If you’ve ever met a person from Denmark, you may notice they really appreciate their quality time, always making the most of each day they live. This isn’t just a coincidence; the Danes take this sense of mindfulness so seriously that they have a whole philosophy built around it: the philosophy of ‘hygge.’

Hygge: The Danish Secret to Happiness

Hygge, pronounced as hoo-ga, is not just a word, but a way of life in Danish culture.   

It encapsulates an undeniable feeling of coziness, think warm fireplaces, a hot drink warming your hands, and some old friends or family sharing pleasant conversation. Hygge is a part of the Danish lifestyle that brings about a conviviality, boosting the well-being of those experiencing it. While it remains not entirely definable, to ‘hygge’ correctly, one must try and exclude the outside world a little and focus on yourself and the people you love.

You could practice a favorite hobby, go for a walk in the park, or even invite some friends over for dinner. Denmark is undeniably a beautiful country, but it is often cold, grey, and somewhat gloomy in terms of the weather. It is no wonder, then, that the Danish people celebrate so fervently the happiness they get from getting cozy, from prioritizing hygge in their everyday lives.

Practicing Hygge in Daily Life

In a world caught up with immediacy, this Danish philosophy of hygge strips it back to the simple things that sometimes slip through our fingers.  We have our phrases at the ready, say that we have no time for ourselves, that perhaps we’ll find time next week, or the week after that. Often, that time never comes, and we are caught in a constant state of longing but feeling too guilty to indulge in quality time.

The beauty of the ‘hygge’ way of life is that it is doable, and incorporating this way of thinking into our habits can make our lives feel richer and more satiated. Although it is a lifestyle that can be practiced both indoors and outdoors, most people associate hygge with the coziness and warmth of the interior. Perhaps you want to create a space that feels a little more ethereal and exciting, so you put up twinkling fairy lights and light a sweet-smelling candle – in doing so, you’d be arguably embodying the hygge lifestyle.

Another Lesson in Scandinavian Wellbeing: Friluftsliv

Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen is known to have invented the term ‘friluftsliv’, even though it was undoubtedly practiced long before his existence. Directly translated into ‘open-air-living’, it is a philosophy around the wellbeing gained from being outside in nature. If it sounds simple, it is because it is, and for Norwegians, this is kind of the point.

There have been countless studies linking the mental and physical benefits of spending more time in nature, benefits like a better working memory, stress reduction, and attention restoration.  Humans were undoubtedly meant to be more connected to the natural world than we are today, and it is no surprise that psychology reiterates this same message.

Is Hygge Only an Indoor Lifestyle?

Although hygge may often be thought of as a strictly indoor activity, plenty of Danes would argue that this is not the case. Like many words-turned-philosophies, hygge is more about an approach to life than a set of specific, unmovable actions. Like friluftsliv, the hygge way of living is focused on simple actions that prioritize our wellbeing with connection, be it to people, nature, or even yourself.

Walking around a nearby body of water, taking a hike with your partner, or spending some time gardening alone are all forms of the hygge lifestyle. Whatever you think, both philosophies share an underlying and powerful message: we need to create peaceful environments that encourage presence, well-being, and mindfulness.

Joy in the Journey: Embracing What Matters Most

Joy is too often characterized as this pot at the end of the rainbow, as this thing one can achieve after struggling and working hard over a long period of time. Joy should be simpler than that. If we only focus on big, long-term goals, we may just forget how to live and enjoy our world in the meantime. During the journey.

If we were to consider what things were important to us, we would discuss our families, our partners, our friends, as well as our hobbies and interests. These are the things that make our life worth living, that we wake up thinking about and go to sleep dreaming of. Isn’t it time to make our dreams a part of our reality?

The post What the Danish Philosophy of Hygge Teaches Us About True Happiness appeared first on Magazine.

Really, if we think about it, the perfect accompaniment for your next vacation may be a little less human and a little more…literary. Travelling is important and often necessary for growth, but a voyage can alight emotions that are difficult to process. Feelings like the Portuguese concept of saudade, feelings that may be remedied by the comforting words of a bookish companion.

What Is Saudade? A Feeling Beyond Translation

The Portuguese concept of saudade was said to have originated perhaps around the 13^th century, and encapsulates a feeling of melancholy for something or someone that does not and cannot exist in the present moment. A word, and concept, like saudade, cannot be translated, for it has a variety of meanings and interpretations across many generations of people.

However, words like nostalgia, melancholy, and longing are all thought of as aspects of what is generally considered to be less of a word, and more of a feeling or way of life. Saudade is not necessarily a happy emotion, nor something desolate. It just is, somewhere in between, bittersweet. Bitter because you understand it is no longer attainable, it is out of reach, and will remain so. Sweet because it is a beautiful memory, something that gets your heart beating, bleeds color.

Literature as Emotional Refuge

When we experience saudade, we become aware of the transient nature of life. Some see saudade as something like the feeling of looking back at old photos, when you were just a child and your back garden was as big as a forest, when the world felt made for you.

You and the child are one and the same, but worlds apart, and even if you love your life now, you know the sweetness of that youth can never be attained again. Often, these moments are overwhelming to face, even if the feelings that are evoked are necessary.

They can aid us in accepting that life is always changing, even if we yearn for a sense of permanence. The use of books can help us feel this sense of saudade in a space that is safe and less confronting. Literature has been used to help readers explore complex emotions for as long as it has existed.

Literary escapism connects us to feelings of nostalgia and longing through other characters, stories, and actions, instead of the harshness of our realities.

How Literature Creates a Safe Space for Longing

Travelling is often a moment in our lives where we may come face to face with these feelings of nostalgia, perhaps noticing things that are reminiscent of something we can’t have or cannot get back. These bittersweet feelings, when explored, can have meaningful conclusions. 

We can see how life has changed, how people have grown, and accept the beauty that is impermanence. To reap these positive outcomes, we must have a safe space to do so, but how can we achieve this as we travel in foreign spaces? The answer, of course, is literature. Books may not be the same as humans, but they are nevertheless fantastic travel companions.

Reading as a Remedy: The Psychology Behind Books and Travel

Psychology also emphasizes the stress-relieving power of reading, lowering blood pressure, and our heart rate. Travelling and experiencing saudade can be stressful as well as rewarding. Losing yourself in a good book can help you find a familiar place, draw in your mind to an imaginary world, where you can safely process all these new emotions or realizations.

Further, travelling with a book can mark the places you go, like how a perfume may remind you of a romantic dalliance with a partner. Literature is transformative anywhere it is read; the pages of a book can feel as comforting as an old friend.

Around the World in Eighty Days: A Literary Exploration of Saudade

Jules Verne’s acclaimed novel, Around the World in Eighty Days, may not overtly be about saudade, but its central themes of longing, transience, and the importance of human connection all reflect this Portuguese philosophy.

The novel follows a growing group of travelers who support the meticulous Phileas Fogg on his wager to travel the world in just 80 days. Throughout the journey, the travelers realize that although they may wish to dominate time and its passage, that ultimately, they cannot.

More poignantly, although time may indeed pass, there are things like love and friendship that can come through this passage. Some characters are caught between two worlds – the ones they have left behind, and the ones they are coming into, feeling caught and overwhelmed. Verne depicts the playful and often reckless spirit of adventure, capturing readers’ hearts whilst allowing them the space to ponder often complex ideas.

Books as Emotional Anchors in a Transient World

Books are ideal travel companions, not just because they are intelligent, captivating, and a little familiar, but also because they are a safe space for us to explore the complexity of transience. They remind us, gently, lovingly, that sadness and endings are just as much a part of our lives as all the happiness and novelty. That, without all that bitterness, we may never learn how to recognize the sweet. 

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Perhaps you have something due, but you’ve spent a few hours scrolling on social media or watching a TV show, in a kind of anxious state. Perhaps you scorn yourself for being idle, for resting too much, but this pushes forward another question: what is resting really? We spend a lot of our lives behind screens, distracting ourselves with other things as we put off looming deadlines.

We live in an era of procrastination, an era that tricks us into feeling that these acts of anxiety-induced distraction are equivalent to relaxation. The Dutch philosophy of ‘niksen’, or purposefully doing nothing, would argue that relaxing isn’t just something you do as you wait for something else; it is done with purpose, it is intentional. So, what does it mean to intentionally do nothing?

Niksen in the Age of Anxiety

Niksen is hard to define, even for the experts. For the Dutch, ‘niksen’ is used as a verb, derived from the word niks, meaning nothing. In its simplest form, it means to do nothing, to be idle, with no other objective or meaning than to unwind. It encourages both the relinquishing of control and intentional rest.

Modern society capitalizes on productivity, or moreover, the fear of inactivity, of stalling. Therefore, almost every action we take, even the action of relaxing, has an embedded outcome, unconscious or conscious.

When we walk, we are often trying to burn more calories, reach our fitness goals, and when we read, it is often trying to impress others or appear more intelligent. There is an end to the means, an objective. We rarely do things just for the beauty of doing them, for the pleasure of the nothingness itself.

A cat will lie for hours beneath a sunlit window, a raven will pick up and play with a bottle cap, and a river otter will slide down a muddy embankment. We were never meant to hold this much anxiety, nor do so much. While we live in an age of anxiety, that does not mean we are powerless to be completely consumed by it. 

Why Doing Nothing Boosts Creativity

The dark looming cloud that was the COVID-19 pandemic changed a great many things, including how we approach mental health. Mental suffering had nowhere to hide; it was thrust under the limelight, demanding a solution, or at least the outline of one. This is where the Dutch concept, or philosophy, of niksen came into grand popularity. It gently pushed back against a culture demanding constant reinvention, suggesting that perhaps our leisure time should not be another form of work.

So, how exactly do we ‘niksen’? How do we do something without having an objective at all? Practicing niksen can be as simple as listening to music, sitting, and watching the trees blow in the wind, as long as it is an action done without a specific objective.

This Dutch philosophy encourages your brain to take a pause, without feeling shame for the lack of productivity. 

Sure, achieving a great many things is a feat, and productivity can be good, but it can also inhibit other things. This normalization of being overly busy has been found to limit our creativity and imagination. We don’t often let our minds wander, not in the way they want to, not aimlessly, leisurely. Even our distracted thoughts are often preoccupied with other tasks, other things to tick off our mental ‘to-do’ lists.

Humans are creative creatures, and that creativity is nurtured by moments of relaxation and aimless thought-wandering. We may not be in a society that prioritizes slow living, but we shouldn’t downplay our own power and free will. As free-thinking individuals, we have the ability to sometimes do what we like, even when that means doing nothing at all.

When Life Imitates Art: The Enchanted April

Elizabeth von Arnim’s book, The Enchanted April, beautifully illustrates what splendor can arise from intentional nothingness. Von Arnim writes a tale of four women who travel to an Italian villa for the whole month of April, leaving behind their English lives to embrace slow living under the Italian sun. It is a slow-paced, beautifully written novel, where the women allow themselves time for conversation, nature, and contentment.

While we may not all have access to a month-long stay at an Italian villa, we can certainly apply the philosophy of niksen to truly feel present in our own lives. Intentionally slowing down is not only good for us, but for our relationships, our work, and of course, our stress levels. 

The world we live in, the world we experience, is created and interpreted through our inner lives, our inner thoughts. If we are to live so much inwardly, we should try, at least, to ensure our minds get a little spring-cleaning, a few moments to stretch out their figurative limbs and play in the sun.

Embracing the philosophy of niksen in moments of our own lives could offer an escape from the everyday, alighting our hearts and imagination, and possibly even teach our minds how to finally feel alive.

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What Humanism Teaches Us About Writing by Hand

The humanist philosophy, or humanism, is said to have originated with Italian poet and scholar Francesco Petrarch, who played a titular role in inspiring a shift towards Renaissance humanism and human potential. Put simply, it is a philosophy that values people, their power to consider, learn, and change.

Humanists believe that humans should endeavour to do things with meaning that can connect us with a deeper purpose or knowledge. 

We may live physically in the present, but we are often mentally preoccupied with the future. So focused on the final outcomes and results that we forget that most of our lives are about the journey to getting the things we want. Typing, while often necessary in the digital age, is done mostly for functionality and speed, rather than for the experience itself.

Handwriting takes time, time we often feel we don’t have, where you must be present in the moment. More than this, the way we write is unique only to us. Like your signature, your handwriting is your own; it is your mark; it is reminiscent of how you learnt to curl your letters as a child, it is your inky fingerprint. One could argue that to write is to engage with your unique humanness. 

Digital Detox: A Privilege Worth Exploring

Humanism is particularly relevant in the 21^st century, where technological expectations are pushing us further and further towards uniformity, as we arguably lose some of our individual humanity. The average person spends 6 hours and 40 minutes per day on screens, which is unsurprisingly linked to eye strain, disrupted sleeping patterns, and lower levels of mental well-being. 

Sure, screen time can be fun, and it is often required of us, but shouldn’t we seize any opportunity to slow down and engage ourselves in the act of something, rather than just the result?

Humans have used language for exploration since the beginning of our existence. From cave drawings to literature, we yearn for expression. We have lost a little (or a lot) of our slowness, and now live our lives rapidly, always focused on building for the future. Let’s say you wanted a coffee from your local coffee shop, even though you know driving there would save you time, the quarter-hour walk in the sun may just do you more good.

As much as we need to be prepared for the future, we still should try to enjoy each day and embrace a little slow living. Find beauty in voyage, in task, close your laptop screens and open your journal. Undeniably, it is a privilege to be able to separate ourselves from our technologies, in a world so demanding of us. Nonetheless, to quote an undeniably cliché piece of advice: you’ll never know unless you try.

The Case for Humanism and Handwriting in the Digital Age

Scientific studies on memory and retention of information deem physically writing letters and notes to be more effective than typing them. You are more connected to the act itself and must learn to engage with the information more than if you were typing on a laptop. Our brains do not all learn in one, linear way.

Some students learn better through drawing diagrams, brainstorming, and highlighting. A piece of paper is a blank canvas. You can choose how to design your learning, and you have the power to desire and design in a way that a computer does not always permit.  Writing, to some degree, also allows room for more critical thinking. Like asking ChatGPT to write you an essay, sometimes digitalizing a task removes the most critical aspect – the learning. 

Famous painter Leonardo da Vinci was also a follower of the humanist philosophy, deeply interested in the world and what he could learn from it. Like other humanists, da Vinci was passionate about understanding the world through purposeful study and observation, devoting himself to the art of study. This means limiting shortcuts, not AI-generating the outcome, but learning from the process itself.

Our handwriting tells us secrets about ourselves, a laptop cannot – how and why our writing changes through certain emotions, the way we scribble when we really, truly feel something. Da Vinci spent countless hours learning his craft, and by doing so, literally created new art techniques like sfumato or chiaroscuro. These processes were derived from his humanist focus on method, the slowness of learning, even when the outcome was unknown. 

The philosophy of humanism questions why we should limit ourselves when we do not know the confines of our creativity and forces us to interrogate our instinct to reach for the screens.  The curvature of the ink speaks more than letters on a keyboard, and it may just be time to listen.

The post The Slow Art of Handwriting: Why Handwriting Still Matters in the Digital Age appeared first on Magazine.

One simple yet incredibly powerful language tool that supports any kind of learning and communication is something called a “lexicon”. But to be able to use a lexicon effectively, you’ve gotta know what it is!

So let’s get to it. Let’s break down exactly what a lexicon is, why it’s worth creating one, and how you can build your own in just a few practical steps. You’ll be levelling up your learning in no time at all.

What Is a Lexicon?

A lexicon is a collection of vocabulary (words and their meanings) typically organized in a specific context (by subject, for example!).

In linguistics, a lexicon refers to the complete set of words in a language. However, in practical and educational terms, your personal lexicon is just a curated glossary of key terms, phrases, and definitions relevant to your area of interest.

It’s almost like your own personal dictionary for a specific subject, only tailored to your needs. It’s written in your own words and can evolve and grow as you do, along with your knowledge.

Why Create a Lexicon?

It might seem like a lot of effort, especially when studying, to create a whole lexicon. So why bother? Well, there are several benefits to doing so.
For example:

Creating a Lexicon Builds Communication Skills

Have you ever struggled to really get something across? Perhaps a complex idea in an essay or discussion? That’s where a lexicon comes in handy.

A personal lexicon can serve as your go-to language bank, offering precise terminology that improves the clarity and professionalism of both your writing and speaking. And, even better, the definitions are completely understandable, because you wrote them!

Whether you’re working on a paper or preparing a presentation, having access to accurate, subject-specific language helps you craft more compelling arguments and confidently engage in academic or professional conversations.

Using a Lexicon Helps to Enhance Memory

When you take the time to personalize and organize new vocabulary, rather than just skip over it, you automatically create much stronger mental links between the words, their meanings, and their contexts. Instead of just connecting A and B (or the word and its meaning), your brain forms deeper connections through the process of writing, categorizing, and revisiting the information.

Adding examples, like visual cues, can make it easier to recall during exams, presentations, or conversations.

A Lexicon Can Deepen Your Understanding

Instead of passively reading or listening to terms, you have to stop and take the time to define them when you are making a lexicon. As you do, you’ll find yourself connecting those terms and words to other ideas as you interpret their meanings in your own words.

This active engagement helps you truly understand concepts, not just recognize them. For example, if you’re studying psychology and you come across the term “cognitive dissonance,” you’re more likely to remember it and apply it correctly if you sit and define it using your own thoughts and examples.

A Lexicon Will Stay With You

Lexicons are designed to be memorable; they help you develop and nurture pathways in your mind. As a result, they often stay with you. Rather than being a short-term studying resource, you will often find that words collected in your lexicon stick with you, even years later.

This allows you to expand your vocabulary and provides you with a really solid base, especially if you’re heading into a career!

Creating a Lexicon

If all of the above sounds good, then it’s time to start curating your lexicon and improving your studying! There are a few key things you’ll need to do.

1. Choose Your Focus

You should always start by choosing the subject area for your lexicon. Are you focusing on business jargon, psychological buzzwords, or literary terms?

Then, once you’ve determined that, you’ll need to choose how you’re going to categorize your words. Will you organize them alphabetically? By topic? By frequency or importance?

2. Always Use Your Own Words

The whole point of a lexicon is to paraphrase and describe the definitions of words using your own language. This ensures that you actually understand and grasp the concept of the word. In this way, you should not only be able to use the word correctly but, in theory, you should be able to effectively explain it to others, too.

You should, whenever possible, use diagrams, examples, or the word in context. This makes the terms more memorable and relatable.

3. Revisit and Revise

Your understanding of a term may evolve over time, and therefore so should your lexicon. The lexicon should always be treated as a living, evolving document that you can revisit, revise, and refine as needed. Revisit entries on a regular basis to refine your definitions, add new examples, and update any knowledge with additional context you may have learned.

This also gives you the chance to revisit any words or terms that you may have been stuck on or confused by, and, if need be, relearn or research them accordingly.

4. Use The Words

To ensure your lexicon is really helping, you should try to incorporate the terms into your weekly or daily use. Quizzing yourself is also a great way to make sure the words become more natural.

By testing yourself regularly, you’ll be able to see a significant impact. A lexicon truly transforms your understanding of important words, making them second nature in no time at all.

The post What Is a Lexicon and Why Should You Build One? appeared first on Magazine.

Pause. 

Take a deep breath and slow down. Intentionally. We’re about to practice some intentional slow-living, in the form of the Italian philosophy of dolce far niente – the sweetness of doing nothing. 

The Time for Stillness

Anxiety is good for an enterprise, it encourages overworking, heightens cortisol levels, and entices us to blur boundaries between work-life balance. Even in our so-called ‘downtime’, we overload on information, most of it negative. A modern phenomenon aptly called doomscrolling encapsulates the act of endlessly scrolling and interacting with negative news stories and information. Our default is busy, our default is stressed, so the rare moments of slowness and leisure feel overly indulgent, a waste of time and energy.

We feel it is crucial to read and stay aware of every news update, every breaking and depressing piece of information on our phones. It isn’t. Quite the opposite. We are not personal projects, but living, breathing things, who benefit from simplicity and modest moments.  Like how the beauty of flowers in the spring, the feeling of sunshine warming your cheek, and the sensation of the grass beneath your feet, can all increase feelings of contentment. Sometimes it really is that simple. 

The Italian concept of dolce far niente, or the sweetness of doing nothing, is centered around the idea of taking pleasure in intentional pauses. The Italians have been known to achieve a good work-life balance, take pleasure in breaks, long lunches, and siestas. Many retail stores and restaurants in Italy will even close for a few hours in the afternoon so employees can take a break.

The Italians practice this philosophy of slow-living by taking pauses to eat, repose, or simply be. While this level of slow-living may not be possible in many modern Western workplaces, we still have the power to promote intentional living practices in our everyday lives.  There is a time for occupying ourselves, and there is a time for stillness. 

Silence and the Small Things

The famous French cult-classic Amelie is a film about the little things, small pleasures or acts of kindness that make life worth living. However, it is only when we slow down that we can notice small beauties. Our to-do lists and goals are usually big-picture things, overarching aims that do not leave space for these tiny observations.

How can one enjoy a simplicity like beautiful weather if we are so focused on working towards a certain version of ourselves? Embracing a philosophy like dolce far niente can recenter our priorities. We can tell ourselves that while self-improvement is valuable, it is equally beneficial to allow ourselves time to bask in simplicity and the sweetness of doing nothing. What are we working toward if all our time for relaxation is spent feeling guilty and idle?

Practicing this philosophy, even with little steps, could include setting aside time each day to unplug from our devices, to enjoy a meal without any distraction, perhaps watch the birds sing their little songs from our window. Silence the ongoing chatter and stress of our internal monologues. Realize it really will be fine and try to raise awareness of this anxiety-first culture.

Finding Peace in the Pause

A life well-lived is not simply measured by a single outcome, but is an accumulation of many things. No matter how you feel about the state of our world, there is no denying its beauty. It nourishes the spirit to be quiet, to connect with nature and the truest version of ourselves, the wild, animal part of us that longs for simplicity.

Nurture that part of yourself, it deserves to be cherished and loved, and you will thank you for it. Like a rose on your bedside that longs to be placed in the windowsill under the sun, sometimes, lessening our anxiety can be the simplest of acts. The obvious things that we know but rarely realize.

Simplicity, whether in our possessions, thought processes, or choices, is unsurprisingly linked to a plethora of health benefits. Humans have a limited span of attention; we are fatigued by exposure to too much and too often, and this overwhelm leads us away from mindfulness.

A dolce far niente style philosophy of slow living could reduce our levels of cortisol, lowering our risk of high blood pressure, anxiety, fatigue, and depression. What reason do we live other than to enjoy life and create meaning through our interpersonal relationships and our connection to ourselves and the world around us?

Practicing intentional stillness can deepen our relationships, gently ease our minds outside of our own anxieties, and remind us that a full and happy life is synonymous with slowing down. Perhaps your workplace won’t look favourably upon a two-hour nap in the middle of the day, or allow you to fully embody the dolce far niente philosophy, but I promise you that being away from your screens, or taking some time away from your endlessly long to-do list, won’t kill you. In fact, it might just help you live.

The post How Dolce Far Niente, the Italian Philosophy of Doing Nothing, Can Teach Us to Slow Down appeared first on Magazine.

There is a call to learn how to forget, even momentarily, this rapid chaos of our minds and cities, and embrace the healing power of libraries. The Japanese practice of Shinrin-yoku, or ‘forest-bathing’, is about slowing down, reducing stress, and soaking ourselves in our magical surroundings. An approach like Shinrin-yoku may just be the key to reconnecting with the magical beauty of old libraries.

Practicing Shinrin-yoku in the Modern Day

Shinrin-yoku can be broken down into two parts: Shinrin, or ‘forest’ in English, and Yoku, which translates in English to ‘bath’. Shinrin-yoku, therefore, encapsulates the idea of forest-bathing, or submersing oneself in nature as a therapeutic practice.

The practice of forest-bathing is, as you might imagine, purposefully witnessing the world around you and therefore bathing yourself within your surroundings.

Shinrin-yoku was first introduced by the Japanese Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries in the 1980s as a method to address the rising levels of stress from rapid urbanization.

It was a call back to simpler things, asking people to reconnect with the earth by embracing nature and immersing the senses. Shinrin-Yoku seeks to engage all five senses through the power of observation. In a physical forest, one may notice a tiny leaf insect disguising itself at the foot of a tree or marvel at the way a light sprinkle of rain changes the scent of the forest. It occupies all your senses, helping you remove yourself from the chaos within your mind. In an old library, however, one may notice other things.

You could observe the way afternoon light dances on the tallest bookshelves, how even the silence takes on a certain kind of sound, or perhaps you will notice the smell of books far older than yourself. Shinrin-yoku may have been designed to be practiced in real, breathing forests, but we cannot deny that old libraries can provide an ecosystem of their own.

The Importance of Old Libraries in Modern Societies

Paris, the city of love, romance, and literature, is where libraries are arguably the beating hearts of the city. These libraries host art exhibitions, support communities, encourage literacy, and provide people a safe space to learn, revise, or just breathe.  In many cities, there is little access to forests or even vast natural expanses. Spaces like old libraries, therefore, serve as sanctuaries from the increasingly busy life of the city-dweller. The Bibliothèque François Mitterrand, located in the thirteenth arrondissement of Paris, features a beautiful 10,600 square meter forest garden in the center of the building.

Libraries like François Mitterrand illustrate the undeniable link between nature and libraries, the magic of solitude and observation. In smaller towns, libraries are so vital to societal ecosystems that studies have shown that regular library attendance can increase personal feelings of love and acceptance.

Literary Escape as a Portable Magic

There is a reason Stephen King once said, “Books are a uniquely portable magic,” and Mason Cooley said, “Reading gives us someplace to go when we have to stay where we are.” Whether it is fiction or non-fiction, historical, fantasy, philosophy, or a genre in-between, reading a good book can steal our minds like world-building thieves.

Take Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose, a historical detective novel with deep philosophical and theological reflections. Eco takes readers on an atmospheric historical journey, transporting us from the room into another literary world. His world is so intricate and meticulous that it serves as an escape for those who embark on its literary journey.

Old libraries are spaces filled with hundreds, if not thousands, of book-shaped portals that can whisk you away to another world. Research findings and articles frequently use the word ‘magic’ when discussing libraries. A magical thing that can remove us from routine, that is a little extraordinary, that inspires and delights those who encounter it.

Old libraries possess such magical beauty; they are quiet and unassuming, resembling forests filled with things to observe and discover.  Whether we are walking a woodland trail or perusing the pages of a book, escape and mental transportation can provide a refuge for our demanding daily lives.

The Liberation of Knowledge in Old Libraries

Knowledge presents itself in many forms, if only one has the eye to notice it. Take a forest tree: each year a tree survives, it forms a new ring that often mirrors the type of year the tree has weathered. These rings are then analyzed by scientists to study weather patterns and changes, a special type of knowledge only a tree can hold. Old libraries provide a similar kind of knowledge. Like trees in a forest, old libraries serve as a living memory, continuously evolving based on the changing patterns and needs of a community. More than this, these bibliothecal ecosystems give access to a plethora of books, each holding its own branch of knowledge. 

The Shinrin-yoku philosophy would ask followers to observe and bathe in the mystery and wisdom of a library as they would a forest, urging us to have intellectual forest-baths that appreciate knowledge as a form of mental liberation, reminding us of our own pasts or the histories of others. Like a good librarian, practicing Shinrin-yoku may help you find things you didn’t even know you were looking for – a good book, a new author, even a feeling of belonging. At the very least, however, it allows you to lose yourself wandering and wondering in the magical beauty of an old library.

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You recognize the shopkeeper, and he smiles with familiarity. He has tended this store for decades, becoming an encyclopedia of knowledge and connection.  There are customers you’ve seen here for years, customers the shopkeeper knows by name, who, despite the creation of new-wave bookstores, have remained loyal patrons and friends. Your feet anchor you to the present, but your mind wanders to the past, and at once you remember that you are both ever-changing, always transient. This, you could say, encapsulates the Japanese philosophy of Wabi-Sabi.

The Origins of Wabi-Sabi

Wabi-Sabi is not easily defined, nor does it want to be. According to a legend, Wabi-Sabi originated from a story of Sen no Rikyū, a young man who wanted to learn the Way of Tea. Tea master Takeeno Joo tasked Sen no Rikyū with cleaning his garden. It was a test. Rikyū cleaned the garden immaculately, ensuring everything was in place. After regarding the pristine garden, he paused, then gently shook a tree, initiating a flurry of stray petals to fall aimlessly to the ground.

Rikyū saw the beauty in imperfection, in the connection to nature, and our shared impermanence. Wabi-Sabi does not wish to exist in a world of material, ostentatious things, in a world of consumption and inattention. Wabi-Sabi is like a vintage book in an old bookstore, well-loved, with tea-stained pages, tucked lovingly into a wooden shelf. It seeks beauty in that which is often overlooked. The world values youth, shiny new things, shiny new people. It forgets that to be human is to be impermanent, to be human is to be imperfect. 

The Beauty of Impermanence

A bouquet of red roses will lose its color with each passing day. Their heads will droop, their petals will fall, and eventually, they will wither and pass. Their brief existence was magnificent, but their beauty is undeniably tied to its finite nature. Life is precious because it ends. Knowing and recognizing our own impermanence can be frightening, but it is also liberating.

We must be mindful of the time; we must strive to hold the sand in our fingers as it gently filters through. Old bookstores remain, but their interiors are filled with this sense of impermanence; they mirror life in a way that our technological, fast-paced world seeks to eradicate. These old bookstores welcome and value aging, the sageness of lived experience, and encapsulate the Wabi-Sabi approach to life. 

Practising Wabi-Sabi in the Age of Technology

Our world feeds on anxiety. With every phone vibration, we are reminded of another new and often depressing news update, loading our brains with information they were never meant to deal with. The world of technology moves quickly, so fast we can barely catch up.

Our world may continue technologically advancing, but slow-living philosophies like Wabi-Sabi remind us to slow down, take a breath, and act as if we are meandering the aisles of an old bookstore. Wabi-Sabi has persisted since the 15^th century, and even though we may not be Buddhist monks learning the art of tea, it is a philosophy that remains valuable, perhaps now more than ever before.

Of course, there are tasks in our day we must accomplish, there are deadlines, and there is pressure. Yet practitioners of Wabi-Sabi would tell us that we can still find time to ground ourselves, to strive for excellence rather than perfection, to value simplicity.

Some may wonder how old bookstores still exist, how they have not been swallowed up by other commercial giants with their megastores and cheap prices. The answer – connection, be it earthly or human, will never become obsolete. It will always be in our human nature to find spaces to connect, share knowledge, and ground ourselves in items that are not respected solely for their beauty or capital. 

The Healing Power of Nostalgia

We do not wish to live in the past and thereby miss the present, but there is purpose in remembering the past. Like in Nina George’s novel The Little Paris Bookshop, the protagonist Jean’s reminiscence is both his hindrance and strength. Happiness demands a balance of both. The philosophy of Wabi-Sabi encourages us to accept life as it is, not how we wish it to be, and helps guide us to a journey of acceptance.

Psychological studies have found the feeling of nostalgia to be felt positively, warmly, like an old friend or a book you loved as a child. Sitting in these moments of reminiscence not only increases optimism toward the future but has also been found to positively affect our self-esteem.

Perhaps this is why we feel old bookstores are oases, because they provide a quiet space in which we can accept and appreciate the passage of time. Where we feel a genuine emotional connection, a type of nostalgia that hasn’t been manufactured for capital gain but is instead a rare moment of authenticity. Old bookstores sustain communities, they are a space for dialogue and connection, and are a quiet, but purposeful, step towards a slower, simpler, Wabi-Sabi way of life.

The post Why Wabi-Sabi, A Japanese Philosophy, Makes Old Bookstores Feel Like Home appeared first on Magazine.

Imagine running your fingers along the spines of old books in the Shakespeare and Company bookstore in Paris, where Hemingway and Fitzgerald once wandered. Picture yourself sipping coffee in the very Venetian café where Donna Leon crafted her iconic mystery novels, or tracing Jane Austen’s legacy through the rolling hills of Bath. Literary travel is not just a journey—it’s a story waiting to be lived.

Travel as a Narrative Experience

Some places feel as if they were made for stories. Strolling through London’s Bloomsbury district, where Virginia Woolf and the famed Bloomsbury Group reshaped literature, or exploring Edinburgh’s winding streets that inspired J.K. Rowling’s Hogwarts, gives travel a dreamlike quality. A cobbled alleyway isn’t just an alley—it’s a portal to another time, another world.

Imagine stepping into The Eagle and Child pub in Oxford, where Tolkien and C.S. Lewis discussed Middle-earth and Narnia over pints. Or losing yourself in the stacks of Livraria Lello in Porto, one of the world’s most beautiful bookstores, rumored to have inspired the grand staircases of Hogwarts. With a book in hand and a destination in mind, the world becomes a richer, more layered place—one filled with whispers of stories past and present.

A Deeply Personal and Philosophical Experience

The Japanese concept of Ikigai suggests that fulfilment comes from doing what we love in a way that connects us to the world. Literary travel embodies this philosophy. It turns exploration into a meaningful pursuit, where passion for stories and personal discovery intersect. When we visit literary destinations, we aren’t just sightseeing, we are seeking a connection between books and places, between authors and readers, between past and present.

Unlike conventional tourism, which often focuses on landmarks and itineraries, literary travel is deeply personal. It’s about stepping into the spaces where words were born—walking the same paths, sitting at the same desks, breathing in the same city air. Standing in Emily Dickinson’s bedroom in Amherst, where she wrote nearly 1,800 poems, or visiting Louisa May Alcott’s Orchard House in Massachusetts, where Little Women came to life, brings us closer to the souls of these stories. The experience is not just intellectual; it’s emotional.

A New Meaningful Way to Travel For Book-lovers

Literary travel is more than an aesthetic experience—it’s a movement, a way to engage with places on a deeper level. It supports local bookstores, independent publishers, and literary festivals that bring communities together. Visiting a tucked-away secondhand bookshop in Prague or attending a poetry reading in a hidden café in Buenos Aires fosters cultural exchange in ways mass tourism cannot. These moments remind us that literature is alive, breathing, and deeply intertwined with the places that shape it.

Documenting these journeys on social media—sharing the magic of an old Parisian library or the coziness of a bookstore in Kyoto—helps inspire others to see travel differently. It’s not just about taking a trip; it’s about crafting an experience that lingers long after the return flight home.

A Transformative Way to See the World Through Literature

As Literary Places by Sarah Baxter beautifully illustrates, the places we visit do not just shape our travels; they shape us. They become part of our personal narratives, influencing the way we see ourselves and the world. Literature offers us a deeper way to engage with our surroundings.

By traveling with a literary mindset, we move beyond mere sightseeing. We step into the stories that shaped these places, allowing literature to color our perceptions and deepen our understanding of culture, history, and human experience. In doing so, we find a sense of Ikigai—traveling not just for the sake of movement, but for the pursuit of meaning, connection, and personal transformation.

So the next time you pack your bags, tuck a book inside—not just to read on the journey, but to guide the way. Let the words lead you, the stories shape your steps, and discover the magic that unfolds when literature and travel become one.

The post The Philosophy of Literary Travel: Why Book Lovers Travel Differently appeared first on Magazine.

As adults grow into themselves, they lose their childlike sense of wonder. Life becomes more practical and serious as death looms closer. It can be hard to accept the non-negotiable terms of life and death, especially for adults. Poet Joseph Pintauro and artist Norman Laliberté observed these complicated feelings firsthand and set out to share a new way of processing the seasons of life and living them to the fullest. Thus, “The Magic Box” was born.

The Rainbow Box

“The Rainbow Box” is a limited edition tetralogy of psychedelic poems, artwork, and collages published by Pintauro and Laliberté in 1970. It features one art book for each season of the year: “The Magic Box” for autumn, ”The Peace Box” for winter, ”The Rabbit Box” for spring, and ”A Box of Sun” for summer. Each volume is a commentary on the nature and philosophical themes of each season.

Finding the entire collection of this mid-century marvel is rare. First editions in good condition are selling for upwards of $2,000.

The Magic Box

With the creation of the “Magic Box,” Pintauro and Laliberté aim to enlighten the minds of those closed off to the magic of living and the inevitability of death.

The book uses the writing and art styles of children’s books to emphasize the whimsy of life and make the ideas around death more palatable for readers. With its avant-garde approach and eccentric art styles, “The Magic Box” is a groundbreaking piece that stands the test of time.

Take a Peek Inside

“The Magic Box” is better appreciated with your eyes on the artwork. Take a look at some of the pages and make up your mind about the meaning.

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