My first day in Sweden

When the ferry docked in the port of Gothenburg, the gray of the morning was still imbued with the softness of the Nordic light. Sweden greeted me with a cool breeze and the hustle and bustle of a country awakening. I stood on deck, my breath forming little clouds in the crisp air, and watched the city come to life before me.

As soon as I had solid ground under my feet, I was expected. A friendly figure who was supposed to be my new colleague waved to me. I was welcomed with a warm smile that broke through the chill of the morning. We navigated through the streets of Gothenburg, past the historic buildings that quietly whispered stories of days gone by, until we finally reached our destination: the company's open-plan offices.

The premises in the heart of Gothenburg's city center were impressive: modern architecture is interwoven with Scandinavian aesthetics. I was guided through the offices, past seemingly endless rows of desks, past where concentrated employees were already doing their work. Light flooded the room, and the gentle clicking of keyboards underscored the calm, productive atmosphere.

The people here were charming and open-minded. Every smile and every handshake seemed sincere and warm-hearted. "Välkommen," I heard again and again. It was as if an invisible barrier didn't even exist between the newcomer and the long-established employees. I was welcomed into a community that seemed to be based on openness and cooperation.

After the warm welcome and the first tour through the company's beating heart, I was led to a room on one of the upper floors of the building. This room, sparsely lit and connected to a large corridor in which a spacious hall spread out, was my next destination. I couldn't help but notice the strange paintings that characterized the ambiance. They depicted the company's founder and his son, the current owner. The depictions were unusual and reminded me of a personality cult - a depiction I had never seen before in any other company. Who would have themselves painted in the style of old masters and then hang it in the corridors of their company? The idea of someone having themselves and their descendants immortalized in large-format paintings was alien to me and aroused astonishment and skepticism. Surrounded by the profound looks of the people portrayed, I almost felt transported to another time. This posing, allowing myself to be painted in an almost majestic pose, was something I had previously only seen in museums, history books, or old aristocratic houses. It was an act of self-presentation that was almost alienating in its intensity.

The paintings depicting the founder and his son lent an aura of the extraordinary, the non-everyday. They hung there as if they were part of a larger, almost mythological narrative that the company founder and his legacy had created for themselves. This was a tribute to the past and a firm anchoring of their presence in the company's present and future.

At that moment, I realized that I had become part of an environment in which the corporate culture was visibly interwoven with the personality and ideals of an individual family. A culture that lived in a world where the boundaries between personal heritage and corporate identity were blurred. A world in which painting was not just art but an expression of the corporate philosophy, a reflection of the company's values and self-image.

Here, I was left alone, with the task of watching a series of films in which the company owner talked about himself and his life, and he did so against the picturesque backdrop of Gothenburg's archipelago, a sea of countless tiny islands. My colleague explained that this was an initiation ritual for every new employee: watching these films and reading the "yellow book."

So I sat there and listened to the owner's words of wisdom, fortunately delivered in English. In front of me was the aforementioned yellow book, a kind of manifesto or philosophy written by the man standing in front of me on the screen in the movie. I flipped through the pages of this book as I watched the movies, immersed in the narrative and culture of a company that placed great importance on spreading its legends.

The hours in the secluded room stretched out and became a perceived infinity. Opening the yellow book, I immersed myself in the corporate philosophy. But I quickly put it aside, an unmistakable sign of my inner resistance. Even in those first moments of my "Swedish era," it became clear that my and the company's DNA were incompatible. I had my convictions, my view of things, and my life experience in various middle management positions, and I was not prepared to be molded by a Swedish businessman, who was undoubtedly highly respected but a stranger to me, as if I were a blank slate that first had to be shaped into the proper form. I was no naïve apprentice, no greenhorn in the working world who needed someone else's guidance.

So I skimmed the book's first page, then leafed through a little more, only to put it aside for good, unnoticed, as a silent protest against a worldview that had been forced upon me.

The evening brought a welcome change. Two Swedish colleagues, both established and experienced in the company, invited me to the restaurant of the Riverton Hotel - a well-known and prestigious establishment in Gothenburg renowned for its excellent views and comfort.

Despite the convivial atmosphere and friendly exchanges, the meal, a cheeseburger with fries, was unfortunately a salty disappointment. But even this culinary faux pas couldn't dampen my impression that Sweden was about more than work: a good life, a life enjoyed to the full and with a quality that could be felt in every detail. The suite they had rented for me alone surpassed anything I had ever experienced. You knew how to live here!

The open-plan offices in Sweden were not a pleasant environment for me, but the warmth and friendliness of the people there helped me get through this phase. As I said, my main task was to obtain a specific certification for the newly acquired branch of the company.

My colleagues came from different company levels, including the head of the department I had now landed in - let's call him Mats. He fit the stereotype of the friendly and nice Swede, but I sensed a certain aloofness, a kind of mistrust of outsiders that he was unable to hide. I had heard various things about Mats - including that he could get loud and impatient when things didn't go his way. But when I worked with him, I was spared such outbursts. Instead, he always treated me with a professional, albeit reserved, attitude.

However, this initial distance began to change when we achieved the certification we aimed for on the first attempt. It was a visible turning point in our relationship. Mats's attitude towards me changed noticeably - the mistrust gave way to a specific recognition and respect. I felt that now that I had met his demands. From this point on, our collaboration took a much more positive turn.

If you're intrigued by my entertaining account of spending a decade in Sweden and want to delve deeper into my experiences, please click the link to discover more about my book.

Book "Ten Years in Sweden"