Beliefs

I believe that life on Earth began about 4 billion years ago, when chemicals mixed together and formed the first living cells - like ingredients being mixed together and developing into a cake. Earth was wild back then. Large volcanoes were exploding, oceans were boiling, and there were many storms. Lightning flashes and very hot spots on the ocean floor energized chemicals in the water. These bursts of energy helped create amino acids (part of proteins) and sugars. Greasy molecules called lipids floated around and stuck together, forming tiny bubbles. Rain washed away extra salt, giving these bubbles a strong, stretchy skin so they could survive on their own.

Inside some of these bubbles, a molecule called RNA started acting like a set of recipe cards. RNA could copy itself and do simple things. During this time life was beginning to learn how to grow and change. These early bubble‑cells slowly improved. They learned how to use energy from chemicals, let food in, and push waste out. Nature kept bubbles that worked best and let weaker bubbles disappear. By about 3.5 billion years ago, bacteria were living on Earth. They formed slimy layers that eventually turned into fossils, which we can still find today. From those early microbes came billions of years of changes that led to plants, animals, dinosaurs, and eventually humans. Over Earth’s long history, life has changed through small gene changes and shifting environments, creating all the living things we see today. Humans are part of this, as we share a common ancestor with chimpanzees and gorillas. Evolution shows how all life is connected and continues to adapt.

I believe that every person is born with both a selfish side and a cooperative side. The selfish side as well as the cooperative side come, I believe, from our long human history. Our ancestors had to survive in challenging environments in which they sometimes  needed to compete, and other times needed to work with other people. Both selfish instincts and cooperative instincts helped our ancestors stay alive, and both of these instincts still live in us today. When I look at myself, I recognize moments when my selfish side pushes me forward. It is the part of me that wants to protect my own needs, chase my goals, and make sure that I feel safe and secure. That side gives me energy and the drive to improve my life. The voice of my selfish side says, for example, “take care of yourself.” I feel the cooperative side just as strongly. That is the part of me that wants to connect, to help, to be fair, and to build relationships that matter. This side of me helps to create trust as well as reduce conflict, and reminds me that I am part of something bigger than just myself.

I am learning that my selfish side and my cooperative side are constantly in conversation inside me. Sometimes they pull in different directions. For example, I might want to keep all my time to myself, but I also want to show up for the people I care about. Or I might want to win an argument, but I also want to keep the relationship strong. These moments remind me that being human is often about balancing these inner forces rather than choosing one over the other. I notice that cooperation brings me long‑term wellbeing. For example, when I take the time to listen to a person, who is talking, I feel more connected with that person. In addition, I am learning that instead of judging myself for being selfish or endlessly giving, it makes more sense to pause and ask: Which part of me is speaking right now? And what choice will actually help me grow, connect, and feel at peace? This awareness may not solve everything. However, it gives me a clearer understanding of how I want to act and who I want to become. It helps me relate to others with more patience and compassion - not least because I know other human beings are balancing the same inner forces as well. It also reminds me that being human is not about being perfect - it is more about about learning how to navigate these natural traits with intention and kindness. More on this topic here.

For many years, I had quite a strong belief that I needed to be perfect at all times to feel worthy. That belief shaped much of how I thought and behaved. By reading and reflecting on books such as Freedom from your inner critic and Positive intelligence, I began to understand this inner voice more clearly. I now call this voice “the perfectionist.” It’s a part of me - a part that may influence how I act and judge myself. Earlier in life, this perfectionist voice seemed helpful. It pushed me to pursue excellence and often rewarded me with recognition - like earning good grades in school. The same thinking extended to sports and other activities. Perfection wasn’t just a goal—it became the measure of my self-worth. With that mindset came a fear of criticism and rejection whenever I failed to meet my own high standards. Mistakes felt like personal failures, not learning opportunities. When I did make them, even in something new, I often felt shame and embarrassment for not getting it “right” on the first try. The perfectionist made me extra sensitive to criticism and hesitant to try new things unless I feel sure that I will succeed. The perfectionist inside me convinced me that imperfection made me less worthy than others. Looking back, I can now see how deeply this belief shaped my emotions and behaviors—and how tightly it tied my sense of value to constant achievement.

Learning to recognize the perfectionist voice in me has been important. Today, I see and realize that the perfectionist voice is only one part of me - not the whole of who I am. As I understand it more deeply, I am learning to respond with greater patience, curiosity, and compassion. This awareness marks an important step in my personal growth. I believe that one root of my perfectionism lies in my upbringing. My father often expressed the view that everything he created had to be of the highest quality. His choices reflected this mindset. For example, when he bought household items, furniture, clothes, or cars, he always reached for what he saw as “the best.” In his eyes, nothing less than perfection was acceptable. Looking back, I think this constant pursuit of “the best” shaped how I learned to measure worth. As a child, I may have internalized the idea that being perfect was how to earn love, approval, and acceptance. Recognizing where this belief comes from helps me approach it with compassion. It reminds me that love and acceptance do not need to be earned through perfection. 

Over the years, I have discovered several ways to manage the perfectionist voice when it starts speaking to me. When I notice that the perfectionist voice is rising up, I try to pause and acknowledge it instead of ignoring or fighting it. Sometimes I even start an inner dialogue. For example, I might say, “Hello perfectionist - are you here again to tell me that I should…?” This simple moment of awareness helps me create a healthy distance between my true self and the perfectionist’s critical thoughts. It also allows me to respond with kindness rather than judgment. I practice self-love by showing myself appreciation, compassion, and forgiveness - especially when I make mistakes or fall short of my own expectations. I remind myself that I was created through love, and that being loving toward myself is both natural and necessary. Since I now understand that the perfectionist voice is part of me, I try not to direct anger toward it. That is important, because reacting with anger would mean turning the same harshness back on myself. Instead, I use positive imagery to shift my mindset. I often picture myself as a child absorbed in play - curious, creative, and free from judgment. That image helps me reconnect with the joy of learning, working and living. In addition, I have learned to work with my perfectionist side in more constructive ways. For example, I channel its strength - attention to detail - when I am preparing for something important. Once I step into the real situation, I focus on enjoying the experience and connecting with the people around me rather than trying to perform flawlessly. In those moments, the perfectionist becomes less of a critic and more of a wise helper - someone who supports me instead of holding me back.

I believe that Jesus lived more than 2,000 years ago and that Mary was his mother. The Gospels of Matthew (Matthew 1–2) and Luke (Luke 1–2) describe his birth in Bethlehem. While I accept that Jesus was a historical person who inspired millions of people, I find it difficult to believe in the supernatural or miraculous parts of his story. For example, the idea that Jesus was born from a virgin by the Holy Spirit (Luke 1:26–35, Matthew 1:18–25) strongly challenges my understanding of human life and nature. Similarly, I find it hard to take literally the accounts of Jesus walking on water (Matthew 14:22–33), giving sight to the blind (John 9:1–12), or calming a storm with words (Mark 4:35–41). Rather than focusing on these miracles, what matters most to me are the words and actions of Jesus that help people live meaningful, compassionate, and truthful lives. Jesus stood out because he led by example. Jesus lived with compassion, courage, and deep concern for other people. His leadership was not about authority or wealth. The leadership of Jesus was about service, fairness, patience, and hope. Jesus practiced a kind of leadership, which was grounded in quiet strength and moral integrity. His example continues to remind us that leadership begins with empathy, integrity, and action guided by love. To carry forward the best of what Jesus taught, I try to learn from the values he lived out in different situations. Five examples:

Value example # 1: Being thankful
Jesus often gave expressed thankfulness, even for simple things. Gratitude, for Jesus, was a daily practice rooted in awareness and humility. For example, Jesus gave thanks before he shared bread and fish with the crowd (Matthew 14:19). At the Last Supper, he gave thanks over the bread and wine before sharing them with his disciples (Luke 22:19–20). 

Value example # 2: Being humble
Jesus lived simply, walking from place to place without possessions. His life was a quiet statement that meaning and dignity are not found in material abundance but in how we treat other people. When he knelt to wash his disciples’ feet (John 13:1–17), he showed that true greatness begins with humility. We glimpse this same spirit whenever someone chooses service over recognition. In this regard, think of a teacher who gives time and patience to students or a leader who listens to people.

Value example # 3: Standing up for what is right
The moral courage of Jesus remains one of the most enduring lessons of his life. For example, he confronted both religious and political authorities when he saw injustice, and when he saw people acting in contradiction to their stated opinions. In Matthew 23, Jesus openly criticized the Pharisees and teachers of the law for valuing appearances and status over compassion and fairness - saying they “tie up heavy burdens” for others but “neglect the weightier matters of the law: Justice, mercy, and faithfulness.” Jesus also defended the dignity of women, which was radical in his cultural context. In John 8:1–11, when a woman accused of adultery was brought before him to be condemned, Jesus did not join the crowd demanding punishment. Instead, he turned the judgment back on them, saying, “Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone.” His response upheld compassion over cruelty and affirmed the woman’s humanity. In our world, the example of Jesus calls us to speak up when we witness injustice. This can mean  admitting our own mistakes instead of passing blame, refusing to remain silent when other people are treated unfairly, and standing up for a classmate or colleague who is bullied.

Value example # 4: Forgiving people
Jesus taught forgiveness through words as well as through his actions. He told Peter to forgive “not seven times, but seventy times seven” (Matthew 18:21–22). From the cross, he said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34). Forgiving others frees us from anger and restores peace. In daily life, that might mean choosing dialogue over resentment or letting go of grudges to make room for reconciliation. 

Value example # 5: Helping people when they need it
Jesus consistently helped those who were poor, sick, or excluded.  For example, he comforted the grieving (John 11:32–44) and welcomed children as well as people who had been rejected (Mark 10:13–16; Luke 19:1–10). He taught that loving one’s neighbor (Luke 10:25–37) is at the heart of living rightly. We can continue his example in small ways by including someone who feels left out, volunteering to help people in need, and/or listening with care when others are struggling. 

Growing up in Aarhus, Denmark, during the 1970s and 1980s, I remember believing that success was mainly defined by how much money a person earned. It seemed to be a widely shared mindset at the time - something adults rarely questioned and children naturally absorbed. I accepted it as an unquestionable truth: People, who earned more, had better lives than people, who earned less. Looking back, I realize how deeply that idea shaped my understanding of worth. People who didn’t earn much - perhaps a cleaner or someone, who was in between jobs - were often seen as less valuable. And often, they felt less valuable. Their contributions to society were overshadowed by the emphasis on income as a measure of success. For many years, this belief shaped how I viewed myself and other people. Only later did I begin to reflect on it more deeply. In the early 2020s, I started having open conversations with my mother about these ideas. To my surprise and appreciation, she shared personal stories about her own experiences in the 1960s - how societal expectations, family pressures, and economic realities influenced her understanding of what it meant to succeed. Listening to her gave me new insight into how beliefs about money and success are passed down through generations and influenced by the times in which people live. 

When I asked my mother why she and my father invested in land, built houses, and bought many things - including cars, furniture, kitchen appliances, plates, cutlery, clothes, and much more - within a relatively short period of time, she explained that this was the norm at that time. Everyone did it. She told me that when neighbors, friends, or family members bought something new, others wanted similar things too. As my mother described it, people constantly compared themselves with those around them. The story many people lived by was clear: Owning bigger, better, and more beautiful things meant having higher social status. And with higher social status came feelings of being more respected, more liked, and more loved. Having these symbols of success was linked to emotional comfort - the sense that life was good, secure, and worth admiring.

I believe several experiences gradually changed my early belief that “success is measured by money” into a broader understanding that success can take many forms. One of the earliest and most significant experiences came after my parents divorced. During that period, communication between them was limited, and because they struggled to speak to each other directly, I sometimes became a messenger- carrying information from my mother to my father and from my father to my mother. Without choosing it, I found myself acting as a human communication channel between two worlds that no longer met comfortably. This was not an easy role. My parents sometimes remembered or interpreted messages differently, and their versions of the same event or statement did not always match. The inconsistencies created confusion and tension within me. I often felt emotionally torn, caught between loyalty and truth, carrying the weight of misunderstandings that I was too young to resolve. That experience revealed something deeper to me: Success in life cannot only be about money, possessions, or appearances. It had to involve the quality of our communication - how we listen, understand, and respond to one another with honesty and empathy.

Looking back, this period became a quiet turning point. It taught me that genuine success includes emotional connection, integrity, and the ability to maintain healthy relationships. Over time, conversations and new experiences opened space for me to question old assumptions and explore a richer view of what it means to live a good life. I began to see success as something expressed through learning, creativity, contribution, compassion, and inner peace. I learned to see that a person’s worth cannot only be measured in earnings or status. It needs to include the depth of their kindness, their willingness to connect, and the positive difference they make in the lives of others. 

Throughout a large part of my life, I believed that I must be happy all the time. I have thought quite a lot about why I had this belief. Reflecting on research I did on this as well as on conversations I had not least with my mother, I believe that this belief goes back to the time when my parents divorced. Following the divorce of my parents, my mother had a strong will to make it work for her and me. And she wanted me to feel happy. She did not to accept negative emotions such as sadness. She wanted to cover those negative emotions up and push them away. Naturally, I did not feel happy all the time. For example, I recall that in different situations in life, I felt rather negative emotions such as anger, sadness, fear and shame. In several situations, I think I felt these emotions as a natural consequence of the divorce that my parents went through.  For example, I recall feeling fear that if I could lose my father, who moved out of our home, could I also lose my mother? I also recall feeling shame when I was with class mates, whose parents were not divorced. And I recall feeling anger because the divorce of my parents had happened when I was only 5 years old. I experienced that when I felt negative emotions, my mother was focused on fixing that and relatively quickly make me feel happy again. In particular, I remember situations during which I felt anger. Often, I felt criticized by my mother for feeling anger. And in those situations I did not experience that my mother accepted that I felt anger and tried to understand where that anger came from. Thinking back on my childhood, I recall that it was important for my mother to make me stop feeling anger and become happy as soon as possible. 

It took over 40 years years for me to change the belief "I must be happy all the time" to the belief "I accept emotions that I feel and believe that emotions come and go." How did I succeed with this transformation? It happened primarily through reading books such as Permission to feel, The language of emotions, The truth about children and divorse, Rising strong and Emotional Agility. Reflecting individually about what happened in my life and about what I have learned reading books and about conversations I have had with people have been beneficial to manage emotions well. In particular, I have found it useful to work on not fighting emotions I feel but accepting and understanding them. 

Earlier in my life, I believed that creativity was something only a few special people possessed - especially artists who painted, composed music, or designed things. For a long time, I saw creativity as a talent reserved for certain gifted individuals. Over time, however, this belief began to change. I gradually discovered that creative thinking is not limited to art. Creative thinking can be used by anyone doing any task in any situation. In addition, I came to realize that everyone has the ability to think creatively. This will grow the more curious we are and the more we practice. One area where my thinking shifted deeply around creative thinking was in education. As a student at primary school, secondary school, high school, and university, I recall often teachers at the front of the classroom, positioned behind a desk and/or in front of a blackboard. 

Gradually, I began to question this way of education. Why? Because I experienced that we as educators could do much better in serving students. In this regard, I asked myself numerous questions. Some examples: What if teachers placed themselves among students? What if there were no desks at the front? What if there was no fixed "front" of the classroom at all? What if learning could happen anywhere? What if anyone - including students - could take on the role of a teacher? What if teachers as well as students used blogs to share what they are learning? And what if children learned without getting grades - focusing instead on curiosity, collaboration, and understanding? Thinking creatively about education opened my mind to the idea that reimagining traditional systems can lead to positive change not only in schools, but in every industry. In addition, it helped me see that curiosity is one of my core values. I like to ask questions, explore new possibilities, and look for ways to do things better. I enjoy using creativity to serve others - helping people to learn and work in more meaningful and fulfilling ways.

I believe that when a person dies, a profound transition takes place - one that begins in the physical and ends in the unseen. The body’s systems, once harmoniously coordinated, gradually fall silent. The heart stops beating, the lungs release their final breath, and the circulation of blood - the lifeline of warmth and vitality - comes to rest. Without the heart’s steady rhythm, oxygen and nutrients no longer reach the tissues. The organs, which are strongly dependent on that delicate balance, begin to shut down one by one. Cells starved of oxygen start to break apart, and in a remarkably short span, the body’s intricate network of functions stops altogether. Yet death, while final in a biological sense, is also part of a vast continuum. There is something, which keeps on going. Once the living processes stop, nature assumes its quiet work. The body cools, softens, and eventually returns to the earth. Microorganisms, moisture, and the slow turning of the seasons reclaim what was once animated by consciousness. Over weeks, months, and years, all that remains of a person’s physical form blends again with soil and atmosphere. Minerals enrich the ground, nourishing plants, which in turn feed animals and sustain new life. In this way, death is much more about transformation than about disappearance. When a person dies, he or she merges with the cycles that sustain the planet.

When the body stops working, we can clearly see the physical changes that follow. But what happens to the parts of us that cannot be touched or measured? That remains one of life’s deep mysteries. A person’s inner world is the invisible landscape that makes each of us uniquely human. A person's inner world is the home of thoughts we have, emotions we feel, our hopes as well as quiet personal moments known only to ourselves. The inner world of a person holds memories we have and stories we quietly tell ourselves about who we are. The inner world of a human being also includes ways we perceive and connect with other people around us. In a person' inner world love takes root, dreams take shape, ideas unfold, and meaning quietly grows. While our bodies can be observed and weighed, the inner world stays hidden from direct view. It lives through our experiences, choices, relationships, and reflections - all the threads that weave depth into our days. When death comes, this unspoken essence does not simply vanish. It may live on in transformed ways. The kindness someone offered, the wisdom they passed along, the joy they shared - these become woven into the lives they touched. A person’s laughter remains in fond memories, their values quietly guide others’ choices, and their words continue to comfort and uplift long after they’re gone.

Perhaps the warmth of our caring, the spark of our thoughts, and the kindness we extended endure in subtle, unseen forms. Every shared smile, lesson taught, or gentle word of encouragement carries forward a fragment of who we were, rippling into the world. Memories of us can inspire those we leave behind, even years later. In this way, our inner life persists - not as the person we once embodied, but as a living influence on others. Love, creativity, and conviction do not evaporate; they flow outward, quietly shaping people, ideas, and bonds we once nurtured. Consciousness itself may dissolve into something vast - like a single drop merging with the sea. From this view, death is less an ending than a profound return. The body rejoins the earth, feeding its cycles. Meanwhile, our essence - be it spirit, memory, or quiet energy - blends into humanity’s shared story.