen (critical for monitoring food progress AND pretending to watch Kalle Anka⁹). He claimed it by arriving two hours early to “help set up” (he set up himself, in the chair, with coffee).
The COUSINS arrange themselves by ancient grudge patterns:
Maja and Emil: not speaking (reason: 2019, unclear, possibly Spotify playlist related)
Viktor and Amanda: speaking TOO MUCH (engagement news, three hours of details, someone help)
Little Lisa: under the table, has been there forty minutes, is “fine,” is “just resting,” is absolutely plotting
FATHER emerges from garage. He has achieved perfect beer-to-social-obligation ratio.¹⁰ He is ready. He surveys the room like a GENERAL.
FATHER: So. Who’s winning? EVERYONE: ...what? FATHER: (gestures vaguely at TV showing muted commercial) The... the thing. MOTHER: (from kitchen, six rooms away, yet perfectly audible) THERE’S NO GAME ON. IT’S CHRISTMAS. FATHER: (retreating) Right. Yes. Of course. (under breath) There’s always a game somewhere...
ACT IV: THE TABLE Subtitle: The Hunger Games But With Pickled Herring
The call comes. GRANDMA has spoken. Not literally. She tilted her head 3 degrees. This means: COME.
NINETEEN PEOPLE. One table. Physics says no. GRANDMA says yes. Physics loses.
The SEATING CHART was determined six weeks ago and has been contested, relitigated, and passive-aggressively “suggested to change maybe?” fourteen times. It remains exactly as Grandma decreed because—see previous: GRANDMA.
COUSIN MARCUS: (whispering) Why am I next to Aunt Birgit? She’s going to ask about my job again. MOTHER: (whispering back) Because you complained about seating last year. COUSIN MARCUS: That was FOUR years ago! MOTHER: (smiling sweetly) We remember, Marcus. We ALL remember.¹¹
The FOOD arrives.
Not food. TESTIMONY. EVIDENCE. LEGACY.
Each dish carries the weight of generations:
Köttbullar made from a recipe that survived the Finnish Winter War (literally, on a note in Great-Grandmother’s coat pocket)
Gravlax that has been brining for exactly the number of days prescribed by SCIENCE (Grandma’s science, which supersedes peer review)
Potatoes. Just potatoes. But LOOK at them. Golden. Crisp. Perfect. These potatoes have generational wealth.
UNCLE BENGT: (reaching for food) GRANDMA: (clears throat) EVERYONE: (freezes) GRANDMA: (bows head) THE BLESSING: (happens) UNCLE BENGT: (has learned nothing, will try to reach early again next year)
ACT V: THE CONVERSATION Subtitle: A Masterclass in Subtext
The eating begins. So does the REAL meal: information extraction, status assessment, and the delicate art of saying one thing while meaning seventeen others.
AUNT BIRGIT: So Marcus, how’s... work? (subtext: are you still doing that thing I don’t understand and therefore disapprove of?)
MARCUS: Good, good. (subtext: please don’t make me explain cryptocurrency to you again)
AUNT BIRGIT: That’s nice. (subtext: I have already decided to disapprove)
MARCUS: (subtext: I know)
AUNT BIRGIT: (subtext: I know you know)
MARCUS: (subtext: we are locked in eternal battle)
MOTHER: (loud voice, conversation redirect) AND HOW IS EVERYONE’S JANSSONS?
This is a TACTICAL MOVE. Everyone must now compliment the Janssons. This is LAW. The Janssons are above criticism.¹² Even if they were bad (they are never bad, they are JANSSONS), you would say: “Perfect as always.”
VIKTOR: So, about the engagement— SOMEONE: (drops fork) EVERYONE: (internal screaming) VIKTOR: —we were thinking summer wedding, maybe June— AMANDA: Or July! We haven’t decided! VIKTOR: We’ve decided June. AMANDA: (THE LOOK, inherited from grandmother, deployed early) Have we? (smile) Have we, Viktor?
Viktor has lost. Viktor doesn’t know he’s lost. Viktor will know in the car ride home. Viktor will know for MONTHS.
ACT VI: THE KITCHEN BREAK Subtitle: Where Truth Happens
Between courses, the women gather in the kitchen. This is not “doing dishes.” This is SUMMIT.¹³
AUNT LENA: Did you see what she’s wearing? MOTHER: I saw. AUNT KRISTIN: The AUDACITY. GRANDMA: (stirring something that doesn’t need stirring) She looks fine. THE AUNTS: (immediately) She looks fine. Beautiful. Perfect. We love it.
A CHILD enters. Wrong move.
MOTHER: What do you need? CHILD (OSCAR, reformed beer thief): More lingonberry. MOTHER: (hands appear with lingonberry before child finishes sentence) Go. CHILD: Can I stay? ALL WOMEN: (in unison) No. CHILD: But— GRANDMA: (doesn’t even look up) Oscar. Your father is looking for you.
OSCAR: No he isn’t. GRANDMA: He will be.
SOMEWHERE IN THE HOUSE, Father suddenly feels compelled to look for Oscar. He doesn’t know why. He will never know why.
ACT VII: THE GIFTS Subtitle: The Anxiety Olympics*
Now comes the RITUAL OF EXCHANGE.¹⁴
Little Lisa (emerged from under table, somehow has wrapped present that she made “herself” which means mother stayed up until 2 AM helping) distributes gifts because SHE IS TOMTEN NOW.¹⁵ This is not negotiable. She has the hat. The hat conveys AUTHORITY.
The RULES are thus:
Gifts opened one at a time, in order of age (youngest first, this takes four hours)
Every gift must be reacted to with APPROPRIATE ENTHUSIASM
Appropriate enthusiasm must not EXCEED that shown for Grandma’s gift
Grandma’s gift is always best. Even if you don’t understand what it is.
YOU WILL UNDERSTAND IN TEN YEARS.
MARCUS opens gift from Aunt Birgit: socks.
MARCUS: (genuine enthusiasm, because he is 34 and socks are genuinely exciting now) Oh! Socks! Great!
AUNT BIRGIT: (suspiciously) You... like them?
MARCUS: (realizes his enthusiasm is being read as sarcasm, cannot fix this) I really do, I—
AUNT BIRGIT: (has decided this is mockery) Of course. Socks. How BORING of me.
MARCUS: No, I—
MOTHER: (intervention) WHAT A LOVELY COLOR, MARCUS. What is that, teal? Show everyone.
Marcus shows everyone. Marcus is a hostage holding socks.
UNCLE LARS opens gift from children: a drawing of “Grandpa’s Chair.”
UNCLE LARS: (tearing up, this is allowed) It’s... it’s beautiful.
THE DRAWING depicts Uncle Lars as roughly spherical, occupying a chair that is also roughly spherical. It is extremely accurate. It is also framed.
UNCLE LARS: (more tearing up) I’m putting this in my office.
He will. He is. It hangs behind him in every Zoom call. Colleagues have asked. He tells them. They don’t understand. They don’t NEED to understand.
ACT VIII: THE DESSERT Subtitle: Where Wars End and Begin
The TABLE has been cleared by forces unseen. In its place: DESSERT.
Rice porridge.¹⁶ The almond is hidden. The almond is destiny.
EVERYONE takes a portion. Eyes narrow. Spoons move with SURGICAL precision. To find the almond is VICTORY. To find the almond is POWER. To find the almond is a small chocolate-and-marzipan pig and bragging rights until next Christmas.
UNCLE BENGT finds the almond. UNCLE BENGT has won THREE TIMES in the last five years. This is STATISTICALLY SUSPICIOUS.
AUNT LENA: (innocent voice) How interesting. Again.
UNCLE BENGT: (guilty look) It’s just luck!
FATHER: (from his neutral beer corner) Pretty good luck, Bengt.
COUSIN MAJA: (speaking to Emil for first time in 6 hours) He cheats.
COUSIN EMIL: (responding, alliances reformed through common enemy) Obviously.
UNCLE BENGT: I DON’T—
GRANDMA: (spoon down) Bengt found the almond. (pause) Bengt gets the pig.
This is FINAL. But everyone knows. EVERYONE KNOWS.¹⁷
ACT IX: THE SCHNAPPS Subtitle: When the Truth Serum Arrives
The adults remain. The children have been dispersed to screens (negotiated, limited, parents lying to each other about limits). Now comes SNAPS.¹⁸
FATHER: (suddenly animated) You know what we should do?
EVERYONE: (knows what’s coming, cannot stop it)
FATHER: KARAOKE.
MOTHER: (has died inside but maintains smile) Maybe not—
FATHER: (already connecting phone to speaker) Just one song!
It is never one song. It is TWELVE songs. It includes:
Three ABBA (mandatory)
One Ted Gärdestad (Father cries, this is tradition)
Two songs nobody knows but everyone tries anyway
One absolute BANGER that gets Uncle Lars off The Chair for the first and only time (Ace of Base, “The Sign,” unrequested but inevitable)
The singing is bad. The singing is BEAUTIFUL. The singing is nineteen people who have spent seven hours suppressing things FINALLY letting go, and it doesn’t matter that Emil can’t hold a tune and Viktor is still sulking about June/July and Aunt Birgit has decided the socks thing was sarcasm BUT FOR THIS MOMENT—
—they are just people, singing, badly, together, and maybe THAT’S the point, maybe the whole absurd machinery of Christmas exists so that THIS MOMENT can happen, these three minutes of terrible harmonies and eye contact that means “I see you, I know you, you drive me insane, I love you, I HATE you, I love you, come back next year so we can do this again”—
And then Father attempts a high note in “Dancing Queen” and the moment passes and everyone is yelling again and someone has spilled glögg on the carpet and Oscar is asleep in the chair (Uncle Lars has ALLOWED this, a Christmas miracle) and—
EPILOGUE: THE LEAVING
It is 11 PM. It is somehow also 3 AM. Time has ceased. This is Christmas.
The GOODBYE takes forty-five minutes.
First goodbye: at table. “We should go.” Second goodbye: standing up. “Yes, we should.” Third goodbye: coats on. “Okay, leaving now.” Fourth goodbye: at door. “Thank you for everything.” Fifth goodbye: outside door. “See you soon!” Sixth goodbye: car. “Call when you’re home!” Seventh goodbye: window rolled down. “FORGOT THE TUPPERWARE.” Eighth goodbye: (fifteen more minutes of tupperware negotiation) Ninth goodbye: actually leaving, waving out window Tenth goodbye: text message. “Home safe! Thank you again! ❤️” Eleventh goodbye: response to text. “Sleep well! Love you!” Twelfth goodbye: (immediate planning for Easter)
GRANDMA stands at the window, watching the last car leave. The house is quiet now. The dishes are somehow already done. The AUNTS have worked magic as always.
She turns. She surveys her kingdom. The Chair awaits its master’s return. The tree lights blink. The carpet has absorbed the glögg and will speak of it to no one.
GRANDMA: (to herself, or to the house, or to forty years of Christmases past) Same time next year.
It is not a question.
THE END.
Or: TO BE CONTINUED, because it is always continued, because you cannot escape, because FAMILY.
APPENDIX A: GLOSSARY OF TERMS
A Therapeutic Index for the Traumatized Reader
¹ EMOTIONAL EATING: The practice of consuming feelings via sugar. See also: entire month of November.
² ESCAPE ROUTE: A pre-planned extraction method, typically disguised as “train schedule” or “early work meeting.” Professional-level players book actual train tickets, refundable.
³ TRANSPORTER: Reference to Luc Besson’s film series. Swedish variant involves less car chases, more passive-aggressive route suggestions from backseat.
⁴ FARMOR: Swedish for father’s mother. Not interchangeable with MORMOR (mother’s mother). This distinction MATTERS. You’ll learn why.
⁵ TASMANIAN DEVIL: Cartoon marsupial known for chaos. See also: any child between ages 4-12 after 6 PM during holidays. See also: Marsupilami energy without the tail.
⁶ GRANDMA (Sw: MORMOR/FARMOR): True Alpha. Not to be confused with internet “Alpha Male” discourse. Real alpha energy is: quiet, absolute, doesn’t need to announce itself. Can control nineteen people with eyebrow movement.
⁷ RITUAL: Repeated behavior pattern encoded through generations. Kitchen rituals are protected intellectual property spanning millennia. See: why restaurant food is “fine but not the same.”
⁸ JANSSONS FRESTELSE: Swedish potato dish. Translation: “Jansson’s Temptation.” Jansson was right to be tempted. So are you.
⁹ KALLE ANKA: Donald Duck Christmas special. Broadcast 3 PM on Christmas Eve in Sweden since 1959. Non-negotiable. Missing it is a federal crime (unwritten).
¹⁰ BEER-TO-SOCIAL-OBLIGATION RATIO: Scientific formula. Varies by individual. Optimal ratio allows presence at gathering while maintaining comfortable emotional distance.
¹¹ GENERATIONAL MEMORY: The family’s collective hard drive. Everything is stored. Nothing is deleted. That thing you did at the 1994 midsummer? FILED.
¹² ABOVE CRITICISM: Certain foods, people, and traditions exist beyond judgment. The list is unwritten. Violating it results in consequences that are also unwritten but FELT.
¹³ KITCHEN SUMMIT: Informal governing body. All real decisions happen here. The living room is ceremonial.
¹⁴ RITUAL OF EXCHANGE: Gift-giving ceremony. Not about gifts. About demonstration of thoughtfulness, memory (”you mentioned wanting this ONCE, eight months ago”), and subtle status negotiation.
¹⁵ TOMTEN: Swedish Santa. Or a mythical creature. Or a small child in a red hat distributing presents. All are valid. All are powerful.
¹⁶ RICE PORRIDGE (RISGRYNSGRÖT): Dessert concealing one (1) almond. Finder receives chocolate pig. Stakes: unreasonably high.
¹⁷ EVERYONE KNOWS: State of collective awareness that cannot be spoken but is universally understood. The foundation of family dynamics.
¹⁸ SNAPS (SCHNAPPS): Swedish aquavit, consumed with ritual songs. Transforms adults into karaoke enthusiasts within 2-3 servings.
APPENDIX B: SELECTED THERAPEUTIC FRAMEWORKS
Referenced Directly and Indirectly in This Text
COGNITIVE BEHAVIORAL OBSERVATION: Noticing that Uncle Bengt reaches for food early EVERY year is CBT. Expecting different results is not.
FAMILY SYSTEMS THEORY: Everyone is playing a role. Roles were assigned before you were born. Switching roles requires three-to-five years of therapy and is still noticed by Aunt Birgit.
ATTACHMENT STYLE: ANXIOUS-AVOIDANT (FEARFUL): “I love you, get away from me, why are you leaving, don’t touch me, where’s my hug?” See: every interaction between siblings.
PROJECTION: When Aunt Lena says the gravy is “a bit thin,” she is not talking about the gravy.
TRIANGULATION: When you tell Mother something so she’ll tell Aunt Kristin so Aunt Kristin will tell the person you actually wanted to tell. Efficient. Devastating.
PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE COMMUNICATION: The official language of Scandinavian family gatherings. See: “No, it’s FINE” (it is not fine).
INTERGENERATIONAL TRAUMA: “We don’t talk about Uncle Harald’s year in [REDACTED].” You’ve never met Uncle Harald. Neither has anyone under 40. THE ABSENCE IS THE PRESENCE.
BOUNDARIES: Theoretical concept, discussed in therapy. In practice, see: kitchen during food preparation. Some boundaries are sacred.
GASLIGHTING: “You never said June, Viktor. I remember SPECIFICALLY you said ‘maybe summer.’” (Viktor has texts. Viktor shows texts. “Those texts don’t prove anything.”)
FAWNING: “Yes, Grandma. Of course, Grandma. Whatever you think, Grandma.” (Survival strategy. The only winning move.)
THE FOUR HORSEMEN (Gottman): Criticism, Contempt, Defensiveness, Stonewalling. Also: the conversational flow around any topic involving money, real estate, or why Marcus is still single.
APPENDIX C: POP CULTURE REFERENCES
Decoded for the Uninitiated
Reference Source Application Dennis the Menace Comic/TV Oscar, plus compound interest Taz (Tasmanian Devil) Looney Tunes Energy level of children post-6 PM Marsupilami Franco-Belgian comics Chaos agent with excellent tail Tintin Hergé The person trying to document everything (Cousin Erik with phone) Asterix & Obelix Goscinny/Uderzo The village defending against outside forces (other families, neighbors, etc.) The Transporter Luc Besson Delivery logistics as extreme sport Taxi Luc Besson See above, with more drift Family Guy MacFarlane The cutaway energy of family conversations The 48 Laws of Power Robert Greene Aunt Birgit’s bedtime reading Sisyphus Greek mythology You, bringing the same dish every year, hoping this time they’ll acknowledge it David Foster Wallace Infinite Jest, etc. The footnotes. This. The recursive self-awareness. Band Aid 1984 “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” No they don’t, because Christmas is THIS, not whatever that song was about John Lennon “Happy Xmas (War Is Over)” War is not over. War is eternal. Pass the potatoes. Smurfs Peyo The children, in their matching outfits, indistinguishable to outsiders MacGyver TV series Mother, fixing everything with whatever’s available Monty Python British comedy The fundamental tone. The absurdity recognized, articulated, and continued regardless.
APPENDIX D: TRANSLATIONS FOR THE INTERNATIONAL READER
Swedish English Actual Meaning Lagom “Just right amount” “I am judging your portion size” Fika Coffee break “Mandatory gossip session” Duktig Capable/clever “You have met expectations; do not expect praise” Jantelagen Law of Jante “Do not think you are special” (enforced psychically) Mysig Cozy “The exact vibe we’re pretending to have” Tyst nu Quiet now “Grandma is about to speak” Ja jo “Yes well” Agreeing while disagreeing Nä men “No but” Beginning of every contradiction Oj då “Oh dear” Things have gone wrong; no one will admit fault Skål Cheers “Make eye contact or seven years bad luck”
“Every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way, but every Swedish Christmas is unhappy in exactly the same way, and that’s beautiful.” — Tolstoy, adapted
DEDICATED TO: Every Grandma who held it all together with nothing but a wooden spoon and THE LOOK. Every parent who survived the car ride home. Every child who will one day understand. Every Uncle Lars with a chair. Every Oscar in the garage. Every Aunt Birgit with opinions. Every Viktor who will learn about July.
And to you, reading this, recognizing everything, laughing because it’s either that or crying, and knowing—KNOWING—that you’ll do it all again next year.
Because that’s what we do. Because they’re ours. Because **så är det bara.**¹⁹
¹⁹ SO IT JUST IS: The Swedish acceptance of reality.
The shrug that contains multitudes.
The closest thing to enlightenment available in this particular latitude.
FIN. (until next year)
Sounds like the Finnish side of my family. My mother was the one who had perfected that “look”.
Outstandingly hilarious. Largely due to the accuracy...I do enjoy lingonberry though these days...Dad was a huge fan of Finnish cuisine, so we all learned to enjoy it...