People who will be missed

From time to time people I met using socia media announce that for a period of time, they will take a break away from the keyboard - it could be due to vacation, business trips or simply that they need a break.
And in that situation it is often seen that they are met with the obligatory greeting that "we are going to miss you."
And that's all very good and polite, but sometimes it is difficult not to think: how many of these people would you actually miss, actually and for real, if they all of a sudden disappeared from your screen due to a decision to go sheepfarming in the Outer Hebrides?
I am of the firm conviction that it is not 20000 followers on Twitter that will make me a happy social media user. No - what makes me a happy Twitter user who feels that he gets something out of his online presence are the approximately 20 people that I follow, and who follow me, who are engaged in two-way communication, where we are able to inspire each other.
These are the people to whom I would any day write that I am going to miss them. They constitute only a fraction - very few percent - of my Twitter followers, but they make a difference far beyond average and prove that quality is preferable to quantity any time. Because we are able to inspire each other.
(Translated from Noget om savn)

Master, master, the tower is leaning!

Image courtesy of Pixabay / Pexels

A couple of years ago, in a review of a book about the history of the Danish manor Nørre Vosborg, I encountered an anecdote from the time when the nobleman Niels Bugge built Osborg, the predecessor of what was to become Nørre Vosborg. The castle was to be so big that Bugge had acquired a master builder from England, and when this master builder had done his job, received his pay and left Osborg, Bugge sent one of his knights after the builder, shouting, "Master, master! The tower is leaning!" If the builder turned to look back when hearing these words, the knight should interpret it as if the builder doubted the quality of his work - and therefore cut him down and take the money back. The master builder, however, did not turn to look back.
What makes me appreciate this anecdote so much is the unspoken understanding that exists between Bugge and the master builder. On one hand, the slightest indication that the builder has the slightest doubt about the quality of his work is incriminating enough to indicate that he has not earned his money - and, in addition, has to pay with his life for his implied fallibility. On the other hand, the builder refuses to acknowledge the mere possibility that his work would be flawed and thus makes Bugge even more satisfied than if the knight had returned with the money.
Now management is no longer done in the way that you lose your head if you doubt your work, and of course, if one's creations are questioned, one should meet the questions with understanding rather than being arrogantly confident.
But I think we would do ourselves a favour if we make sure that we - before we show ourselves accommodating and suggest to "let's look at it ..." - dare believe it when our inner voices firmly say, "The tower leans not ...!"
(Translated from Mester, mester, tårnet hælder!)

A matter of silence

Image courtesy of pixabay / Predra6

As surely a number of other people, I am somewhat preoccupied with the question of how to ensure quality in what one expresses in daily life; how to ensure quality in communication, so to speak - basically, how do I ensure that I express something that people are at all interested in listening to? For I do not hesitate to draw the conclusion that if I just occasionally end up in the situation where I'm not worth listening to, it will be all too easy for people to generalize that I am not worth listening to at all.
And then it struck me in its simplicity; one of these every day revelations which I sometimes experience: this is most likely obvious to the world, but I still feel a need to disclose it, as I find it so universally valid: when communicating, one should confine oneself to expressing things that can stand a very simple test: would I find this interesting if the roles were reversed, and someone else said it to me?
I think that if in general, we use this - let's call it a mirror principle, eventhough I know that Peter Drucker proposed such one has long ago - silence would be much more prevalent in the world, and what was said would be of a higher quality.
Paradoxically - it's probably so obvious to everyone that merely by discussing the principle, I myself violate it.
(Translated from En formel for stilhed, originally published September 9, 2013)