The Hyggelig Journey

Goodness does not move in secrecy, nor does it weave intricate plans to assert itself. It does not conspire because it does not need to. It does not manipulate, does not calculate, does not seek advantage. It simply exists — and in existing, it transforms. Goodness does not force, does not impose. It does not seek to convince through rhetoric or demand adherence. Instead, it inspires. It is found in the quiet dignity of an honest action, in the clarity of a decision made without expectation of return. It does not need recognition to be real. It moves without urgency, but its presence is undeniable. Yet goodness is not passive. It is not a surrender to complacency or an invitation to be trampled. It does not dissolve into abstraction or hesitate in the face of difficulty. Goodness has weight, presence, substance. It is an active force — a choice, deliberate and renewed, moment by moment. And because it does not conspire, goodness is freedom. It does not bind, does not confin...

Pain arrives without ceremony. It does not send letters, nor does it announce itself. It simply happens. One moment, life is as it was; the next, pain is there, seated in the room, occupying space we never granted it. First, the shock. Then, a silence heavy with echoes. And finally, the inevitable question: what now? They say something can emerge from this — a transformation, a quiet and imperceptible growth. Calhoun and Tedeschi (2006) call it post-traumatic growth. A fine name, full of science. But the truth is, it is not a matter of choice. Growth does not come because we wish it to; it comes because, unnoticed, something begins to shift. One day, in the midst of an ordinary routine, the taste of coffee feels fuller, the wind brushes against the skin in a way it never did before. The pain is still there, but it has taken a different shape. Perhaps this is what they call wisdom. Some emerge from the fire with a newfound reverence for life — a quiet astonishment at having ...

The brilliance of children has always intrigued me. Quick, perceptive — they move through the clinic with an ease that even my own shadow cannot match. They take in every detail, every corner, as if the space were an extension of themselves. And yet, for all their boundless energy, they surrender to treatment with an openness that never ceases to amaze me. They feel the shift in their very skin, in the deep, unspoken language of the body. They arrive unsettled, their small frames weighed down by a world too vast, too demanding. Some are anxious, others irritable, their nervous systems frayed by stimuli too great to bear. But as the treatment unfolds, something changes. Their tension eases, their breath deepens. By the time they rise from the table, they are transformed — lighter, brighter, as if an invisible burden has been lifted. They leave with a spring in their step, their feet barely touching the ground, as if walking on air. Their parents — ah, the parents — watch i...

There comes a moment — quiet, weighty, almost imperceptible — when you realise you have chosen. No more lingering at the threshold, no more waiting for certainty to descend like divine instruction. The choice has already been made, even if your hands still tremble. So you step forward. Then again. And then — ah, then you see it — how the ground is uneven, how the air thickens with doubt, how your own footing falters. The path does not open graciously before you; it resists, it tests, it demands. A mistake. Another. And then another. They come like waves, unrelenting, each one threatening to drag you under. You thought it would be different. That once you found your way, clarity would follow, the world would recognise your purpose, and all would unfold accordingly. Instead, the world remains indifferent, unmoved as you stumble. And so the question arises — perhaps this was never your path. Perhaps you misread the signs, mistook yearning for destiny. But the path does not spe...

Machado de Assis once wrote, “There is no joy that does not pay alimony to sadness.” The saying lingers — a quiet murmur of inevitability — as though every moment of happiness were merely an advance on some future sorrow, a loan taken out against the certainty of loss. But what if it were the other way around? What if sadness, inexorable as it may seem, were not a price to be paid, but rather the fleeting shadow cast by a joy that always, in time, finds its way back? Life does not unfold in debts and punishments. There is no great celestial ledger where laughter is weighed against tears, no unseen hand ensuring that every happiness must be counterbalanced with sorrow. What there is, instead, is movement — a rhythm, a cycle, a perpetual ebb and flow. Warmth and cold, presence and absence, elation and stillness. Sadness does not arrive as a debt collector; it arrives as a tide, shifting the landscape, reshaping the contours of who we are. It strips away the old, makes sp...

Life weighs, yet it does not. It slips through your fingers like water, and just when you think you have grasped it, you find you were holding only the wind. There is no fixed form, no final certainty — only desire, thrumming beneath the skin, always just beyond reach, dissolving the moment you try to name it. You wanted meaning — something solid, something to anchor yourself to, something you could hold without fear of losing. A truth that would not shift with time, would not vanish under scrutiny. But the truth — and it was truth because it hurt — is that life is too light to be held. It is insubstantial, elusive, impossible to contain. And it is this lightness that unsettles you. If everything is possibility, where do you stand? If you are free, then who are you? Freud would say you desire what you cannot have. Jung would remind you of the shadows you refuse to face. Lacan would laugh and tell you that you are nothing but lack, a hollow space forever seeking fulfilment. ...

The evil they do to me does not harm me, for it is not the pain imposed by another that defines me. Pain is fleeting, transient, a passing ripple in the vast river of time. It may sting in the moment, but it dissolves into the past, becoming nothing more than a distant echo. What truly transforms me is the evil I choose to commit, for it is my own actions that carve the contours of my being. I am not shaped by what is done to me, but by how I respond, internalize, and allow it to influence my path. And so I observe. I watch the silent unfolding of existence, where men drift like shadows against the walls they have built themselves, prisoners of their own design. They believe themselves bound by fate, yet it is their own fear that keeps them shackled. The weight of harm is not in the hands of another — it rests in the choices we make, in the decisions we allow to shape us. A wound is but a whisper against the skin, a fleeting reminder of a moment that has passed. A mark that...

Kaizen is a quiet hand, adjusting what seems unchangeable. It does not rush, does not force — just refines, shaping everything with time. A philosophy of small steps, daily refinements, imperceptible at first, but transformative in the end. Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) follows the same rhythm, seeing health not as a fixed state but as a constant dance, a delicate balance in motion. Yin and Yang shift like the wind, never still. Qi moves through the body — sometimes freely, sometimes obstructed, needing space to circulate. When imbalance settles in, illness whispers before it shouts. TCM listens early, adjusting with subtlety, never imposing, only guiding. Like Kaizen, it does not seek abrupt change but gradual realignment, a quiet return to harmony. A small shift — an acupuncture needle barely felt, a slight change in diet, a deeper breath — can echo through the body like the steady rhythm of a heartbeat. What seems trivial today becomes, over time, a foundation of ...

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...

Life is a journey of learning and growth – not a race for perfection. Each of us, at some point, will stumble. Whether through mistakes, failures, or unforeseen hardships, we all experience moments where we fall short of our own expectations or those of others. Yet, it is in these very moments that we gain the deepest understanding of what it means to be human. Those who have fallen know the pain of disappointment, but they also discover something greater – the power of compassion, both for themselves and for those around them. Every setback carries within it an opportunity for growth. When we falter, we come face to face with our vulnerabilities, our flaws, and the limitations of our current understanding. However, rather than seeing these as signs of weakness, we can choose to view them as invitations to learn. The experience of struggling – of standing back up after a fall – teaches us patience, humility, and, most importantly, empathy. Once we recognise how difficult t...

Unresolved trauma can manifest in many different ways — anxiety, insomnia, chronic tension, or even unexplained physical pain. These symptoms often develop gradually, without an obvious connection to past experiences, making them difficult to recognise as part of a deeper emotional wound. Instead of surfacing as clear memories, trauma frequently lingers in the nervous system, shaping how we react to stress, process emotions, and experience the world. In Tradicional Chinese Medicine, trauma is not seen as a purely psychological issue but as an energetic imbalance that affects the entire body. The mind and body are deeply interconnected, meaning that emotional distress can influence physical health just as much as physical imbalances can impact emotional well-being. Healing from trauma requires an approach that goes beyond intellectual understanding — it must also address the body’s response to past experiences. Acupuncture plays a vital role in this process by helping regula...

Curiosity naturally leads to renewal. Each new discovery refreshes our thinking, reshaping our understanding of the world. Since much of life is spent relearning how to live after each challenge, there is little room for stagnation. Growth is not a choice but a necessity — an ongoing process that thrives on curiosity and adaptation. Yet, when it comes to breaking ingrained behaviours, the truth can be surprising. I have come to realise that fighting bad habits is often a losing battle — an exhausting cycle that drains both time and energy. One could spend a lifetime trying to eliminate undesirable patterns, only to see them resurface in different forms. Instead, I have learnt — along with many others who share this insight — that replacing bad habits with good ones is far more effective. Shifting focus from resistance to redirection transforms the process into one of effortless transition. Rather than struggling against what no longer serves us, we cultivate habits that nat...

We often make statements about ourselves that seem harmless but, in reality, reinforce self-imposed limitations. Phrases like "I’ve never been good with numbers", "I have no coordination for dancing", or "I could never speak in front of an audience" might feel like simple truths, but when repeated, they shape an identity that may not reflect our real potential. These beliefs act as filters, shaping how we see ourselves, interpret experiences, and interact with the world. Many originate from external influences — comments from family, teachers, or peers — while others stem from our own fears and past experiences. The problem is that when we accept them without question, they begin to dictate our choices, limiting our ability to learn new skills, make confident decisions, and embrace opportunities that could lead to growth. The impact of these beliefs extends far beyond avoiding challenges. They create a sense of stagnation, reinforcing the idea ...

As a writer, one thing that has always caught my attention is the remarkable adaptability of the Brazilian Portuguese language. It is highly versatile — elastic to the point of facilitating the expression of complex thoughts and emotions in both speech and writing. But there is one word that many people tend to avoid, either because they feel it is too strong or because they want to suggest that what they feel is not quite so intense. Time and again, I have seen patients arrive fuming with anger over their daily struggles, yet when confronted, they deny feeling angry. They describe it as something else — indignation, frustration, irritation, annoyance, resentment — when, in reality, they are simply angry. This is partly due to the process of rationalisation, where we seek explanations to make sense of our thoughts and emotions. However, anger is anger. It is not healthy to ignore an emotion that exists precisely to drive adjustments in our daily lives, pushing us to tac...