Precious time well spent

Recently, I involved myself in a small project for a good friend. It was a time-limited task - I had a couple of weeks to come as far as I could, giving my immediate comments to a book draft. A task with which I could spend more or less time.
Why? some people will say.
And true - I could have said no. I could have done a superficial effort. Found a place here and there and written a comment, but otherwise it will be relatively quickly done. Time is valuable, as we know.
At this point, let us briefly stray out at a tangent.
Most people know the old anecdote about the philosophy professor who presents his students with a transparent container, which he first fills up with stones until the students say it's full - then he pours gravel in until the students say that now, it is really full - after which he eventually fills it up with sand until the students for the third time claim that there is room for no more in the container. Then the professor takes the exact same amount of sand, pours it into a similar container. Then there is room for the gravel, but not all of the stones - especially not the big ones - can be placed in the container.
The point is (and let us refrain from venturing too far into what I think is a particular Danish devaluation of the anecdote - that the professor in both cases ends the session by empty a full beer mug into the container, after which he, while the beer seeps through the sand, point out: "but remember: there's always room for a pint"): we should make room for the big, important things in our lives first - if we take the small indifferent things first, there will be no room for the big, meaningful things.
In this case, the comments I have written to the book draft (comments that I would describe as a piece of gravel greater than the average, or one of the smaller stones in my container) had no influence on the more significant things. I have had my sleep every night, done my duty at work and as a family man. I have had time for all the other things in the gravel category: my presence on social media (which I choose not to call procrastination) has been unchanged, I have written my daily blog posts and I even had time for my #7ThingsIReadThisWeek. I may have translated a blog post less, maybe skipped watching a TV broadcast - but that's about it. It has actually only been sand that I have not had room for.
I am writing this halfway through the time I have available for the purpose. And I'm sure I'll make it. Because I've actually seen it as a pleasure. I like it, I get this fabulous sense of flow, and I do not notice that time passes around me - and then it even serves a purpose.
So if I'm actually able to make a positive difference that way - well, I would say yes again - any time!
(Translated from Kostbar tid, vel anvendt)

Silence without loneliness

At some point, I wrote a couple of posts about the choreographer Twyla Tharp and her book "The Creative Habit" - a book that I recently found from my heaps of books in search of the title of a headline.
The headline is about one of Tharp's exercises in the book: "Build up your tolerance for solitude" - to build an ability of tolerance towards being alone. You simply have to sit alone in a room and let your mind fly. Initially for one minute; later on you can expand to ten minutes after which you can begin to focus on whether an idea or goal is formed in your thoughts - otherwise you have to icrease the time used. The exercise is called "ciúnas gan uaigneas" - it is Gaelic for "silence without loneliness" - without loneliness, because the idea you breed will be your companion. As Tharp states, this is the exact opposite of meditation - you should not try to empty your mind, on the contrary, you should attempt to lure thoughts from the subconscious in order to befriend them and stay with them.
I have never really been able to understand the concept of meditation - so I was very happy when I found ciúnas gan uaigneas. I should set aside more time for this purpose...
(Translated from Stilhed uden ensomhed, originally published January 16, 2013)

More on the topic of selfishness, generosity and symbiosis

The other day I looked at the view point that content consumers can be said to be generous, whereas those who produce the content on the opposite can be regarded as selfish, and I did this very much with my focus on the selfish creators.
But it is at least as interesting to look at the generous consumers - because is it true: are the consumers always so generous?
In a sense, yes. All people who consume the content that I have created, I have to at least acknowledge that they generously spend their time on me. That's why I like to return to the story of Adam Grant and Daniel Pink in the backyard: in this world, where time is often considered our most precious resource, we waste people's resources if anything we have created makes them spend time that they could have used better elsewhere. (And if I let people's resources go to waste in that way, I have to consider any wish I have that they read my creations to be selfish).
But of course there are more or less generous consumers. As soon as the consumer begins to relate to the content and provide feedback, the level of generosity increases. I agree that the generosity of the keyboard warriors (who just use the creators' posts as a starting point to bring forward their own more or less off-topic conspiratory assumptions) is of such a limited extend that we would be better off without it. But the closer to the subject the given feedback is - and the more constructive inspiration, the creator can get out of it - the more generously the consumer acts towards the creator. This is perfectly obvious in situations where sequences of comments develop into mutually inspiring conversations, but even a single click on a Like-button can be seen as generosity - as the consumer hereby gives an expression of the type "more of the same kind, please".
For the same reason, I prefer five dedicated readers than 5000 that I hardly notice are there - because I, along with the five dedicated ones, can share much more symbiotic generosity in our common interest.
(Translated from Mere om egoisme, generøsitet og symbiose)

On the topic of saying no

I used to be exceptionally bad at saying "no" to people, when they came to me for help - not least in the workplace. As a misunderstood attempt to be friendly, I would like to help anyone who contacted me with something that I could help them with.
And, as such, it was very good. Apart from the fact that I rarely had the resources to help all those who wanted help. Time used to run short.
And then suddenly it dawned on me: the fact that I cannot say "no", does not enable me to help everyone. It does not mean that I will not have to say "no" anyway. It just makes those who ask for help prioritize for me - after a first-come, first-served principle, resources are used, and when there are no more, the only possibility is to say "no, unfortunately". Or, what's even worse, return to some of those I have already promised to help and say that unfortunately, it cannot be done anyway. Hence, I basically reduce my own reliability.
So now I work with myself and do my best to get better, not saying "yes" to everything. In particular, if someone is better at helping than I - and that often happens - then less time is wasted. But also when there has to be room for something that's more important. Because I have learned that the only thing that happens when I cannot say no is that I exhibit unusually bad ability to prioritise.
(Translated from Noget om at sige nej, originally published October 19th, 2017)

On the topic of having the time to sit here

In an edition of the Danish newspaper Politiken dated a few weeks ago, I saw a couple of thought-provoking pages. On the left page, a text - on the right page, a photo, both by Daniel Hjorth. The photo showed a location in Copenhagen with two benches, one in the foreground, one in the background. On each of the benches an elderly gentleman was sitting alone, and the text said (in my translation):

A simple thought.
What would happen,
If I asked:
'May I sit here?'
Although the next bench was vacant. 

It is, perhaps, a simple thought. But isn't it so that we are not good enough to seek the company of other people? It is far from certain that other people sit alone due to an active choice. What if we gave each other the opportunity to meet each other? Perhaps even the opportunity of conversation?
I think I'll ask next time.
Perhaps even though I do not really need to sit down.
Perhaps even though I do not really have the time to sit down.
Because: what does it actually mean - "to have the time"?
Maybe the world would become a better place if more people asked, "May I sit here?", although the next bench was vacant?
(Translated from Noget om at have tid til at sætte sig her)