7. The Copenhagen experiment

This Saturday, I’ll be flying to Copenhagen for a three-week stay, an experiment in living and working somewhere other than home.

The idea started last fall, not long after my son left for college. The house became quieter. Something felt different. I missed our conversations during dinner, the casual walks we used to take. Even with my daughter still at home, the shift was palpable. I began wondering: what would it feel like when both kids were gone?

My initial thought was that I wanted to find new ways to connect with the kids. I also sensed that my wife and I needed new activities and shared experiences, something to renew our connection. Then, I connected this to a new experiment for motivation. Spending time in a different place, not just traveling, but living elsewhere for a short period, has long appealed to me.

At first, the idea of this trip felt brilliant. From many angles, it made sense. A new setting could inspire fresh thinking and lead to meaningful projects. It might create new memories, especially if my family decided to join me. And practically, I could test whether working remotely while living abroad was possible, something I’d been curious about for a long time.

But then I stalled. For months, I sat on the idea.

I told myself it felt selfish. I worried I was spending a lot of money just to satisfy a personal desire. I thought: Shouldn’t we be spending this summer together as a family? My wife wasn’t enthusiastic about it as a family trip, and planning something without her full buy-in felt odd and burdensome. I hadn’t traveled alone before except for visits to see my parents, which we both understood.

When I eventually shared the idea with kids, they didn’t show much interest either. They weren’t opposed, but they didn’t ask many questions. I found myself quietly disappointed. I wished they’d asked what inspired this idea, why Copenhagen, and why now. I hoped they’d see my excitement and want to be part of it.

Looking back, I can see that most of the resistance I felt came from within. Over the winter holidays and into January, I realized I had been projecting my guilt, obligation, and fear of seeming selfish onto others. Their neutral reactions had become a mirror for my own hesitation. My disappointment wasn’t rooted in what they said, it was rooted in what I had imagined and hoped for.

To get unstuck, I turned to a friend. I shared my aspiration for the trip and we brainstormed possible destinations. That conversation reignited my energy. I considered Strasbourg, France, because of its proximity to the Alsace wine region. I imagined visiting small wineries, wandering through vineyards. Then, after a conversation with a contact working in Stockholm, Sweden became another option. Eventually, I turned to Copenhagen. I’d long admired Scandinavian design and culture, and the city’s walkability, vibrancy, and openness appealed to me. I booked an Airbnb in the city center in early January, partly as a way to commit, and bought the flight soon after.

Einar Gross (Danish,1895-1962)

As I reflect on all of this, I realize how easily we let small but meaningful opportunities pass us by because of fear, guilt, or the familiar comfort of staying silent about our own desires. For many, there’s a quiet comfort in not promoting our own needs. It keeps us within the bounds of expectation, harmony, and sacrifice. But it also keeps us from growing.

I can think of many other examples of these missed moments: the language you wanted to learn but didn’t, the museum you didn’t visit alone, the friend you didn’t reach out to, the instrument you never touched, or the meeting you didn’t decline even though you needed space to think. These are the small, often invisible acts of self-authorship we skip over.

This trip is a small act, but it’s mine. It didn’t require anyone’s permission. It’s an experiment, and also a step toward living in tune with what I truly want.

I’m grateful to my wife for supporting this time away. And I’m grateful to myself for listening to the quiet voice that said, Go.

What about you? What are the small acts of self-authorship you’ve been putting off?

What story are you telling yourself that’s keeping you from beginning?

If this reflection resonated with you, you may be interested in a project I’m working on:

I’m writing a book to offer a different perspective on Asian Americans and leadership. At its core, the book explores how self-authoring, a concept from Robert Kegan’s Adult Development Theory, is essential to effective and sustainable leadership. I connect this to the ways in which deeply rooted Asian cultural forces, such as filial piety, group-based thinking, and deference to hierarchical norms, often stand in the way of Asian Americans becoming self-authoring. The book also offers experience-based insights and practical suggestions for how we can move through, and ultimately beyond, these internalized constraints.