No pain, ...

At some point, I was made aware of a quote by Søren Kierkegaard from his text "The Sickness Unto Death":

So it is too that in the eyes of the world it is dangerous to venture. And why? Because one may lose. But not to venture is shrewd. And yet, by not venturing, it is so dreadfully easy to lose that which it would be difficult to lose in even the most venturesome venture, and in any case never so easily, so completely as if it were nothing...one's self. For if I have ventured amiss--very well, then life helps me by its punishment. But if I have not ventured at all--who then helps me?

Apart from the fact that I seem to be certain of punishment, regardless whether I dare or not - I'm not entirely able to accept that - it's one of the most beautiful formulations of a "pull yourself together". If I dare, I become wiser and may even win more than that; If I dare and fail, I will nevertheless (if you read it in the right way) be able to use the punishment of life as a help. (If you read the Danish original in a more pessimistic way, life's help could simply be to give me the punishment).
The one who does not dare may win earthly benefits of gaining comfort through cowardice, but he will none the less, according to Kierkegaard, lose himself.
(Translated from Hvo intet vinder..., originally published October 16th, 2014)

When that man's son becomes dominating

There is a saying that goes something like: to understand one's opponents one must walk a mile in their shoes. Often put a little sarcastically in Jack Handey's words:

Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way, you'll be a mile from them, and you'll have their shoes.

There is actually more truth in Handey's words than you think. It could be so good if you were able to put yourself in your opponent's place, but often, you get no result because you are not able to do it sensibly.
In theory, anyone is able to convince themselves that it is not at all that difficult - but when trying, they will often end up standing firm on their own beliefs, when on the other hand the other party was simply so steep and so insidiously beyond reach that it unfortunately was not possible to reach an understanding.
And anyone is able to make a simple exercise to prove the point. Give a group of people a simple riddle - when I experienced it, the riddle was:

A man stands with a photo in his hand. Another man asks: "Who's the man in the picture?" And the answer goes: "I have neither brothers nor sisters, but that man's father is my father's son." Who's in the picture?

- but there are other riddles that could just as well be used.
Among the people who answer the riddle, you choose one who has answered correctly and one who has given a wrong answer or no answer at all - and then you let the one, who was correct, tell the other what the answer is - until he or she is convinced that it is true.
Soon the one who explains will start using tools from his or her own world of concepts: the mathematician sets up equations, the actor begins to play plays - but only very few will start out from the world of concepts familiar to the one to be convinced. It will become even more interesting if you make two people convince a third - although it may require someone who can part the two "convincers" if they get into a fight, despite the fact that they fully agree - they just start competing to bring their own explanation forward because they think it's the most understandable.
I guess that no-one has said better than the Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard in "The point of view for my work as an author" - and that's why the quote will be used and abused wherever people work with coaching:

If one is truly to succeed in leading a person to a specific place, one must first and foremost take care to find him where he is and begin there.
This is the secret in the entire art of helping.
Anyone who cannot do this is himself under a delusion if he thinks he is able to help someone else. In order truly to help someone else, I must understand more than he–but certainly first and foremost understand what he understands.
If I do not do that, then my greater understanding does not help him at all. If I nevertheless want to assert my greater understanding, then it is because I am vain or proud, then basically instead of benefiting him I really want to be admired by him.
But all true helping begins with a humbling.
The helper must first humble himself under the person he wants to help and thereby understand that to help is not to dominate but to serve, that to help is a not to be the most dominating but the most patient, that to help is a willingness for the time being to put up with being in the wrong and not understanding what the other understands.

But oh, how hard it is to show patience in these situations ... And if "that man's father" can be controversial - what will happen then, when the topic is something that really ignites you?
(Translated from Når den mands søn bliver herskesyg, originally published November 21st, 2007)

On the topic of originals, copies and collages

While discussing authenticity, I came to think of a quote, which we Danes like to attribute to Søren Kierkegaard - symptomatically enough, I think it actually originates from the English poet Edward Young, who died about half a century before Kierkegaard's birth:

We are all born originals - why is it so many of us die copies?

For that question, I think I know a good answer: we die copies, because we have gathered inspiration from people, we have met over time, from whom we have let inspiration rub off. And the fascinating part is that hardly anyone - maybe not even in totalitarian regimes, eventhough, fortunately, my knowledge of said regimes is limited - die as exact copies of a certain other person. Rather, we die as collages of numerous other people, who then again themselves were collages of those people who inspired them.
Which is quite fortunate, I think. Otherwise, none of us could reach higher by standing on the shoulders of giants of the past.
(Translated from Noget om originaler, kopier og collager, originally published October 17, 2015)