Norwegian journalist and producer. Loud, curious and probably asking too many questions since long before anyone paid me to.
When I’m happy, I’m really happy. When I’m sad, I don’t particularly want to pretend I’m not.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always been drawn to moments where people are completely there. The unexpected answer in an interview. The few seconds before going live. Something that makes you forget to check your phone.
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For a long time, I was convinced I wanted to be an actor. I loved performing, being in front of a camera and, admittedly, the attention.
But I was also obsessed with Ugly Betty, Sex and the City and Lindmo. Somewhere between all three, I started to realise that I was just as interested in the people creating the stories and asking the questions.
Then I auditioned for an acting school in London. They told me I was too young, too immature and that my English wasn’t good enough. Come back in three years, they said
Instead, I found a journalism degree in a tiny Norwegian town called Volda — or, as I understood it at the time, a degree in asking questions.
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I was pretty convinced television was the plan. Then I got the chance to start my career at NRK Entertainment, making radio and podcasts with some of Norway’s biggest personalities.
Starting with sound gave me the chance to focus on the fundamentals. I sometimes compare it to learning to drive without having to think about changing gears. You still have to understand the traffic, pay attention to what’s happening around you and know where you’re going.
For me, that meant learning to listen. To ask better questions, get the timing right, build a story and pay attention to the person in front of me.
And then there was live radio. People were waiting. The programme had to start on time. Something could go wrong, and there was no second take.
I loved that something was actually at stake.
I grew up in Bjørndal, on the outskirts of Oslo — a neighbourhood full of people from different backgrounds, close friendships and the kind of freedom where kids disappeared outside for hours and came home when they got hungry.
I was loud, sensitive, curious and very fond of attention. If I wasn’t outside climbing a tree somewhere, I was putting on shows, filming something, writing stories or making up songs.
Mum made the costumes. Dad supplied the jokes.
No one in my family works in anything remotely creative, so somehow I became the attention-seeking black sheep — with a pretty constant desire to create.
My fascination with Australia started before I really knew what Australia was. One of the adults at my kindergarten had a didgeridoo he would play for us. Later Steve Irwin made the wildlife feel larger than life, while H2O: Just Add Water somehow convinced me that growing up on the other side of the world looked pretty great.
I finally got here on exchange in 2018 and went home changed. I found people who felt familiar — outgoing, curious, open and genuinely interested in each other. There was an ease to life here that I hadn't experienced in quite the same way before.
I have a theory that all the barefoot walking might have something to do with how grounded Australians seem to be.
But perhaps what stayed with me most was the freedom of arriving somewhere nobody had already decided who I was.
I got to choose who I wanted to be.
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For the first time in a while, I don't have the next chapter completely mapped out.
I'm still producing, writing and making things — but I'm also giving myself some room to figure out what else I want to do. I'm writing my first novel, taking photos, living in Australia and becoming increasingly curious about where else storytelling might take me.
I know I want to work with people, ideas and stories. I know I want to make things that make people feel something.
The rest? I'm quite excited to find out.