The Hyggelig Journey

There was a time when belonging was not something we questioned. It existed in the quiet fabric of daily life — in the rhythm of familiar streets, in the nods exchanged with neighbours, in the unspoken understanding that we were part of something beyond ourselves. Then, without fanfare, something changed. We became preoccupied with independence, mistaking it for strength. We prized self-sufficiency but overlooked its cost. We withdrew, ever so slightly at first, until distance became the norm. Belonging was no longer assumed; it had to be curated, managed, explained. We speak now of connection, yet we skim the surface of relationships, hesitant to wade too deep. And yet, belonging has not disappeared. It lingers in the spaces between our hurried lives, waiting to be recognised. It is there in the warmth of a hand steadying another, in the kindness that expects nothing in return. It exists in the simple, human acts we too often dismiss — preparing a meal for someone else, li...

Sometimes I write selfish pages. Not out of greed, nor vanity — no. I write them as if whispering to myself in the dark, so I don’t forget. Because forgetting is easy. The noise of the world is thick, sticky, clinging to the skin and numbing the senses. And in this blur of days, of duties, of silences swallowed whole, I must remind myself of what truly matters. Life isn’t a straight line, nor a grand revelation. It is a slow unravelling, a peeling away of what isn’t yours until you find what is. Never stop fighting, they say, until you arrive at your destined place. But what is destiny if not the place where you are most yourself? And how do you know when you’ve arrived? You don’t. You just keep moving, sculpting yourself with each step, shedding skins that no longer fit. There must be an aim, a north, a whisper calling you forward. Otherwise, what is effort but exhaustion? With purpose, even suffering holds meaning. The wind scatters those who walk without direction, but t...

Exhausted. That was the abiding sentiment as I closed the final patient file of the day. My hand brushed against my bag with the air of a man signing his own eviction, and I set off, making my way out of the consulting room. I trudged forward as though bearing my own coffin, lost in thought. The day had been fruitful. Those who arrived in pain departed unburdened, and those who had lost their sense of purpose returned home as if waving to the sea — only to find the sea waving back. And yet, why was I so utterly spent? Perhaps my hands ached, robbing me of action. Perhaps I granted myself the right to claim the prize — the heavy trophy — of one who had made a difference. But none of it truly mattered. Sometimes, weariness alone suffices — a quiet reminder of life passing by. After all, every mark left upon the world carves its consequence into the skin.

It was an ordinary morning, one of those where the light slants through the window, turning the air into a suspended promise. What moves me today? What moved me yesterday? These questions swirl around me like restless phantoms, whispering answers only to vanish into the ether, resisting answers altogether. Yet, something lingers — an invisible thread, a latent desire to cling to a motive. Because without motive, who are we? Perhaps it is hunger. That primal, essential hunger gnawing at the body, bending the world before a hot plate of food. An instinct that drives us before thought even takes shape. Hunger is not just for sustenance; it is for life itself, for survival, for the next breath, the next step forward. Or perhaps it is fear. Fear of what? Of not being seen, of being seen too much, of existing without leaving a mark. Fear shrinks us yet protects us. Hunger and fear — so primal, so alive, as old as time itself. They guide us in the shadows, shaping our choices before we even...

Life is not just an equation to be solved. In fact, life is no equation at all. Because living escapes any exact calculation, it slips through the fingers, vanishes into corners. What remains? What disappears? I don’t know. But there is a point where everything converges: what we love, what we know, what the world needs, and what keeps us standing. The Japanese call it ikigai – a beautiful name for something that often has no name. And where do we find this point? Is it in a sudden flash of enlightenment, a spark in the middle of the day? Or is it built slowly, like someone stitching their own skin without realising it? I know that some spend their whole lives searching and never find it – perhaps because they expect a bright light, a visible sign, a message written in the sky. But purpose does not shout. It whispers. And one must be silent to hear it. Childhood tells us we can be anything. But time, oh, time... it narrows us, prunes our excesses, fits us into moulds. Work...

When we stop to think about the direction our lives take, the first thought that often comes to mind is that many things could have been different. This is natural and an important reflection to have. It is entirely understandable to want to leave behind a meaningful legacy that represents who we are. Many people express this desire through the legitimate pursuit of a good home, a loving family, a car in the driveway, and so on. This is all perfectly normal. However, none of these things necessarily guarantee happiness or self-fulfilment. Ambition can be a useful emotion, of course, particularly when it concerns survival or comfort. The problem arises when a person becomes an insatiable hunter — forgetting to truly share life with others. It is striking how often those who have so much end up feeling as if they have nothing — despite a successful career, a brand-new car, and an esteemed academic background. On the other hand, some people find abundance in having little — pe...

Every so often, I come across a pre-university student who already possesses a well-developed sense of emotional intelligence. Unlike most, they don’t need an explanation of why emotions influence academic performance — they have already learnt this through personal experience, observation, or reflection. Without even realising it, they have grasped an essential skill that will be invaluable in adulthood, helping them navigate personal and professional challenges with greater ease. However, the reality is that few people develop strong emotional self-awareness. This is not due to a lack of intelligence or capacity but simply because they have never made a habit of observing their own inner world. Many go through life without paying attention to their emotions or understanding how these feelings shape their thoughts, behaviours, and decisions. As a result, they struggle to recognise how emotions influence their professional success, personal relationships, and ability to ...

  When dealing with chronic health conditions, we often ask ourselves how we can reduce the severity of the condition by alleviating the most troublesome symptoms so that our quality of life improves. This is an important goal, but a narrow focus on eliminating difficult or painful symptoms as an absolute priority can sometimes do a disservice to those living with chronic illness, for several reasons. One issue is the expectation that chronic symptoms must disappear before pursuing other goals, as this may never happen. Another is that simply reducing symptoms does not necessarily lead to a “good” or fulfilling life. A more holistic approach aims to promote positive psychosocial factors that enhance well-being and quality of life, regardless of symptom severity. This perspective focuses primarily on how to cultivate these positive aspects in each person’s life, fostering resilience, social engagement, self-care, and self-compassion. In practice, this means paying attention to an...