When I was little, I had a favorite coloring book. You know the one—the kind that keeps a kid entertained for hours, crayon shavings everywhere, and pages so well-loved they’re practically worn through. My absolute favorite page featured Lucia, complete with her crown of candles and flowing gown. I was obsessed. Like, “color-the-same-page-multiple-times” obsessed. I didn’t just color her—I memorized her. The image is still so vivid in my mind, as if my crayons etched her directly into my memory. (If that’s not peak autistic hyperfixation, I honestly don’t know what is.)
Fast forward a few decades—and plot twist!—I’m now married to an actual Swede. Little me, sitting on the floor with crayons everywhere, could never have imagined that one day I’d be planning a life in the very country where Lucia reigns supreme. Yet here I am, packed and ready for the adventure… just not quite there yet.
It’s December, and the festive season feels a little bittersweet. Back in Sweden, my husband is surrounded by all the cozy holiday traditions: saffron-scented Lussekatter, glowing Advent stars in the windows, and (of course) the Lucia processions that light up the darkest nights. Meanwhile, I’m here, counting down the days until I can finally join him. The distance between us feels sharper this time of year—like I’m standing just outside the snow globe, waiting to step in and experience the magic.
If all goes as planned, next December, I’ll finally be there. I’ll see the Lucia procession in person, hear the hauntingly beautiful songs, and probably cry because, well, emotions. Until then, I’m holding onto the memory of that little girl, her crayons, and her unshakable love for a tradition she didn’t fully understand—but somehow always knew was special.
Life has a funny way of connecting the dots, doesn’t it? Sometimes, it takes decades, multiple coloring pages, and a love story that crosses borders. And while I may not be in Sweden (yet), I’m holding tight to the promise of what’s to come. Lucia, I’ll see you soon—candle crown and all.
And to my husband: save me a Lussekatt (or five). I’ll be there before you know it.
Swedish Wanderlust 