Liseberg has made it through a world war, economic crisis, devastating fires and most recently a pandemic. And we are still here.
Monday this week, we celebrated our 100th anniversary. One hundred.
I am not a big fan of anniversaries – no matter what is being celebrated.
In our industry, it is often a commercial trick used to give an otherwise outdated product a nicer packaging. Or a way to celebrate our own attributes and brilliance.
I don’t really like birthdays either. I forget them — including my own — unless someone puts them in my Outlook. And for me, birthdays have always been the greatest reminder of the transience of life, and that’s not really something worth celebrating.
But I also must admit that the older I get, the more I understand it.
Anniversaries, birthdays … yes, all time markers and traditions giving life a kind of rhythm. A cadence and a structure, which helps us navigate an existence, which in fact can otherwise be quite chaotic and unpredictable.
This rhythm is something that is felt particularly strong here at Liseberg. Not just because the seasonal nature of everything we do – but also because the park spans over generations.
And all the traditions aligned with this particular rhythm is sort of a mental safe haven in a world, that is otherwise shaking.
Liseberg has been the meeting place for the people of Gothenburg for a hundred years. The place you visit to celebrate a summer that is too short. And to find the light in a winter that is too dark.
And that’s important.
We are – like all culture – a kind of glue, which helps to hold an otherwise rather segregated and sprawling city together.
And in that way, it feels like being part of something bigger. Both in the here-and-now, and in the span-of-time.
Congratulations with the first one hundred years, my dear old friend. Your anniversary actually means something.
Even for a curmudgeon like me.