The Pineapple

Living Life or Consuming It?

By Martin; Manfred

A conversation about concerts, caravans, mowing the lawn and why active rest may have less to do with stopping than with fully entering the experience.

This conversation began with a contradiction.

Can rest be active?

At first, it sounded like one of those modern expressions that should never have been invented. Surely rest means stopping. Surely activity means doing.

But the longer we talked, the less certain those definitions became.

By the end, we were no longer discussing active rest at all.

We were asking a different question.

Are we living our experiences—or merely consuming them?

A contradiction that makes sense

When I first heard the phrase active rest, I immediately thought it sounded wrong.

“Rest means sitting down,” Manfred said.

“Recovery and rest are different.”

Martin agreed that being active could still be relaxing, but only if it was a conscious choice rather than another obligation.

That distinction quietly shaped the whole conversation.

Perhaps rest is not defined by how much energy we use.

Perhaps it depends on where that energy comes from.

The lawn that cleared the mind

For Martin, a walk clears his head.

The thoughts are allowed to wander. Stress begins to loosen. By the time he returns home, the world usually looks a little simpler.

For Manfred, it was mowing the lawn.

Not because he enjoys cutting grass more than anyone else, but because forty-five minutes of concentrating on perfectly straight lines leaves very little room for everything else.

Of course, mowing the lawn backwards is not recommended.

He discovered this after falling over and cutting his arm.

Scientific research sometimes has painful moments.

The empty day

Free days sound wonderful until they actually arrive.

Martin admitted he protects empty days extremely well.

His to-do lists are legendary.

Completing them is considerably less legendary.

When asked how he had mastered the art of productive procrastination, he explained that the information required security clearance.

Even then, he might have to shoot us afterwards.

Manfred recognised the feeling.

For many years he approached free days in much the same way.

Recently, however, he has begun a new experiment.

Doing something.

To his surprise, finishing a few jobs actually feels rather satisfying.

After sixty-five years, he is cautiously exploring this revolutionary discovery.

His wife has noticed.

She becomes noticeably happier whenever something disappears from the to-do list.

Unfortunately, she also possesses an extraordinary ability to replace it with something else.

His Fridays have gradually become less like holidays and more like carefully managed construction projects.

When does the holiday begin?

One of the most interesting discoveries came from Manfred’s caravan holidays.

His holiday does not begin at the campsite.

It begins the moment he gets into the car.

From that point onwards, his only real responsibility is getting everyone safely to the destination.

Everything else can happen when it happens.

There is no detailed timetable.

No minute-by-minute schedule.

No pressure to optimise every hour.

“It is going with the flow,” he explained.

Even setting up the caravan follows its own rhythm.

His wife would prefer it finished as quickly as possible.

Manfred prefers to think.

To compare.

To weigh up options.

Sometimes a little too carefully.

Eventually the caravan stands where it should.

The chairs come out.

Life slows down.

By then, holiday has quietly arrived.

Experiences that stay

Martin described something similar after going to the “Garbage” concerts.

A concert is never just the evening itself.

It begins long before the first song.

There is planning.

Travelling.

Meeting familiar faces.

Remembering lessons from previous trips.

Looking forward.

Then comes the music.

Afterwards, the experience continues.

Sometimes for days.

Sometimes for years.

A concert from Edinburgh, two years ago, still returns to him unexpectedly.

Not because he is trying to remember it.

Because it has become part of him.

That is very different from returning home from a package holiday and saying,

“The weather was nice.”

Living or consuming?

Almost without noticing, the table arrived at the question that held everything together.

Martin described the difference between preparing for an experience and simply buying one.

Preparing stretches the experience.

It begins before the event.

It continues afterwards.

It creates memories, anticipation and stories.

Simply consuming something often ends the moment it is over.

Perhaps this is why concerts, caravans and even long journeys feel restorative.

They invite participation.

They ask something of us.

They become part of our lives instead of simply passing through them.

The journey matters

The conversation also challenged another modern habit.

We often want to arrive as quickly as possible.

Teleportation would be wonderfully efficient.

Martin smiled.

“It would be terrible.”

The journey matters.

Manfred agreed.

Driving a thousand kilometres is tiring.

Traffic can be frustrating.

But within those thousand kilometres are hundreds of small experiences that never happen at home.

Stopping for coffee.

Finding a quiet place.

Crossing a border.

Watching the landscape slowly change.

The destination is important.

But the road contributes something too.

“The path is the goal,” he said.

Becoming good at rest

Experience changes things.

The first ferry crossing with a caravan brings uncertainty.

Will everything fit?

Will the angles work?

Have I forgotten something?

Later, those worries disappear.

Not because the experience has become boring.

Because confidence creates space to notice other things.

The sea.

The people.

The journey itself.

Trust also grows.

Trust in the ferry operators.

Trust that somebody else knows something you do not.

Sometimes asking for help is part of resting.

Not every problem needs to be solved alone.

The Ministry of Rest

Towards the end, we imagined a fictional Ministry of Rest inspecting our lives.

Which activity would they wrongly classify as work?

Manfred answered immediately.

“Mowing the lawn.”

It looks like work.

It requires effort.

It even comes with occasional injuries.

Yet somehow it restores him.

That may be the problem with judging rest from the outside.

Activity does not always create stress.

Stillness does not always create recovery.

Sometimes the opposite is true.

Finding our bearings

The conversation began with the phrase active rest.

It ended somewhere much more interesting.

Rest is not always about doing less.

Sometimes it is about becoming more present.

Walking instead of rushing.

Preparing instead of consuming.

Travelling instead of teleporting.

Mowing the lawn with straight lines.

Driving towards the Netherlands before the holiday has officially begun.

Listening to a concert that stays with you for years.

Perhaps the real difference is not between activity and rest.

Perhaps it is between moving through life…

…and allowing life to move through us.

source

The Pineapple

Twenty-Four Steps to the University of Rest

By Ismar; Ritesh

At the Atlantic Corridor, a conversation about active rest became a conversation about hammocks, walking, learning after school, family pressure, sleep, and the strange modern habit of measuring peace.

The Question Was Already Suspicious

The Mayor began with a confession.

He had no idea what active rest meant.

This is sometimes the safest way to begin a Brida conversation. Not with expertise. Not with a definition. Not with a shiny wellness word pretending to be ancient wisdom. Just a Mayor sitting there, slightly surrounded by too many questions, saying: gentlemen, I want to learn from you.

Ismar was asked if he was ready.

“No,” he said.

So, naturally, we continued.

The topic was Rest. More specifically, Active Rest. But very quickly we discovered that the word itself was not simple. For one person, active rest might be a triathlon. For another, it might be lying in a hammock with a book. For another, it might be walking around a park in Bangalore with his wife, checking his steps, talking, changing the environment, and trying not to turn even rest into another target.

This was not a conversation about doing less.

It became a conversation about what we do when we are not officially working, and whether those things really give us back to ourselves.

A Hammock, a Diary, and a Professional Student

Ismar started with a distinction.

An unemployed man may have nothing to do all day, but that does not mean he is resting. His mind may be full of worries, bills, and pressure. But someone who has no immediate financial problem and chooses to stay longer in bed on Sunday morning, or spend some hours in a hammock reading a favourite book — that, for Ismar, could be active resting.

The important word was not only rest.

The important word was choose.

For Ismar, active rest is not something that happens by chance. It is something he decides to do. It has intention. It is not simply falling into emptiness. It is a planned activity.

The Mayor immediately followed this path, as Mayors do.

Did Ismar keep a diary?

Yes, Ismar said. Not for everything. But for the most important things.

This meant that our Monday morning meeting with Ritesh and The Mayor was written in the diary. We were considered important. This is the kind of recognition that can carry a table for at least three minutes.

Later, the conversation returned to Ismar’s current profession.

He is a professional student.

Not retired. Not finished. Not parked politely at the edge of society. A professional student.

He goes to university. He studies. He reads. He keeps learning. The Mayor asked him which part gives him energy: the subject, the routine, the people, or simply the fact that at almost sixty-five he is still moving.

Ismar answered with one word.

Curiosity.

He said he is trying to improve. Not only in knowledge, but also in behaviour. He cannot measure whether he is better today than yesterday. He can only have an impression. But the impression matters.

This was one of the first clear lines in the conversation: active rest can be intellectual. It can be curiosity with a timetable.

Ritesh and the Problem with the Word Rest

Ritesh was less convinced by the phrase.

For him, rest was closer to doing nothing. Sitting. Sleeping. Watching a video. Listening to a podcast. Scrolling. Not applying the mind too much.

When The Mayor gave the example of Ralph’s wife driving 180 kilometres, staying in a hotel, buying running shoes, doing a triathlon, coming second in her age category, driving home, and then having surf and turf in the evening, Ismar and Ritesh were both unconvinced.

For Ismar, this was not active rest.

For Ritesh, it was a hobby, not rest.

And this was useful. Because sometimes a concept only becomes clear when someone refuses it.

The Mayor explained that, for him, active rest is doing something different from the usual routine. You are active, but you rest another part of yourself. You go out. You come back refreshed, better, perhaps even rejuvenated.

Ritesh listened, but he held his ground.

Running, cycling, swimming — no. He might watch it. He would not participate.

For him, rest was still “doing nothing, like, nothing.”

But then The Mayor challenged him. Was there something Ritesh did that other people might call work, but for him felt like rest?

Then the answer changed.

Walking came first.

Some of Ritesh’s friends nearby do not like to walk. He invites them, but for them walking feels like spending energy. For Ritesh, it is relaxing.

Reading came next.

He imagined going to the library, taking a book, and beginning to read. It might feel like fifteen minutes, but actually one and a half or two hours have passed. Some people do not have the capacity to sit and concentrate like that. For him, it can be relaxing.

So rest was not only nothing.

Rest was also losing time in something that did not attack him.

Walking with a Wife, Cooking in Fifteen Minutes

The most human doorway came when The Mayor asked about Ritesh walking with his wife.

Was it physical rest? Conversation? Shared time? Simply leaving the house together?

Ritesh said it was conversation. Giving time. Leaving the environment where he had been the whole day. Their flat is not exactly peaceful. The park is also not perfectly peaceful. But it has different vibes, trees, and another feeling.

This is active rest in a very ordinary married form: two people leaving the same walls and entering a different noise.

Then the conversation moved to his wife’s rest.

For Ritesh, speaking with him, with her mother, or with his mother may give her comfort. Cooking also seemed important. She cooks very well. When she starts, he feels that within fifteen minutes everything is ready. If he asks for something and she sees a recipe on YouTube or somewhere else, she can make it.

If he asks for something and she sees a recipe on YouTube or somewhere else, she can make it.

He thinks she gets pleasure from cooking.

The Mayor asked what would happen if Ritesh offered to help.

Here the article nearly became a domestic comedy.

Ritesh said he sometimes sees a reel or video and becomes passionate: let’s go and help her. But she says, no, no, I will do it. Sometimes he comes home, gives no attention, starts using the laptop, and she goes directly to the kitchen. Then he realises: oh, she is angry with me.

So he goes to the kitchen and starts chopping onions.

Generally, though, she does everything. She is making him lazy, he said. He was already lazy, but she is making him more lazy by giving him comfort.

If he insists, she tells him to be there and not do anything.

So he walks in circles in the flat, talks to her, and sometimes, if he is “a little bit romantic,” plays songs on the mobile.

Within a minute, everything is ready.

There was more truth in this little domestic scene than in many official definitions of rest.

Sometimes active rest is not the activity itself. It is the relationship around it. It is the kitchen, the onion, the song, the small attempt to repair the evening.

After School, Who Still Learns?

The conversation then widened.

What happens to learning after school in Brazil and India?

Ismar said families and close people value education. Finishing high school or a degree is celebrated. But later learning is more complicated. There are programmes for elderly people, some open-university-style options, and language courses, but he does not see many elderly people wanting to study language or other subjects.

In his view, Brazilian society values position more than knowledge. Director of a hospital. CEO. Money. Status. These things are noticed more easily than curiosity.

Ritesh described a different but connected world.

In Bangalore, there are many classes. Cooking, guitar, piano, martial arts, pottery. People go, sometimes with a girlfriend, boyfriend, husband, or wife. It may be learning, but also recreation, something to enjoy together.

For deeper learning, India has online courses, certificates, and government portals. Ritesh remembered how useful recorded lectures from top institutes were during college, especially when he and his classmates felt their local teaching was poor. They learned from videos, at their own pace, sometimes better than in the classroom.

He also remembered a time when there was a mission in India to help older people read, write, and even sit exams. Mothers and children could take exams together. Sometimes the mother scored well.

But now, in his circle, he does not see much interest in studying science or subjects later in life. Some people may turn to religious books. Others are too busy.

This gave us one of the quiet contrasts of the table.

Ismar, older, uses learning as a way to remain alive and improving.

Ritesh, younger, belongs to a generation with endless access to learning, but also endless pressure, work, screens, and distraction.

Both know that learning is available.

Neither thinks availability is the same as hunger.

When Rest Becomes Another Job

Then came the modern monster.

Is rest becoming another duty?

Do we need special socks, candles, sleep metrics, step counts, apps, subscriptions, and proof that we have rested correctly? Is peace becoming industrialised?

Ritesh answered yes.

He has a limit: 6,000 steps. He checks his mobile to see how many he has completed. If only 500 are missing, he will walk to finish them. At that point, walking is no longer only relaxation. The number is present.

He connected this to going out with friends. In college, going out meant fun, talking, anything. Now it can become a status symbol. You must go to a certain restaurant, drink a certain coffee, be part of a certain symbol.

Gym subscriptions, personal trainers, performance, value — everything becomes measured.

Even family time becomes difficult to explain. If he goes home and says he did nothing, people expect a better answer. But for him, being at home, with father, mother, family, food on the plate, no grand discussion, no performance — that can be personal time. Comfort. Family life.

But modern life asks: what did you do?

The answer “I was there” is not always accepted.

The Mayor then revealed his own terrible data.

On that Monday, his phone said he had walked twenty-four steps.

Twenty-four.

Sixteen metres.

Less than one calorie.

The table paused around this magnificent underachievement.

Ismar asked again, just to be sure: twenty-four steps?

Yes.

The Mayor defended himself. He does not carry his mobile everywhere. The app is not reliable. He had walked more than that. Probably. Also, tomorrow he would walk seven or eight kilometres up a steep hill with Fabrice. So please do not remove him from society yet.

Ritesh did not condemn him. He said The Mayor was contributing through knowledge, especially to them. Also, 37 kilometres in fifteen days was not bad.

Then Ritesh became practical. People who work in the digital space have to take breaks. Meetings go for hours. People do not drink enough water. Many have back issues, vision problems, eye strain. After work, sometimes he does not want to look at a screen again.

This was perhaps the most useful answer of the whole table.

Rest is not an abstract moral achievement. Sometimes it is water, distance vision, standing up, leaving the laptop, and not treating the body as a chair accessory.

The University of Rest

At the end, The Mayor created a small institution.

The University of Rest.

What class would Ismar teach there?

Ismar would teach about the importance of the body in life. You cannot be alive without a body, and especially without a healthy body. Health is the most important thing. Money and professional position do not matter much if health disappears.

What would Ritesh teach?

Sleep.

Especially for his generation.

He said many people are not sleeping enough. They are in bed, but scrolling, watching videos, worrying. Among colleagues, he does not see many sleeping more than seven hours. Often it is five or six. So he would teach people to sleep. Do nothing and sleep.

This was funny because sleep was already the next topic.

Ritesh was immediately offered the possibility of hosting.

Then Ismar added that it is necessary to take care of hair, because Ritesh has a nice hairstyle.

If you have a good hairstyle, Ismar suggested, you can sleep better.

This may or may not be accepted by medical science.

But it belongs to Brida science.

What We Took With Us

The conversation did not solve active rest.

It made the phrase more human.

For Ismar, active rest can be chosen, planned, intellectual, and connected to curiosity. It can be the dignity of still learning when many people expect older life to become smaller.

For Ritesh, rest begins as doing nothing, but it also becomes walking, reading, changing environment, talking with his wife, being at home, and resisting the pressure to measure every peaceful thing.

Between Brazil and India, between sixty-five and young married life, between the university and the office, between the hammock and the step counter, we found a strange shared question:

When do we feel returned to ourselves?

Not improved for society.

Not optimised for performance.

Not measured into worthiness.

Just returned.

Maybe active rest is not one activity.

Maybe it is the moment when the body, mind, and life stop being enemies for a while.

And if that fails, there is always the University of Rest.

First class: Sleep.

Second class: Curiosity.

Third class: How to survive a day with only twenty-four steps and still remain Mayor.

source

The Pineapple

The Safe State

By Mayor

A conversation about railway technology became a conversation about judgement, shared knowledge and the courage to prepare for reality.

Sometimes a person does not fail dramatically.

The calendar becomes too full. The work becomes more complicated. Energy begins to disappear. Every new problem receives the same answer: another hour, another meeting, another promise.

Nothing has completely broken.

But something is no longer working properly.

At that point, what should happen?

Do we continue because stopping feels like weakness? Do we add more effort because effort is the only answer we know?

Or do we move towards a safer position?

Engineers have a useful name for this.

The safe state.

Preparing for Reality

A well-designed system does not begin with the promise that nothing will ever fail.

Things fail.

Parts wear out. Software contains errors. Signals disappear. People misunderstand one another.

A safe system accepts this from the beginning. It already knows what should happen when something goes wrong.

A railway system may stop the traffic. A machine may shut itself down. A vehicle may reduce its speed or return control to the driver.

The purpose is not to protect the timetable or save somebody from embarrassment.

The purpose is to stop a difficult situation from becoming catastrophic.

That is a mature way of thinking.

Failure is not treated as an insult.

It is treated as reality.

The person who first sees the risk may not look like the most confident person in the room. They may appear slow, negative or difficult.

The engineer asking for more testing delays the project. The colleague asking what happens during failure seems to concentrate on problems. The person saying, “Yes, we can,” sounds modern, energetic and ready for the future.

The engineer asking for more testing delays the project. The colleague asking what happens during failure seems to concentrate on problems. The person saying, “Yes, we can,” sounds modern, energetic and ready for the fut

We have become rather fond of the people who say yes.

But confidence is not the same as certainty.

Caution is not the same as fear.

Sometimes the most capable person in the room is the one willing to say:

I do not understand this part yet.

Or:

We need another expert.

Or:

Before we continue, we need to know what happens if this fails.

That is not weakness.

It may be the clearest form of responsibility.

A Railway System Inside a Fingernail

This article began with a conversation about a new railway control system.

The system needs powerful electronics, but it also has strict limits. There is little space. The equipment cannot create too much heat. Fans introduce their own risks. Most importantly, the system must continue to behave safely even when one part fails.

One possible solution uses highly integrated electronic components first developed for modern vehicles.

These components are extraordinary.

A small black piece of plastic, not much bigger than a fingernail, can contain processors, memory and many different connections. What once required an entire circuit board can now sit inside one device.

Billions of transistors work together in a space small enough to disappear beneath a thumb.

It is astonishing.

It is also extremely difficult for any one person to understand completely.

The preferred component may be powerful enough, but there is not yet a suitable test board for the exact railway application.

The software team expects to work with an operating system. The chosen component may require a much more direct form of programming.

The device is new.

The documentation fills thousands of pages.

Some of it is restricted and cannot simply be handed to an artificial intelligence tool in the hope of receiving a quick answer.

There is no single person who understands every part.

That does not mean the project should be abandoned.

It means the project needs the right knowledge in the same room.

When the Work Outgrows One Person

Complex systems require different kinds of expertise.

One person understands the physical limits: heat, voltage, space and connections.

Another understands software.

Another understands safety rules.

Another understands what the finished product must do for the customer.

None of these people is necessarily wrong.

None of them is enough alone.

This creates a problem for organisations that still separate hardware and software into different teams, meetings and departments.

Hardware engineers think about what can physically be built. They work with heat, space, voltage and material limits.

Software engineers see functions that can be changed through code.

The hardware people say there are limits.

The software people say almost everything can be configured.

Each side may be correct inside its own world.

But the technology no longer respects the company structure.

Hardware decisions change the software. Software choices create new demands for the hardware.

If the work has become connected while the organisation remains divided, the organisation itself becomes part of the risk.

The problem is no longer only technical.

It is human.

Who speaks to whom?

Who understands the full consequence of a decision?

Who notices which knowledge is missing?

Who is allowed to say that the original plan no longer matches reality?

Asking for a team is not an admission of incompetence when the work has grown beyond one human head.

It may be the clearest evidence of competence available.

Expertise is not knowing everything.

It is recognising what must be known, what remains uncertain and whose knowledge is missing from the room.

Possible Is Not the Same as Ready

Modern technology has quietly changed the questions we need to ask.

For years, innovation was driven by one simple question:

Can we do this?

In software, almost anything can seem possible.

With enough code, time and processing power, a device can be persuaded to do things its designers may never have imagined.

We can connect almost anything.

We can monitor it.

Automate it.

Update it.

Make it send us a notification while we are trying to eat dinner.

Possibility is exciting.

But possibility is no longer enough.

The better questions are:

Should we do this?

Who understands the consequences?

What happens when it goes wrong?

A project may be technically possible without being ready.

The component may exist, but the correct test equipment may not.

The software may be possible, but the team may not yet have the required experience.

The design may look complete on paper while remaining weak in practice.

Saying “not yet” is not the same as saying “never.”

It means the difference between possibility and readiness still matters.

The brake pedal is not the enemy of the car.

It is one of the reasons we are willing to get inside.

A safe state works in much the same way.

It is not the enemy of progress.

It is what makes progress trustworthy.

What Is Our Safe State?

A safe state does not always mean stopping completely.

It may mean reducing speed.

Making a smaller promise.

Removing one feature.

Asking for a second pair of eyes.

Bringing hardware and software specialists together before either side creates a problem the other cannot solve.

Sometimes it means saying:

We do not know yet.

That sentence feels uncomfortable in a culture that rewards fast answers.

But not knowing is not the greatest risk.

Pretending to know is often worse.

Listening to this conversation, I realised that the idea travels well beyond engineering.

A business needs a safe state when growth becomes faster than its ability to care for customers.

A team needs one when nobody wants to admit that the original plan no longer matches reality.

A family needs one when every small disagreement begins to feel like an emergency.

A person needs one when the calendar is full, the energy is gone and every difficulty receives the same answer:

Work harder.

A human safe state may be a pause, a walk, a conversation or a night of sleep.

It may be a smaller commitment.

It may mean turning off the phone.

It may mean asking for help before everything becomes a crisis.

It may simply mean deciding not to add one more thing.

This is not giving up.

It is preventing a difficult situation from becoming destructive.

The tiny piece of plastic remains extraordinary.

The possibilities are real.

So are the benefits.

But wonder without judgement is only enthusiasm wearing a laboratory coat.

A safe system does not assume perfection.

It prepares for reality.

The future will be built by people capable of doing remarkable things.

It may be protected by the person willing to ask one unfashionable question before everyone else rushes ahead:

What is our safe state?

source

The Pineapple

What Are We Afraid Of?

By Bruce; The Mayor

A conversation about artificial intelligence, curiosity and whether education should fill people with answers—or teach them how to keep asking questions.

I entered the conversation with Bruce carrying one simple question.

What is all the fuss about?

Artificial intelligence is now blamed for almost everything that appears to be going wrong in education.

Students will stop thinking.

Teachers will become unnecessary.

Homework will become meaningless.

Universities will lose their purpose.

Children will ask a machine for every answer and quietly allow their own minds to weaken.

These are serious concerns.

But I found them difficult to understand.

Not because I believe AI is harmless.

Because my own education taught me to begin with questions.

Two Ways of Learning

The word education is often linked to two Latin ideas.

One is educare: to train, shape or fill with knowledge.

The other is educere: to lead out, draw forward or help something emerge.

I experienced both.

As a teenager in Australia during the 1970s, I was often given a question rather than a complete set of instructions.

The question might lead me to the school library.

When that was not enough, I went to the local library.

When that was exhausted, I went to the State Library of South Australia.

I followed sources, copied information, compared arguments and tried to build something from what I found.

I also plagiarised until the cows came home.

This was before computers made plagiarism efficient.

The point was not that every method was admirable.

The point was that the question forced me to move.

I had to search.

I had to decide what mattered.

I had to turn a pile of information into an answer.

Years later, after returning to Europe, I entered the German education system.

It was well organised.

The teachers were qualified.

The school was modern and well equipped.

But the learning method felt completely different.

There was more information to absorb, more structure to follow and less room to wander away from the approved path.

I had moved from educere to educare.

From drawing knowledge out through exploration to receiving knowledge in a more controlled form.

Neither system was completely right.

Neither was completely wrong.

But they trained different parts of me.

Ten Teachers and One Question

Bruce approaches learning in a way that would have been impossible when either of us was at school.

He begins with a question.

Then he asks several AI systems to answer it.

He compares their responses.

He asks other systems to evaluate them.

He looks for agreement, disagreement, weak evidence and missing ideas.

Then he gives the collected material to another system and asks it to produce a new view.

He may begin with education.

Or curiosity.

Or poetry.

Or utopia.

Or whether artificial intelligence itself can be curious.

The answer is never the end.

It becomes the next starting point.

At an age when many people might reasonably decide they have learned enough, Bruce has created a classroom with ten teachers.

They do not sleep.

They do not lose patience.

They do not mind being asked strange questions.

They are also sometimes wrong.

That is important.

Bruce does not simply accept what they produce.

He challenges them.

He checks them.

Sometimes he discovers that one AI has wrongly accused another of inventing a source.

Sometimes several systems arrive at different conclusions.

Sometimes the strongest result is not an answer but a better question.

Watching this process, I found myself wondering whether this was not a threat to education, but one possible future for it.

What Is Education For?

For a long time, education was built around scarcity.

Books were expensive.

Libraries were limited.

Experts were difficult to reach.

Information had to be collected slowly.

The teacher stood at the front because the teacher had access to knowledge that the students did not.

That world has changed.

Information is no longer scarce.

The problem is now abundance.

A student can ask a question and receive a detailed answer in seconds.

The answer may be excellent.

It may be incomplete.

It may be confidently wrong.

The educational task therefore changes.

Knowing facts still matters.

Children still need to read, write, count and understand the basics.

But education cannot stop there.

When answers are everywhere, judgement becomes more valuable.

Can the student test the answer?

Can they recognise a weak argument?

Can they explain why they agree?

Can they defend their thinking without the machine beside them?

Can they change their mind when better evidence appears?

These are not secondary skills.

They may become the centre of education.

The Danger Is Real

There is a genuine risk that AI will make people mentally lazy.

A student can ask a machine to write an essay and submit the result without understanding it.

The work may look better.

The student may finish faster.

But speed and learning are not the same thing.

Writing is not only the final text.

Writing is part of thinking.

The bad first draft matters.

The weak argument matters.

The moment when the student realises that the paragraph does not make sense matters.

The struggle helps to build judgement.

If AI removes every difficult step, the student may receive a polished answer without developing the ability to produce or evaluate one.

It is like using a navigation system for every journey.

You arrive successfully.

But when the phone stops working, you may discover that you never learned the map.

This is not an argument for banning navigation.

It is an argument for knowing when to use it—and what we lose when we stop paying attention.

A Different Kind of Classroom

The future classroom may not need less human involvement.

It may need more.

AI could explain basic concepts, adapt exercises to the student and answer the same question twenty times without becoming irritated.

That could free teachers from some repetitive work.

But the human teacher would still be needed for the more difficult part.

To ask the next question.

To notice confusion.

To create discussion.

To challenge an easy answer.

To help students live with uncertainty.

To keep the struggle useful rather than cruel.

The teacher may move from being the main source of information to being a guide through it.

That is not a smaller role.

It may be a more important one.

Assessment would also need to change.

A polished essay completed at home may no longer prove very much.

But a student who can explain the argument, defend the choices, identify the weaknesses and improve the work under questioning is showing real understanding.

The final product matters less.

The path towards it matters more.

Why Are We Resisting?

This is where my original question began to change.

If AI can help people explore, compare, question and learn throughout life, what exactly are we afraid of?

Perhaps we are afraid that students will stop thinking.

That fear is reasonable.

But perhaps institutions are also afraid of something else.

Schools and universities do more than educate.

They award qualifications.

They decide which learning counts.

They provide access to networks.

They tell employers who has passed through the correct gates.

AI challenges some of that authority.

A person may be able to learn outside the classroom.

A retired professor may build his own university from ten AI systems and a laptop.

A student may question the approved answer before the teacher has finished presenting it.

An employee may gain a new skill without returning to university or paying for another qualification.

This does not make institutions unnecessary.

But it does force them to explain what they are really for.

Are they selling information?

A machine can now provide much of that.

Are they selling credentials?

Those may remain powerful, even when they no longer prove genuine ability.

Or are they creating places where people learn to think, question, cooperate and develop judgement?

That purpose still matters.

Perhaps more than ever.

What Humans Are Blocking

Bruce often says that artificial intelligence could help solve most of the world’s problems.

The real obstacle is human beings.

I am not sure the percentage can ever be proved.

But I understand the point.

We already know how to solve many problems.

We know that prevention is often cheaper than repair.

We know that education works better when students are actively involved.

We know that cooperation is necessary.

We know that long-term thinking matters.

Yet knowledge alone rarely changes behaviour.

Institutions defend themselves.

Departments protect their territory.

People resist ideas that threaten their position.

We go round and round the same arguments because applying the answer may require someone to lose control, status, money or certainty.

AI can compare information.

It can reveal patterns.

It can produce options.

It may even get us most of the way towards a workable answer.

But it cannot make us cooperate.

It cannot make us honest.

It cannot force an institution to change.

It cannot decide what kind of future we want.

Those remain human tasks.

From Fuss to Fear

I began the conversation asking:

What is all the fuss about?

I still think some of the panic is exaggerated.

AI will not automatically destroy curiosity.

For people like Bruce, it can do the opposite.

It can create new paths into ideas that would otherwise remain unexplored.

It can turn one question into ten more.

It can support lifelong learning long after formal education has ended.

But optimism should not become blindness.

Used badly, AI can help people avoid thought.

Used well, it can challenge thought, extend it and connect it to knowledge that was once difficult to reach.

The difference does not lie only in the machine.

It lies in the person using it.

And in the education that prepared them.

By the end of the conversation, my question had changed.

It was no longer:

What is all the fuss about?

It was:

What are we afraid of?

Are we afraid that machines will stop people thinking?

Or are we afraid that they will expose how little of our education was designed to make people think in the first place?

The future of education will not be decided by whether AI enters the classroom.

It is already there.

The real decision is what we ask students to do once the answer appears.

Accept it?

Copy it?

Or begin asking better questions?

source

The Pineapple

Peeling Potatoes 55: Pineapple Beach

By Janita Le Grange

I closed my eyes for a conversation about rest and found a private beach where time does not exist, potatoes whisper, and nobody asks what we are having for dinner.

Before this conversation, I had written honestly about how bad I had been feeling.

Pressure had been building since November. The Mayor knew some of the reasons, because they had appeared privately in many of our conversations.

Today, he said he arrived, apparently dressed as a knight in shining armour, with what he described as some horrible questions.

“Are they fun?” I asked.

The Mayor and I have different interpretations of fun.

He asked me to close my eyes. I expected to squint, squeal and probably open them again to check whether the Wi-Fi was still working.

Instead, I walked through a secret door.

The Beach Behind the Door

On the other side of the door was a magical place with unicorns, pineapples, potatoes and absolutely nobody asking me for anything.

The first thing I saw was a beach.

It was a warm, quiet beach on a tropical island. I could hear waves, seagulls and, if I am honest, probably the washing machine in my house pretending to be the ocean.

I stood in the sand and looked at the water.

There was nobody with me. That was part of the magic.

The quiet told me I could rest.

At first, I did not know what was happening in my body. That was already an interesting answer. I could imagine the sun on my face and the sand around my feet, but I struggled to describe what it felt like not to hurry.

Eventually, my breathing became slower.

My body stopped moving so much.

It quietly asked me to sit down.

I opened my eyes for a moment to make sure I was still in the meeting. You never know when the Wi-Fi might disappear while you are being hypnotised by a Mayor.

Then I returned to the beach and sat down in the sand.

My body had one sentence for me:

Why don’t you do this enough?

My Pineapple Throne

Once I had rested in the sand, I wanted to touch the water.

I walked close enough for the waves to roll over my feet. After that, I went to my pineapple throne.

Not a pineapple chair.

A throne.

It was a gigantic pineapple shaped like a royal seat, with the leaves forming a crown above my head. It stood beneath a canopy of palm trees, far enough from the water to remain peaceful but close enough for me to see the ocean.

I was the only human there.

The pineapples and potatoes walked around whispering to one another. They brought me fresh fruit and something cold to drink. They waved palm leaves over me.

The pineapples and potatoes walked around whispering to one another. They brought me fresh fruit and something cold to drink. They waved palm leaves over me.

It was Fruitloopy.

It was different.

It was mine.

Nothing nearby made me feel safe. The safety came from the fact that there was nothing nearby.

No shops.

No cars.

No people.

No distractions.

Ordinary life would fill such a place with beach villas, traffic and movement. But not in my world. Not on my beach.

I called it Pineapple Beach.

Nothing Needs Me Here

Pineapple Beach gave me something ordinary life often forgets to give: peace and quiet.

There was nothing to remember and nothing to do.

No homework.

No shopping.

No dishes.

No cleaning the floor.

No sudden journey to the supermarket because somebody had forgotten bread or milk the day before.

I did not have to explain why I was there.

That may have been the most important part.

I could simply arrive, sit down and exist.

My mind would not switch off completely. I do not think my mind knows how to do that. But it would not be responsible for anything.

Pineapple Beach understood that I needed a break.

It protected me from what I called negative craziness. The beach itself was clearly a little crazy, with walking potatoes and fruit serving cocktails, but that was positive craziness. There is a difference.

Pineapple Beach also made me a promise:

It would always be there for me to return to.

At the entrance was a gate. The sign on it began with “Welcome,” but it also gave instructions:

Leave everything outside. Nothing will enter through these gates except you.

That meant nobody could suddenly need me.

In real life, almost everything gets access to me too quickly because I find it difficult to say no.

Even after one whole day without chores or questions, I would probably miss them. I am so used to doing these things that their absence might feel strange.

That does not mean I do not need the rest.

It means I have become accustomed to living without enough of it.

The Train Wreck at the Gate

Different kinds of tiredness waited outside Pineapple Beach with the grumpy potatoes.

People tired.

Noise tired.

Decision tired.

Body tired.

Body tiredness would try the hardest to sneak inside.

If it became a character, it would be a train wreck. Or perhaps something that had been hit by a train. It would be broken, dramatic and definitely overdramatic.

It lives in my back, shoulders, arms, legs and knees.

The easier question is: where does it not live?

It makes exercise difficult, even when I know movement might help. It wants attention, but I often do not have time to give it attention. I also try not to focus on it too much because then it becomes even more dramatic.

Perhaps it needs a walk.

Perhaps it needs some deep breaths.

I used to attend Zumba classes and genuinely enjoyed them. Then the instructor moved away, and the classes disappeared with her. I have not found anything online that feels quite the same.

On Pineapple Beach, without flu, headaches, tiredness or a stuffy nose, I would take a long walk. I would breathe through my nose and smell the salt in the air.

That answer told me something simple.

I need to move more.

Where Time Does Not Exist

The best rule on Pineapple Beach is that time does not exist.

There are no clocks.

There is no rushing.

There is no “I must quickly do this.”

There is no next thing waiting.

When there is nowhere else to be, I can read a book, draw a picture, paint something, walk on the beach or swim.

The first thing I stop worrying about is dinner.

Definitely dinner.

I do not have to think about it, prepare it or cook it. Nobody is asking what we are having for dinner at ten o’clock in the morning before they have even eaten breakfast.

Without the clock, my breathing slows.

I become lighter, more carefree, less worried and more fun.

If nothing has to be finished, I can take my time.

I do not have to race through the book.

I do not have to finish the painting.

I do not have to return from my walk because dinner is waiting.

There is no rush because there is no time.

Leaving the Mountain Behind

The Mayor asked me to imagine taking one very slow breath and allowing one pressure to leave my body.

It left my shoulders first.

The pressure had been sitting there like a mountain, built from tension I had collected over time.

I took the mountain from my shoulders and placed it on the beach.

Suddenly, it was easier to move.

I think it was pressure I had created for myself, by myself, from many different situations.

What might stop me from immediately picking it up again?

Realising that it does not always matter.

I do not have to carry everything with me all the time.

I can leave some things behind.

A Unicorn Carrying Snacks

Then I was allowed to snap my fingers and make one restful thing appear.

A unicorn arrived carrying chocolate, gummy sweets and a book.

Not a small book.

A thick book of around 700 pages.

I could sit on my pineapple throne, eat my snacks and read without sharing, fighting for what was mine or answering questions.

There would still be sounds: the waves, the seagulls, whispering potatoes and a breathing unicorn.

But those sounds would not be noise.

They would make the place feel alive.

The book, the snacks and the quiet would give my body, mind, heart and spirit permission to do one thing:

Just exist.

Bringing the Magic Home

The real-life version of Pineapple Beach may be the bush. It is quiet there, even when my son comes along and asks many questions.

A beach holiday can leave you tired. The bush sends you home rested, relaxed and energised.

But I cannot travel to the bush every time I need five minutes of peace.

The smallest kind of rest that might work in ordinary life is doing nothing without having to explain myself.

I call it me time.

My son does not always understand personal space or me time. Success might mean he keeps himself busy, practises cricket with my husband or finds something to do in the garden while I have a few minutes alone.

Before leaving Pineapple Beach, I chose one piece of magic to place in my pocket.

Time.

It is visible to me but invisible to everyone else.

When I touch it, it reminds me that I do not always have to rush.

I need it in the morning, when I want to sit with my coffee and watch the birds in the tree. I have not done that for a long time.

I need it in the evening when dinner is not ready and somebody behaves as though they may die if they have to wait another five minutes.

Nobody is going to die.

The time in my pocket whispers:

Breathe and take it easy.

Take your time.

That evening, we already had a movie night planned. We knew what we were eating. Everything else was finished.

My small sign that Pineapple Beach had followed me home would be sitting down, watching the movie and not thinking about anything else.

Even if it was a bad movie.

The movie did not matter.

The experience mattered.

When I opened my eyes, almost an hour had passed. It had not felt like an hour.

My coffee was cold.

I felt strange.

It is strange when you suddenly realise something is missing from your life, or that something needs to change.

And I really did have a book of more than 700 pages waiting for me.

Perhaps Pineapple Beach was not imaginary after all.

Perhaps it was waiting between the first page and the last.

source

The Pineapple

I Am Not a Morning Person

By Alexander

Alexander began tired, somewhere between a football weekend, a sleeping couch, a small son, a working Monday, and The Mayor’s French advice to take life more slowly. The conversation was about sleep. But really it became about rhythm, responsibility, recovery, and the strange problem of being a reliable person with a tired body.

A Little Bit Tired

We started with football, of course.

The Mayor asked who would win the Football World Cup. There was only one answer, he said.

I said Spain first. Then I changed my mind.

“No, I guess France is winning the World Cup.”

It was a good answer, The Mayor said. But I had to be honest. France is not my favourite team. Not my favourite club. Not my heart.

Then The Mayor changed the subject.

“So, Mr. Ulrich, we are talking about sleep. Are you tired today?”

Yes.

A little bit.

Because all of my weekend, I did sport activities. Boom. My body was tired. My brain was tired too. I felt a little bit tired.

It was not a stressful week ahead. It was a normal week. But sometimes a normal week is also enough. You sit there on Monday morning and you are not broken, but you are not fresh. Your body says, yes, we are here. But please, slowly.

The topic was “sleep that restores.”

That sounds very beautiful. Very healthy. Very calm.

My first example was the opposite.

The Couch Is Not a Bed

The night before, I fell asleep on the couch.

This is not the best sleep. I know this.

I woke up at 1:30 in the morning. Then I had to fill a bottle with water for my son, go upstairs, brush my teeth, and go to bed properly.

The problem is simple. When I wake up and I am awake longer than five minutes, then I have problems falling asleep again.

Yesterday, I had this situation.

For me, the best sleep is not complicated. I go to bed at 10 p.m. I wake up at 7 a.m. My son has no problems in the night. Then it is good.

But I cannot say too many bad things about nights, because Julia does most of the nights with our son. I can sleep many nights. Sometimes I wake up too, because it is loud when he is crying, but she does a lot.

The Mayor asked why Julia did not wake me on the couch and say, “Come upstairs, it is more comfortable in bed.”

In the first times, she tried it.

But yesterday I was so tired that going upstairs felt too strenuous. Julia went upstairs at 9:30 p.m. She said, “Come with me.”

I was down.

Not sad down.

Finished down.

The couch won.

I Hate Mornings

The Mayor asked me the difference between “I slept enough” and “I really recovered.”

This is a good question, because I am very often tired, but also not tired. It is more that I have problems standing up in the morning.

Even if I slept a normal long sleep, maybe seven hours, I still have difficulties getting up.

I am not a morning person.

No. Absolutely not.

I hate mornings.

My normal morning begins at nine o’clock. Everything earlier is a problem for me.

On a normal office day, I wake up at 7:30 and start working at 8. I guess it would be better if I woke up at 6:30. Then maybe I would be fit and motivated earlier.

But this is one thing I would wish for: to wake up and stand up earlier.

Because when I do wake up earlier, I am normally more positive.

The problem is only the standing up.

That small mountain between the bed and the day.

When Sleep Becomes Important

During a normal working week, when do I first feel that sleep is important?

I cannot give one answer.

When I have a stressful day with a lot of travel, maybe 500 kilometres, then I feel it in the evening. At the end of the day, I am tired. Then sleep becomes important before I go to bed.

But when I have a normal office day, the morning is more important.

That is when I feel if the sleep helped me or not.

My normal evening is also not so special. Normally, after work, I play with my son. We go into the garden. He rides his running bike. Or we go to a playground in the city.

My normal evening is also not so special. Normally, after work, I play with my son. We go into the garden. He rides his running bike. Or we go to a playground in the city.

Then we go to bed at about 8 p.m. Normally I need one hour until he falls asleep.

After that, I go downstairs.

And then I do what maybe 80 percent of people in the world are doing.

I watch TV.

In the last weeks, I was excited to watch the World Cup. And also a series. Normally, I do not like series, but my sister-in-law told us about The Rookie. It is about a police department and police officers in training.

It was very interesting for me. Julia and I watched only this series for maybe two months.

This is a normal evening.

Nothing spectacular.

Just life.

My Head Is Always Working

The Mayor and I both work from home, so he asked me if I do something in the evening that helps my head become quiet.

Or is my head still working?

I guess my head is always working.

When I go upstairs, I open YouTube on my mobile phone. I listen to a documentary. Something interesting. When I get tired, I put the phone behind my bed and I listen.

With these sounds, I fall asleep.

And I guess it is one of the most terrible things you can do when you fall asleep.

Because in my sleep, I still hear sound. My head has no time to come down. No time for no reaction. No quiet.

I know this.

But I still do it.

This is maybe very normal. Many people know something is not the best, but they do it because it works a little bit. Or because it is easy. Or because the head does not want silence immediately.

Open Work Makes Me Nervous

Preparation is very important for me.

If I know I have something to do, and this work is still open, I get nervous. It does not matter if I need it in one month, one week, or three days. When I know it is open, it is in my head.

Julia is the opposite.

She had important meetings in the last weeks. She had to prepare presentations. I said, “Julia, you have to prepare these things.”

She said, “Today I am not so good. I do it tomorrow.”

Then, on the last evening, she went one and a half hours into the office and prepared it.

For her, this is okay.

For me, this is not okay.

But I accept it. If it is okay for Julia, why should I stress myself? That is her system. Her way.

I am very relaxed about her way.

But for myself, no.

For myself, I need things prepared.

Maybe this is also connected to sleep. If something is open, my head keeps the file open too.

A Good Day Starts Later

The Mayor asked if I remembered a morning when I woke up and immediately knew, “Today will be a good day.”

Normally, I am a person where everything in the morning is bad, and my day gets better when good things happen.

For example, last week I won a big project with a customer. After that, my next morning was positive.

But it starts every day new. I need a new positive reaction, or feedback, or something finished, so that my day becomes good.

If I know something positive will happen, then I am more motivated. For example, if I know on Friday we go on holiday, then of course I am happy. This feeling before something good happens makes the day better.

But without that, the morning is just the morning.

And I hate mornings.

Weekday, Weekend, Son

Do I sleep differently during the week than during weekends or holidays?

Normally not.

Because I wake up at the same time. Workday or holiday, it does not matter so much.

My son is the reason.

I have no real option to sleep longer.

The Mayor said his cats decide his rhythm. My son decides mine.

This is the life stage. When you have a small child, the day does not ask if it is Saturday. The morning comes. The child comes. The rhythm comes.

It is not bad.

It is just true.

Sometimes I would like to wake up at five o’clock like older people say they do. They tell me, “I wake up every day at five and I cannot sleep longer.”

I wish I had this problem.

The Mayor is like that. He wakes early. He drinks coffee. He has the house to himself. He has ideas. He has paper everywhere, so when an idea comes, he writes it down.

For me, if I have a good idea on Saturday or Sunday, I also want to do it immediately.

But I cannot always do it.

I have to spend time with my family.

And that is also right.

Tired, But Still Correct

When I am tired, what changes first?

My patience, my humour, my concentration, or my discipline?

I think it is a little bit of everything.

Discipline is not the biggest problem. I can motivate myself quite well. I am good at that.

Concentration is not the best when I am tired.

Humour is on a normal level.

Patience is difficult.

I have a low level of patience when I am tired. I guess Julia has the most problems with this characteristic.

The Mayor suggested I take the rest of the day off. It was a nice summer day. Go outside. Have fun. Take the day off.

But I have to work.

I do not have a job where I can say, “Today is a good day, I do not work.”

I have to spend eight hours working, and I do this.

Maybe other people go downstairs, drink coffee in the garden, look five minutes at the laptop, and count it.

But I sit from eight o’clock until four o’clock. I work, or I try to work. Of course, nobody can be fully concentrated all the time. But I try to give my best all day.

If My Body Was a Customer

At the end, The Mayor asked a strange Brida question.

“If your body was a customer, what would it complain about after a bad night of sleep?”

I had to understand the word “complain” first.

Then I knew.

My body would complain about concentration.

Very low concentration.

Maybe it would not shout. Maybe it would not cancel the contract. But it would send a clear message:

Dear Alexander,
service today is not perfect.

The Mayor gave me French advice.

Go outside. Sit in the garden. Have a cup of coffee. Take half an hour off. Then at 11 o’clock, start thinking about work.

He said maybe, in the French way, not coffee.

Maybe a glass of wine.

I said I would talk with someone about this and see what he says.

Because even when I am tired, I am still me.

I still ask.

I still check.

I still try to do it properly.

And maybe that is also what sleep is for.

Not to become another person.

Just to restore the one who has to stand up again tomorrow.

source

The Pineapple

The Theory Is Easy. The Practice Is Something Else.

By Sylvie

What began as a conversation about emotional rest slowly became a conversation about responsibility, family, quiet worries, and the surprisingly ordinary ways we stop ourselves from truly resting.

There is something special about a Friday afternoon.

Fruitloop asked me which day of the week makes me happiest, and I didn’t even have to think about it. Friday. Not because something exciting always happens, but because the work is finished, the house has usually been cleaned, everything feels organised, and I know I have two days ahead of me that belong to something other than work.

It feels like permission to breathe.

Of course, life doesn’t always cooperate. We had just celebrated the French national holiday, the streets were full of people, and France had lost an important football match. Even our weekends have a habit of becoming busy.

Perhaps that’s why emotional rest is more complicated than it sounds.

Work Doesn’t Always Stay at Work

Everyone says you should leave work at work. I agree with that.

The problem is that real life doesn’t always listen.

Fruitloop asked whether I can really switch off once the working day is over, and I realised my answer depends on what is happening at the office. If everything is running smoothly, then yes, I close my laptop and carry on with my evening.

Sometimes my colleague is covering my work while I’m away and needs to ask me something. I have Outlook and Teams on my phone, not because my company insisted, but because I chose to install them.

I have Outlook and Teams on my phone, not because my company insisted, but because I chose to install them.

That makes it difficult to blame anyone else.

Most evenings I only want to have a quick look. Just one email. Just one message. Then another appears, followed by another problem, and before I realise it, work has quietly found its way back into my home. The computer may be closed, but my mind has opened again.

We laughed because the theory is simple.

Close the laptop.

Don’t think about work.

The practice is something else entirely.

The Weight That Doesn’t Show

That led us to another question.

What actually makes us emotionally tired?

Physical tiredness is easy to understand. If you’ve been cycling for hours or you’ve slept badly, your body tells you exactly why you’re exhausted.

Emotional tiredness is much quieter.

It can come from worrying about work. It can come from waiting for difficult news. It can come from family responsibilities or simply carrying too many thoughts at the same time. Students often experience it during exams. Parents know it too. You can look perfectly fine while carrying far more than anyone around you can see.

The strange thing is that emotional tiredness doesn’t disappear after one good night’s sleep.

Sometimes it stays for a while.

Two Daughters, Two Different Worlds

Talking about emotions made me think about my daughters.

They couldn’t be more different.

One of them keeps everything inside herself. If something is bothering her, she usually goes to her room and prefers to deal with it alone. We don’t always know what she’s thinking, and we’ve learnt to respect that.

Her sister is almost the opposite.

She talks about work, about her friends, about the things that worry her, and about what is happening in their lives. Perhaps she doesn’t tell me absolutely everything, but she shares a great deal. She knows she can always come to us.

Neither way is right or wrong.

They’re simply different people.

As a parent, you learn that emotional rest doesn’t look the same for everyone.

The People Who Can Carry Your Thoughts

Fruitloop asked whether I prefer solving problems on my own or speaking to someone.

I realised that depends on the problem.

If something is really bothering me, I usually speak to my husband. Sometimes my sister-in-law. They know me well enough to listen without making everything bigger than it already is.

Not every person can carry every conversation.

Some friends are wonderful for laughing together.

Others are the people you call when life becomes difficult.

I think we slowly discover that over the years.

We also discovered something else during our conversation. When someone shares a problem with us, our first instinct is usually to solve it. We offer advice because we want to help.

But advice is often much easier to give than emotions are to carry.

Sometimes people don’t need solutions first.

Sometimes they simply need someone willing to sit beside the problem with them.

Quiet Roads Make Quiet Minds

When life becomes noisy, I often go cycling.

Fruitloop asked whether I listen to music while I ride.

I don’t.

I prefer listening to everything else.

I usually cycle along the same roads, and I never really become bored. I know where I’ll see the rabbits. Sometimes there are deer. Quite often I spot foxes crossing the fields, and occasionally I even see young foxes following their mother. There are farms with pigs, familiar villages, fields that change with the seasons, and people I recognise well enough to wave as I pass.

Nothing dramatic happens.

Perhaps that’s exactly why I enjoy it.

Those quiet roads somehow make my own thoughts quieter too.

Maybe Rest Is Smaller Than We Think

Near the end of our conversation, Fruitloop asked one last question.

If someone suddenly gave me one whole afternoon with absolutely no responsibilities, what would I choose to do?

The answer came quite naturally.

I’d probably go cycling.

Or meet a friend for coffee.

Perhaps sit somewhere with a good book.

Then I laughed.

“I would finally start reading one.”

Not finish one.

Just start.

Because every evening I tell myself I’ll begin tomorrow, and somehow tomorrow always becomes another tomorrow.

Maybe that’s what emotional rest really looks like.

Not escaping your life.

Not solving every problem.

Not reaching a magical day when everything is finally under control.

Maybe it begins much more quietly than that.

Closing the email without opening another one.

Talking to someone who already understands.

Watching a fox disappear into a field.

Starting the book that has been waiting on the bedside table for weeks.

The theory of emotional rest is wonderfully simple.

The practice, like most worthwhile things in life, is a little more human.

source

The Pineapple

The Sofa, the Chocolate, and the Permission to Pause

By Nathalie; Rosii

This week’s Lunch conversation was supposed to be about creative rest. Instead, it became a collection of ordinary moments that quietly explained why we all need one.

The first surprise arrived before the conversation had really begun.

Rosii wasn’t at work.

For someone who usually joins Lunch between lessons and busy days, simply seeing her at home already felt different. She smiled as everyone asked about her eye operation. The surgery had gone well, she explained, although once the anaesthetic wore off, she discovered exactly why people warn you not to underestimate eye surgery.

“It was painful,” she admitted with a laugh that suggested she was already on the better side of it.

For a few days she wasn’t allowed to drive. She couldn’t spend hours in front of a computer, television or phone. Even reading had to wait. Instead, life became a careful routine of eye drops, cleaning her eye every few hours and… sitting.

Then she described something that made everyone pause.

“I was on the sofa,” she said. “I looked at the clock. It was three-thirty.”

Normally, three-thirty meant she was working. Instead she was simply sitting there.

“No driving. No cooking. No school.”

She smiled.

“It was so nice.”

Not exciting.

Not productive.

Just… nice.

Sometimes the biggest luxury isn’t buying something new.

Sometimes it’s discovering that the world keeps turning while you sit on the sofa.

The Mayor listened with the expression of someone trying to imagine such an impossible event.

“So what do you do when you have free time?” Fruitloop asked him.

The Mayor laughed immediately.

“Have you seen my Bugsheet?”

Anyone who knows Brida knows exactly what that means.

The Bugsheet is the carefully organised timetable that decides when Fruitloop and The Mayor are officially allowed to interrupt each other with ideas, messages and yet another project that “will only take five minutes.”

According to the Mayor, there are very few empty spaces left.

If work slows down, there’s Pineapple.

If Pineapple slows down, there’s LinkedIn.

If LinkedIn slows down… well, something else appears before he has time to wonder what relaxation feels like.

But then he admitted something had changed.

Recently he’d started reading again.

Bill Bryson had quietly found his way back onto the Mayor’s bookshelf, and every now and then the Mayor escapes outside with a book for ten or fifteen minutes before returning to everything else.

It wasn’t much.

But everyone at the table recognised it.

Creative pauses rarely arrive with trumpets.

Usually they arrive one page at a time.

Fruitloop’s version of rest looked rather different.

Instead of spending the weekend cleaning the house, she announced that she’d played cricket with her husband and son.

There were proper batting orders.

There was enthusiastic bowling.

There was enough competitiveness to make everyone take it seriously.

There was also one cricket ball that seemed to have developed a personal dislike for Fruitloop’s legs.

Everyone laughed.

Fortunately, the bruises became part of the story rather than the injury report.

The house could wait.

The cricket match couldn’t.

And somehow that felt like exactly the right decision.

The conversation wandered, as Lunch conversations usually do, until Fruitloop asked Rosii what makes her lose track of time.

The answer came almost before the question had finished.

“Making chocolate.”

Not eating chocolate.

Making it.

Rosii’s face changed as she described melting dark chocolate, mixing it with chestnuts, pouring everything into little silicone moulds and imagining who would eventually enjoy eating them.

You could almost smell the chocolate through the screen.

When she’s making chocolates, something happens to time.

It disappears.

Not because she’s rushing.

Because she’s completely there.

No school visits.

No emails.

No planning tomorrow.

Just warm chocolate, careful hands and the next mould waiting to be filled.

The Mayor, meanwhile, was trying to solve a different mystery.

Rosii mentioned she’d found excellent chocolate online.

“But,” the Mayor asked with complete seriousness, “how do they get the chocolate through the telephone wires into your kitchen?”

Rosii burst into laughter.

Some questions, thankfully, don’t need answers.

Towards the end of the conversation, Rosii mentioned a book she’d bought about procrastination.

It wasn’t really about laziness, she explained.

It was about knowing exactly what would improve your life… and somehow putting it off anyway.

She recognised herself immediately.

There were things she wanted to do.

Things she knew would help.

The difficult part wasn’t understanding.

It was beginning.

Then she quietly answered her own problem.

“You just start.”

She paused.

“Little by little.”

No one rushed to turn it into a motivational speech.

No one needed to.

By then the conversation had already said everything.

Creative rest, it turned out, isn’t always about stopping.

Sometimes it’s healing.

Sometimes it’s reading.

Sometimes it’s family cricket.

Sometimes it’s homemade chocolates.

Sometimes it’s sitting on a sofa at half past three in the afternoon, noticing that for once the world isn’t asking anything from you.

And perhaps that’s where creativity has been waiting all along—not in another busy hour, but in the quiet space we finally allow ourselves to keep.

source

The Pineapple

Coffee at the Mediterranean, Sleep on Barbed Wire

By Fabrice

Fabrice began with four hours of sleep, one litre of coffee and a clear plan for the day. From there, the conversation travelled through rain, deserts, night watches, long drives, strange beds and the question of whether rest depends more on comfort or curiosity.

This began as a conversation about sleep that restores.

But I am not sure I understand the idea in the normal way.

For me, sleep is not always eight hours in a good bed, followed by a calm morning and a healthy breakfast. Sometimes it is twenty minutes in a car. Sometimes it is five minutes beside a tree. Sometimes it comes after a long drive, a military exercise or a completely unnecessary journey to the Mediterranean for two coffees.

The important thing is simple.

When I can sleep, I sleep.

Then I wake up and continue.

My Head Is Awake in Five Seconds

How do I know when I have slept well?

My body is awake. My head is awake. Within four or five seconds, my brain has already started the programme for the day.

First, coffee. Then work. After that, walking, cutting grass, going to the hills or doing whatever must be done.

I do not need a long discussion with myself in the morning. My brain begins.

The coffee also helps.

I drink a little more than one litre every day. The Mayor and Janita thought this was a lot. For me, it is normal. I drink a large cup when I wake up and another before I begin work. When I come home in hot weather, cold coffee with ice cream is also very good.

This may not be official sleep advice.

But it works for me.

Sleeping on Demand

The Mayor asked me about the difference between sleeping many hours and feeling rested.

This was a difficult question.

What does feeling rested mean?

Maybe it means having energy and motivation. Not only enough energy to survive the day, but enough energy to do things.

For me, sleeping longer does not always help. If I sleep ten or eleven hours, I often wake up tired. The day feels strange and my head is not clear. Five hours can be enough. Sometimes seven or eight is good.

But too much sleep can make me feel like a pirate for the rest of the day.

Not a dangerous pirate.

A tired pirate.

During the last months, I have often gone to bed late and woken very early. One night before our conversation, I slept only four hours. I went to bed after midnight and woke before five.

Then I worked.

France had a public holiday today, but I work in Germany.

Germany was still open.

Sometimes, after several short nights, my body says that it needs more. Then I go to bed at eight or nine and sleep until five the next morning.

Janita gave this a name.

“You sleep on demand.”

I like that idea.

Maybe sleep is not something I collect in the same amount every night. Maybe I take a little today, more tomorrow and a lot when my body asks for it.

This habit comes from the army. There, we learned one simple rule:

When you can sleep, you sleep.

You never know when you will have the next chance.

Five minutes can be useful. Twenty minutes can be enough to continue. You do not wait for perfect conditions because perfect conditions may never arrive.

The Mind Does Not Always Stop

My body can be very tired while my head continues working.

This is a problem.

I make my own stress. I stress myself.

When I go to bed, my mind continues with the information from the day. Good experiences are not a problem, but bad experiences stay longer. I cannot always find the switch.

Sometimes silence helps. Sometimes wind. Rain is very good for sleeping.

Snoring is not.

A tractor at four in the morning is also not ideal.

AC/DC was suggested during the conversation. I like AC/DC, but this does not mean it is always the correct music for sleep.

Coffee by the Sea

Sleep and adventure have always lived close together in my life.

When I was younger, we sometimes left a disco at five in the morning and decided to drive to the Mediterranean. It was more than two hundred kilometres.

When I was younger, we sometimes left a disco at five in the morning and decided to drive to the Mediterranean.

We drove there, drank one or two coffees, looked at the sea, got back into the car and drove home.

Four hundred kilometres for coffee.

Perfectly normal.

At least, it felt normal then.

Was it sensible?

Maybe not.

Was it nice?

Yes.

Janita remembered friends in South Africa who drove six hundred kilometres to the beach, walked beside the sea, ate breakfast and then drove six hundred kilometres home again.

She did not join them because everyone had been drinking and nobody was safe to drive.

This was the correct decision.

Curiosity is good. Adventure is good.

But curiosity must not remove the brain completely.

The Surprise Sleep

I learned this in a more serious way.

Once, after a full day of water sports and military activity, I began a drive of more than one thousand kilometres towards home.

It was late and I was exhausted.

At some point, I fell asleep while driving. My eyes were open, but I was sleeping. The car began moving towards the side of the road, and I woke at the last moment.

I call this a surprise sleep.

It was not funny.

It was dangerous.

The body can decide to sleep even when the person driving has other plans. That moment taught me that sleep is not only comfort.

It is also a limit.

You can ignore the limit for some time.

But the body remembers where it is.

Heat, Mosquitoes and Trust

During military life, I slept in many countries and many conditions.

There was Lebanon, Somalia, the Ivory Coast and French Guiana. There were insects and mosquitoes. Mosquito nets helped.

There was also heat.

In the desert, we began working at five in the morning. By midday, or one o’clock at the latest, the temperature could reach forty or forty-five degrees. After that, normal work was not possible.

But sleep was not always possible either. Sometimes the heat stayed until late at night.

The strange thing is that unfamiliar places did not always make sleep difficult.

We were a group, and the group became like a family. The weather could be difficult. The insects could be difficult. But the people around me were familiar.

That changed everything.

The Mayor asked what made me feel safe enough to close my eyes during military exercises.

My first answer was preparation.

We trained again and again. When there was no mission, we prepared for the next possible situation. Training became routine, and routine created confidence.

But preparation was not the complete answer.

The other answer was trust.

I trusted my team. I trusted my friends.

When one person kept watch, the others could sleep. If the person on watch was reliable, you slept with both eyes closed. If the person was a little bit special, you slept with one eye open.

Some people made one mistake after another. Then we explained the problem.

Sometimes we explained it with diplomacy.

Military diplomacy can be very clear.

But with the right people, trust became strong. We worked together every day. We knew how each person reacted. We knew who could stay calm and who needed help.

It sounds like a cliché, but it was like the musketeers.

One for all and all for one.

Only without the swords.

I preferred my gun.

Between Two and Five

The hardest guard duty was between two and five in the morning.

Before two, the night was still manageable. After five, morning was coming. But between two and five, the body wanted sleep very badly.

When I became a corporal, I sometimes organised the watches. I tried to take the first or last watch myself and avoid giving somebody the hardest time without reason.

When I kept watch, I hoped the others trusted me enough to sleep.

I had trusted them.

Rest was not only something I gave myself.

It was something we gave one another.

One person stayed awake so another could recover.

Then we changed places.

Sleeping Almost Anywhere

In the army, you learn to sleep almost anywhere.

On the ground. Against a tree. Sitting on a chair. Inside a vehicle. In a train, airport, forest or tent.

Even on barbed wire.

Sometimes, during a night march, the first soldier stayed awake and followed the route. The soldiers behind held the backpack of the person in front. Then they could almost sleep while walking.

This worked only if the first soldier remained awake.

If he also slept, the complete group could continue in the wrong direction.

That is one way of finding your bearing.

First, check that the person at the front is conscious.

A car is also not only for driving.

You can listen to AC/DC. You can rest. You can sleep.

I have tested different cars for this purpose. A BMW is better for sleeping than a smaller car because there is more space.

This may be an unusual reason to choose a vehicle, but people buy cars for many reasons.

Some want speed.

Some want technology.

Some want a comfortable place for a twenty-minute sleep after breakfast.

Everyone has priorities.

The Sleeping Bag Knows First

Janita asked what my old military sleeping bag would say if it could speak.

I do not think it would speak.

I think it would only make a face.

Sometimes, in the field, we slept in our battle clothes. We opened the sleeping bag, left our boots outside and put the rest of the body inside.

If there was little water, showers were not always possible.

After some time, a person smells different.

The sleeping bag is the first object to notice.

It knows before everybody else.

This is another kind of trust.

The sleeping bag never tells anyone.

A Man Who Slept in the Ground

I once knew an older man who had served in the Foreign Legion.

For many years, he slept in the forest during summer and winter. He made a hole in the ground, about two metres long and deep enough for his body, then covered it with sheets of metal.

During winter, when the temperature was below zero, he built a fire inside the hole. Before sleeping, he removed the hot charcoal. The earth stayed warm.

Then he climbed inside, covered the space and slept through the cold night.

This was not a hotel.

But it was knowledge.

He understood the ground, the fire, the weather and what his body needed.

Comfort does not always come from buying something.

Sometimes it comes from knowing how to use what is already around you.

When to Continue and When to Stop

At the end, Janita asked what ordinary people could learn about sleep from soldiers.

My answer was simple.

Sleep in every situation.

Sleep wherever you can.

Do not always wait for the perfect bed, the perfect room, the perfect temperature and the perfect silence. There are many different ways to rest.

Then she asked what soldiers could learn from ordinary home life.

That answer was easier.

Wash your sleeping bag.

Take a shower.

Of course, I hope soldiers already know this.

But hope is not always enough.

The conversation began with sleep that restores. I am still not sure restoration always means waking slowly, drinking water and beginning the day in silence.

For me, sleep has often been connected to movement, work, journeys, heat, coffee, forests, trust and curiosity.

The next thing was always waiting.

Perhaps that is why I learned to sleep whenever I could.

Adventure gives us stories. Curiosity gives us direction. Sleep gives us enough strength to continue.

The difficult part is knowing when to continue—and when the body is telling us to stop.

Sometimes we find our bearing by moving towards the next place.

Sometimes we find it by closing our eyes.

source

The Pineapple

The Best Lasagne Is Tomorrow

By Babette

Sometimes a conversation about cooking quietly becomes a conversation about rest, family, and the comfort of knowing exactly how you like things.

Some conversations never stay on the topic where they begin.

This one started with the summer heat. Babette was tired, the weather was heavy, and everyone was hoping a storm would finally cool things down. But, as often happens around a Brida table, the conversation slowly wandered into the kitchen.

And somewhere between lasagne, potato salad, and family recipes, another kind of rest appeared: the kind that lives in familiar meals, shared work, and recipes that have become part of family life.

A hot day and a simple meal

When the weather is hot, nobody really wants to spend hours in the kitchen. Even talking about cooking feels warmer.

Babette laughed when lasagne came up. Some people think it is a lot of work.

She doesn’t.

For her, it is simply a process.

First comes the meat sauce.

Then the béchamel sauce, which she happily makes in her Monsieur Cuisine machine.

Then comes the layering. White sauce. Meat sauce. Cheese. Pasta sheets. And then everything begins again.

There is no hurry.

Just another layer.

And another.

When the dish is finally ready, it goes into the oven for about forty minutes.

But Babette smiled when she shared what she believes is the real secret.

“The best time to eat it is the next day.”

Like many good things, lasagne seems to improve when it has been left alone for a while.

Perhaps people do too.

The recipes that belong to a family

Food has a funny way of carrying family history.

Everyone has a recipe that feels normal at home but surprises someone else.

For Babette, that recipe is potato salad.

Her version is made with mayonnaise, apple, onions, gherkins and a special sausage. That is the potato salad she knows and enjoys.

Her husband also makes potato salad.

She laughed immediately.

“I don’t eat it.”

His version uses broth and oil and is served slightly warm.

“It isn’t my favourite,” she admitted with a grin.

There was no argument about which recipe was correct.

Just two people who have different ideas about the same dish.

Sometimes the best recipe is simply the one that reminds you of home.

Teamwork in the kitchen

One of the nicest moments in the conversation came almost by accident.

Babette mentioned that her husband is actually the better cook.

He makes the Sunday roast.

She makes the salad.

“It’s teamwork,” Fruitloop replied.

That simple sentence captured something much bigger than cooking.

Rest is not always about doing less.

Sometimes it comes from not having to do everything alone.

A family meal can be built from many small jobs shared between people who know each other’s strengths.

One person prepares the roast.

Another prepares the salad.

Everyone eats together.

That is its own kind of rest.

Ordinary things that matter

There was nothing dramatic about this conversation.

No life-changing discoveries.

No complicated advice.

Just two people talking about food, favourite recipes, the weather, and the small habits that quietly shape everyday life.

Those ordinary conversations often remind us that rest is not always found on holiday or in a quiet room.

Sometimes it is waiting inside a familiar recipe.

Sometimes it is hidden in leftovers that taste even better tomorrow.

And sometimes it is simply knowing someone else is making the roast while you prepare the salad.

Those moments rarely look important.

But together, they become the rhythm of home.

From Babette’s Kitchen

Babette’s Lasagne

Ingredients

Meat sauce (Bolognese)
Béchamel (white) sauce
Lasagne sheets
About 300 g grated cheese (Babette often uses two smaller bags)

Method

Prepare the meat sauce.
Make the béchamel sauce (Babette uses her Monsieur Cuisine).
In an oven dish, layer:
- White sauce
- Meat sauce
- Cheese
- Lasagne sheets
Repeat the layers until the dish is full.
Finish with lasagne sheets, white sauce and plenty of cheese on top.
Bake for about 40 minutes.
Babette’s tip: It tastes even better the next day.

Babette’s Potato Salad

Ingredients

Cooked potatoes
Mayonnaise
Apple
Onion
Gherkins (pickles)
A special sausage, cut into pieces

Method

Cut the potatoes into bite-sized pieces.
Add the apple, onion, gherkins and sausage.
Mix everything together with mayonnaise.
Chill before serving.

Babette laughed that her husband makes a completely different potato salad with broth and oil, served warm—but she’ll happily stick with her own version.

source

The Pineapple

She Did the Triathlon. I Found the Sardines.

By Ralf the Grillmeister

Ralf’s active-rest weekend included running shoes, a carbon bicycle called Forrest, Spanish food, an impossible hotel room, and two people who enjoy life in completely different ways.

This began as a conversation about active rest.

But it became a conversation about marriage—about how two people can be very different, give each other space and still travel through life together.

My wife rests by swimming, cycling and running.

I rest with food, driving, interesting machines and perhaps a good barbecue video on YouTube.

Some people ask how we can live together.

For me, the answer is simple: very well.

A Small Holiday in Hamburg

We drove around 180 kilometres to Ratekau because my wife was taking part in a triathlon on Sunday.

But first, we went to Hamburg.

Every six months, my wife needs new running shoes. She used to buy them on the internet, but sometimes she had problems with them. Since 2022, we have gone to a special running shop where the people give very good advice.

This is not a normal shoe-shopping experience.

It is a technical operation.

My wife puts on the shoes and runs on a treadmill. They make a video. They look at how her feet move, how her legs move and what happens to her body when she runs. Then she tries another pair. And another pair.

We plan one hour for this.

For my wife, it is interesting.

For me, it is one hour of boredom.

There is nothing in the shop for me. No barbecue. No old cars. Not even a small chair with a sausage.

I think shops must improve this concept. Beside every serious shoe department, there should be a small grill station for the husbands. Then everybody can have active rest.

Fortunately, the Spanish supermarket is nearby.

This is my part of the holiday.

Revenge in the Spanish Supermarket

My wife can spend one hour trying running shoes.

I can spend one and a half hours in a Spanish supermarket.

Then she is bored.

This is balance.

I can look at special fish, frozen fish, calamari and octopus. They have the correct rice for paella. They have large paella pans, beautiful red cooking dishes and many things that you do not find in a normal supermarket.

I love it.

Into our basket went three boxes of olives with garlic, tuna, anchovies and sardines. They had sardines with lemon and sardines with chilli. For me, this is very, very good.

I am already thinking about a sardine salad with white beans and a vinaigrette made with mayonnaise, red pepper, salt, garlic and pepper. It has a lot of protein, which is good for my wife, and sardines are good for the heart.

I am already thinking about a sardine salad with white beans and a vinaigrette made with mayonnaise, red pepper, salt, garlic and pepper.

You see, even when I am shopping for myself, I am thinking technically.

And perhaps also a little romantically.

I also found a very good rosé wine.

After shopping, we went to Bei Javi, the Spanish restaurant inside the supermarket. Javi is a special man. He walks through the restaurant like a proud cockerel.

You ask, “Can we sit here?”

He says, “No, no, no. You cannot sit here.”

Then his wife or his daughter says, “Of course. Sit here.”

Javi may believe he is the boss, but his wife runs the show. This is probably normal in many marriages.

The food is fantastic. I had fried calamari and small calamari cooked on the hot plate with olive oil, parsley and garlic.

At this moment, it felt like a holiday. Not only one weekend—more like we had been away for one week.

The Bicycle Called Forrest

Before the journey, my wife prepared herself for the triathlon.

I prepared everything else.

I emptied my work things from the car. I planned the route, booked the hotel and booked the restaurant.

Then there was the bicycle.

My wife’s carbon bicycle has a name: Forrest.

It is named after Forrest Gump: run, run, run.

Forrest does not travel on the bicycle rack. Forrest travels inside the car. At the hotel, Forrest comes into the room with us. At the event, I carry Forrest to the changing zone because my wife does not want the tyres touching the road unnecessarily.

The bicycle is very light.

You can carry it like a bag.

Forrest has a special place in my wife’s heart. I understand this. Her heart is large enough for the bicycle and for me.

The Upgrade Under the Roof

At the hotel, we discovered a problem.

The shutter in our room was broken, so we could not enter immediately. The receptionist invited us to wait in the restaurant with coffee and cake.

For me, the coffee and cake became an Erdinger Dunkel.

We waited and watched people playing golf.

Then the technician arrived and said the shutter could not be repaired. Suddenly, another room was available. Thirty minutes earlier, the hotel had been completely full. Now we received an upgrade.

Very good, I thought.

The upgraded room was directly under the roof.

It was unbelievably hot.

We opened the windows. We opened everything. We even left the bathroom light on so the ventilation would continue working.

I slept very, very badly.

My wife also slept badly, which is not ideal before a triathlon.

But on Sunday, she finished sixth out of 53 women and second in her age group.

I am so proud of what she does.

Different Ways to Rest

My wife is small, sporty and disciplined.

I am bigger, and I am not a sports man.

After completing a triathlon, she can come home, switch on the television and watch another triathlon.

At this point, I go to the bedroom and find a film.

This is not a problem.

Because we are different, we each have space.

When we are together twenty-four hours a day, we are not sitting beside each other for twenty-four hours. She goes running or swimming. I look for a new grill, a machine or an interesting barbecue event.

Then we come together again.

We both enjoy restaurants, holidays, travelling and visiting places like Crete or Gran Canaria. She likes sitting beside me when I drive. She trusts my driving so much that she can fall asleep.

That is also love.

It does not always need to be a big speech. Sometimes love is trusting somebody enough to sleep while they drive. Sometimes it is carrying a carbon bicycle called Forrest through a hotel. Sometimes it is waiting one hour in a running-shoe shop without escaping.

My wife gives me space for my interests too.

When I say, “There is a new barbecue. I need it,” she says, “Okay, buy it.”

When she needs expensive running shoes, I do not say no.

We both work hard for our money. We do not want to become the richest people in the cemetery.

We want to enjoy our life now.

Proud Beside the Course

I do not lose patience at the triathlon.

It is interesting for me.

I watch my wife and feel proud. I also talk with the people around me. Another man may be waiting for his wife with a small dog, and we begin a conversation. At these events, you can speak with everybody.

It becomes a small community.

Of course, the event could still be improved.

There were no vintage cars. There were no proper snack huts. At other sporting events, I have found camping vehicles, bicycle-repair stations, new grills and technical equipment to examine.

That gives me something to do while my wife is swimming, cycling and running.

But I also watch her.

In three weeks, she will complete half an Ironman near Flensburg. She has been training for it since February. Her discipline is incredible. When the training plan says two hours of running and three hours of cycling, then that is what she does.

No if. No but.

I can learn this discipline from her.

Perhaps she can learn from me that after the discipline, there should also be good food.

The Golf Clubs Are Complaining

While we waited at the hotel, we watched the golfers.

Their equipment was fantastic. Some had electric golf trolleys controlled by small transmitters. The trolley followed them across the course carrying everything.

I love machines like this.

But watching the golfers also reminded us of our own clubs, sitting in the attic at home.

We have not played for about one year.

I think the clubs are complaining.

After my wife completes the half Ironman, we want to visit a nine-hole golf course near Bremerhaven and play a round together.

This is perhaps our next form of active rest.

Not her sport.

Not my barbecue.

Something we can do together.

That evening, after we drove home tired, my wife said she needed a good meal. I took Chuck Eye steaks and lobster tails from the freezer, made a sauce with olive oil, garlic and salt, and put everything on the grill.

It was very, very fantastic.

She had completed her triathlon.

I had carried Forrest, survived the shoe shop, found the sardines and cooked the dinner.

Different activities.

The same weekend.

The same marriage.

And for us, this is rest.

source

The Pineapple

My Chuck Eye Surf & Turf

By Ralf the Grillmeister

Serves 2

My Surf & Turf began with an email from my specialist meat supplier. They had lobster tails at a very good price, so naturally I looked at the website.

While I was looking, I discovered a cut of meat I did not know before: Chuck Eye Steak.

Chuck eye comes from the neck and shoulder area of the cow. Normally, I know meat from this area for soup or slow cooking. But when it is cut correctly and aged well, you can also use it as a steak.

I was curious because chuck eye has a stronger and more intense beef flavour than fillet.

So I bought the steaks.

When I prepared the lobster tails, I mixed garlic, olive oil and Himalayan salt. Then I had another thought:

Why should this combination belong only to the lobster?

I also put the garlic mixture on the chuck eye steak.

The result was very, very fantastic.

Ingredients

For the steak and lobster

2 chuck eye steaks, approximately 200–250 g each
2 lobster tails
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper, optional
A little oil for the grill

For my garlic butter

75 g softened butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
3 garlic cloves, peeled
A small pinch of Himalayan salt flakes
A little black pepper, optional

Optional fresh side salad

2 tomatoes, chopped
½ cucumber, chopped
1 small onion, finely sliced
A handful of mixed salad leaves
A little olive oil
Salt and pepper

Method

1. I defrost the meat and lobster

If my steaks and lobster tails are frozen, I leave them overnight in the refrigerator.

When I need to defrost them more quickly, I put them into separate sealed bags and place the bags in cold water. I change the water every 30 minutes until everything is fully thawed.

Before grilling, I dry the meat and lobster with kitchen paper.

2. I prepare the chuck eye

I look carefully at the steak before cooking it.

Chuck eye is not as lean or delicate as a fillet. It has more visible fat and connective tissue, but this gives it a deeper beef flavour.

I season the steaks lightly with salt. I do not add too many other seasonings because I still want to taste the meat.

3. I prepare the lobster tails

I use kitchen scissors to cut lengthways through the upper shell of each lobster tail.

I carefully open the shell and expose the meat, but I leave it attached at the base.

If I see a dark intestinal vein, I remove it.

4. I make the garlic butter

I put the softened butter, olive oil, garlic and Himalayan salt into a small blender.

I blend everything until it is smooth and soft enough to spread with a food brush.

I keep a little garlic butter separate for serving. This portion must not touch the raw lobster.

5. I heat the grill

I preheat the grill for direct, high heat.

Then I clean the grill grate and add a little oil.

6. I grill the chuck eye steaks

I place the steaks over direct heat.

I grill them for approximately 3–4 minutes on the first side, depending on their thickness. Then I turn them and grill the second side.

During the final few minutes, I brush a light layer of garlic butter over the cooked side of each steak.

Then I turn the steaks briefly, brush the other side and allow the butter to melt into the meat.

I watch carefully because fresh garlic can burn.

When the steaks are cooked as I like them, I place them on a warm plate and leave them to rest for 5–10 minutes.

7. I grill the lobster tails

I place the lobster tails on the grill with the cut flesh facing down.

I grill them for approximately 2–3 minutes until they have a little colour.

Then I turn them so the shells are underneath. I brush the exposed lobster meat generously with my garlic butter.

I close the grill lid and cook them for another 4–6 minutes, depending on their size.

The lobster is ready when the meat is firm, opaque and no longer transparent.

8. I make the salad

I combine the tomatoes, cucumber, onion and salad leaves.

Then I add a little olive oil, salt and pepper.

9. I serve everything

I put one chuck eye steak and one lobster tail on each plate.

I add the fresh salad and serve everything with the clean garlic butter I kept separate earlier.

The lobster started the idea, but my real discovery was what happened when the same garlic butter met the chuck eye steak.

That is my Surf & Turf: curiosity, good beef and one garlic butter that refused to stay on only one side of the plate.

My Sardine and White Bean Salad

Serves 2 as a main meal or 4 as a starter

I discovered this idea after visiting the Spanish supermarket.

I can happily spend one and a half hours there looking at fish, paella rice, pans, olives and tins of sardines.

For this salad, I use two differently flavoured tins of sardines. My favourite combination is one tin with lemon and basil and another with chilli.

The different marinades mix with the white beans and my creamy red-pepper dressing.

It is simple, filling and very, very good.

Ingredients

For the salad

1 tin sardines with lemon and basil
1 tin sardines with chilli
1 tin white beans, approximately 400 g
½ small red onion, finely sliced, optional
Fresh baguette, to serve

For my creamy red-pepper dressing

½ red bell pepper, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons mayonnaise
1 small garlic clove
1–2 tablespoons oil or marinade from the sardine tins
Salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Method

1. I prepare the beans

I drain and rinse the white beans.

Then I leave them to drain properly because I do not want the salad to become watery.

I put the beans into a serving bowl.

2. I make the dressing

I put the red pepper, mayonnaise, garlic and one tablespoon of sardine marinade into a small blender.

I blend everything until it becomes creamy.

If the dressing is too thick, I add a little more marinade.

Then I taste it and season carefully with salt and pepper. The sardines already contain salt, so I do not add too much before tasting.

3. I prepare the sardines

I open both tins of sardines.

I place the sardines in a separate bowl and include a little of their flavoured oil or marinade.

Then I use a fork to break the sardines into large pieces.

I do not mash them completely because I still want to see and taste pieces of sardine in the salad.

4. I combine the salad

I add the sardines to the white beans.

If I am using red onion, I add it now.

Then I pour over the creamy red-pepper dressing and mix everything together gently.

I try not to crush all the beans.

5. I let the flavours come together

I leave the salad for approximately 10–15 minutes before serving it.

This gives the lemon, basil, chilli, garlic and sardine flavours time to move through the beans.

6. I serve the salad

I serve the salad at room temperature with slices of very fresh baguette.

When I want a stronger flavour, I add a little more chilli marinade.

When I want it milder, I use more of the lemon-and-basil sardine oil.

Two tins of sardines, two different marinades, white beans and one fork.

Very simple.

Very good.

And very, very fantastic.

source

The Pineapple

A Sense of Direction

By Mayor

I am writing this on Wednesday evening.

Almost twenty-four hours ago, Fruitloop, Fabrice and I were sitting around a Brida table talking about sleep.

Fabrice explained how, during his military years, he learned to sleep almost anywhere: on the ground, beside a tree, inside a vehicle, sometimes for only five or twenty minutes. The important thing was not comfort. It was recognising the opportunity.

When you can sleep, you sleep. You never know when the next chance will come.

He also spoke about trust. When somebody reliable was keeping watch, he could close both eyes. When the person was, as Fabrice put it, “a little bit special,” one eye remained open.

Rest was not something he created alone. It depended on the people around him.

The meeting finished.

Except it did not.

Just after six o’clock on Tuesday evening, Fabrice and I set off for a walk above Cleebourg.

Actually, that is not completely true.

Fabrice went for another walk.

I tried to keep up.

The Highest Point

The plan sounded reasonable enough. We would climb to the highest point in the area, enjoy the view and then visit some old Second World War defences hidden nearby.

Three hours later, shortly after nine o’clock, we returned.

Today, my legs still remember every hill. I am not fit. Fabrice appears to regard steep ground as a normal part of conversation.

Fortunately, he is patient.

The view from the top was glorious. Below us were Cleebourg, the vineyards, the villages and the forests. Roads that had seemed separate from the ground now belonged to one landscape.

The view from the top was glorious. Below us were Cleebourg, the vineyards, the villages and the forests. Roads that had seemed separate from the ground now belonged to one landscape.

From above, the area made more sense.

I could see where things were and how they connected.

Sometimes we need to change our position before we can understand the place where we already stand.

History Beneath Our Feet

We continued towards an old anti-tank ditch from the Second World War. Nearby were bunkers inside former military terrain, and we went closer to look.

Standing beside them, it was impossible not to imagine the people who had once been there.

What did they see?

What did they hear?

What did they fear?

What was it like to wait inside those concrete spaces, knowing that somebody might soon be coming from the other direction?

Fabrice is French. I am German. I live in France. He works in Germany.

Eighty years ago, those identities could have placed us on opposite sides of the same ground.

On Tuesday evening, we walked through it together. We looked, asked questions and tried to imagine the people rather than only the uniforms.

Whichever side they were on, they were still human beings inside bunkers, surrounded by uncertainty.

History feels different when you are standing inside it.

Tired Body, Clearer Head

When I arrived home, I was a wreck.

My legs were tired. My body had formed a clear opinion about hills.

But my head felt different.

It was clearer. I felt more motivated. Almost twenty-four hours later, that feeling has not disappeared.

I am already wondering where we should walk next. I want to understand this area better, hear its stories and discover what lies behind the next hill, inside the next forest or beside the next village road.

That surprised me.

The walk used energy, but it also gave something back.

What Rest Returns

The theme of this Pineapple is Rest.

When we began, I assumed we would talk mostly about sleep, holidays and doing less. Instead, the conversations kept moving in another direction.

Martin explained that a concert begins before the first song. There is preparation, travel, anticipation and the people he meets along the way. The experience continues long after the music stops.

Manfred said his caravan holiday begins when he enters the car, not when he reaches the Netherlands. The road is already part of it.

Ralf’s wife rests through swimming, cycling and running. Ralf rests through driving, food, machines and finding sardines in a Spanish supermarket.

They spend the same weekend in completely different ways, yet both return with something.

These are not stories about escaping life.

They are stories about entering it more fully.

Living or Consuming?

Martin and Manfred arrived at a question which has stayed with me.

Are we living life, or consuming it?

The difference is not always obvious.

We can visit a place without really entering it. We can attend an event while already thinking about the next one. We can photograph a view before we have properly looked at it. We can complete a holiday as if it were another task.

Done.

Next.

Modern life makes this easy. There is always another message, another programme, another destination and another thing waiting to be consumed.

The experience can finish before it has had time to reach us.

But some experiences stay.

A concert returns two years later. A caravan journey becomes part of the holiday. A triathlon weekend becomes a story about marriage. A Brida meeting about sleep continues into a three-hour walk through vineyards, forests and military history.

Perhaps that is the difference.

We do not only pass through the experience.

The experience passes through us.

Finding Direction

This issue is called A Sense of Direction.

I do not think direction means having a perfect plan. It may simply mean being present enough to notice where we are.

On Tuesday evening, we climbed high enough to see how the roads, villages and forests fitted together. The view did not tell me what to do with the rest of my life.

It did something smaller.

It made me curious about the place where I already live. It made me want to move through it more carefully. It made me want to return.

Perhaps rest works in a similar way.

It does not always remove us from life. Sometimes it returns us to life with clearer eyes.

I am writing this almost twenty-four hours later.

My legs are still tired.

But I already want to go again.

Perhaps that tells me everything I need to know about the difference between escaping life and returning to it.

source

Should We Give It a Rest?

Probably not.

We have spent several weeks talking about rest, and the main thing we have learned is that nobody agrees what it is.

Some people want eight hours of sleep and a quiet room.

Some want to walk up a hill, swim several kilometres or reorganise the garden shed.

Some need to switch off their phone.

Others switch it off, become nervous after four minutes and switch it back on again—just to make sure nobody has needed them.

Very restful.

From 20 to 26 July, the Brida Tables will continue exploring what rest looks like when it enters ordinary life.

There will be sleep, screens, rituals, busy lives and at least one attempt to prove that using energy can somehow give energy back.

Monday: Sleep, Work and the Problem of Waking Up

Monday begins gently.

Or at least, that is the theory.

Ralf and the Atlantic Corridor will both explore Sleep That Restores.

Not simply how many hours we spend in bed, but what makes us wake up feeling ready for life. Can five good hours restore us more than ten restless ones? Does the mind wake up at the same time as the body? And how much coffee is required before the answer becomes unreliable?

Alex will take on Rest in a Busy Life.

This is the difficult version of rest—the kind that must exist somewhere between work, family, responsibilities and the small mountain between the bed and the morning.

Tuesday: Please Put the Phone Down

On Tuesday, Fabrice will explore Digital Rest.

What happens when the screen goes quiet?

Do we feel peaceful?

Relieved?

Free?

Or do we immediately begin wondering whether somebody has sent us something important during the last thirty-seven seconds?

Digital rest sounds easy until the phone is actually placed out of reach.

Wednesday: Rituals, Swimming and Why Rest Matters

The Swimming Club will look at Rest Rituals.

These are the small repeated actions that tell the body and mind that something has changed.

A walk.

A swim.

A cup of coffee.

A particular chair.

Five quiet minutes before the rest of the house wakes up.

Perhaps even doing absolutely nothing, although this remains an advanced skill.

Later, Sylvie will ask Why Rest Matters.

Do we rest only after becoming tired?

Or can we notice the signs earlier—before the body, mind and patience begin sending increasingly impolite reminders?

Thursday: Active Rest and Busy Lives

On Thursday, Babette will explore Active Rest.

This is still the suspicious one.

Can walking, gardening, cooking, cycling or another physical activity genuinely count as rest?

Apparently, yes.

Even mowing the lawn may qualify, provided you do not attempt it backwards.

At Lunch, the conversation returns to Rest in a Busy Life.

Where does rest fit when the day already feels full?

Does it need its own protected hour?

Or can it appear inside ordinary moments: eating slowly, leaving the desk, talking to somebody or walking around the block before answering one more message?

Friday: Peeling Potatoes Without Notifications

The week closes with Peeling Potatoes and another conversation about Digital Rest.

This feels appropriate.

There is something hopeful about ending the week with potatoes, human conversation and the possibility that the phone does not need to be involved in every part of life.

We are not promising complete digital freedom.

We are starting with ten minutes.

Perhaps fifteen if nobody panics.

There Is No Correct Way to Rest

No official Brida method will be announced.

No special socks will be required.

There will be no candle subscription, recovery score or downloadable chart showing whether you relaxed efficiently enough.

Just people comparing real experiences and discovering that somebody else’s strange way of resting may make surprising sense.

A table is forming.

There is always a chair for you.

Contact Frank and Janita for information about joining a Brida Table.

Contents

In This Issue

A Sense of Direction

Living Life or Consuming It?

A conversation about concerts, caravans, mowing the lawn and why active rest may have less to do with stopping than with fully entering the experience.

A contradiction that makes sense

The lawn that cleared the mind

The empty day

When does the holiday begin?

Experiences that stay

Living or consuming?

The journey matters

Becoming good at rest

The Ministry of Rest

Finding our bearings

Twenty-Four Steps to the University of Rest

At the Atlantic Corridor, a conversation about active rest became a conversation about hammocks, walking, learning after school, family pressure, sleep, and the strange modern habit of measuring peace.

The Question Was Already Suspicious

A Hammock, a Diary, and a Professional Student

Ritesh and the Problem with the Word Rest

Walking with a Wife, Cooking in Fifteen Minutes

After School, Who Still Learns?

When Rest Becomes Another Job

The University of Rest

What We Took With Us

The Safe State

A conversation about railway technology became a conversation about judgement, shared knowledge and the courage to prepare for reality.

Preparing for Reality

A Railway System Inside a Fingernail

When the Work Outgrows One Person

Possible Is Not the Same as Ready

What Is Our Safe State?

What Are We Afraid Of?

A conversation about artificial intelligence, curiosity and whether education should fill people with answers—or teach them how to keep asking questions.

Two Ways of Learning

Ten Teachers and One Question

What Is Education For?

The Danger Is Real

A Different Kind of Classroom

Why Are We Resisting?

What Humans Are Blocking

From Fuss to Fear

Peeling Potatoes 55: Pineapple Beach

I closed my eyes for a conversation about rest and found a private beach where time does not exist, potatoes whisper, and nobody asks what we are having for dinner.

The Beach Behind the Door

My Pineapple Throne

Nothing Needs Me Here

The Train Wreck at the Gate

Where Time Does Not Exist

Leaving the Mountain Behind

A Unicorn Carrying Snacks

Bringing the Magic Home

I Am Not a Morning Person

A Little Bit Tired

The Couch Is Not a Bed

I Hate Mornings

When Sleep Becomes Important

My Head Is Always Working

Open Work Makes Me Nervous

A Good Day Starts Later

Weekday, Weekend, Son

Tired, But Still Correct

If My Body Was a Customer

The Theory Is Easy. The Practice Is Something Else.

What began as a conversation about emotional rest slowly became a conversation about responsibility, family, quiet worries, and the surprisingly ordinary ways we stop ourselves from truly resting.

Work Doesn’t Always Stay at Work

The Weight That Doesn’t Show

Two Daughters, Two Different Worlds

The People Who Can Carry Your Thoughts

Quiet Roads Make Quiet Minds

Maybe Rest Is Smaller Than We Think

The Sofa, the Chocolate, and the Permission to Pause

This week’s Lunch conversation was supposed to be about creative rest. Instead, it became a collection of ordinary moments that quietly explained why we all need one.

Coffee at the Mediterranean, Sleep on Barbed Wire

Fabrice began with four hours of sleep, one litre of coffee and a clear plan for the day. From there, the conversation travelled through rain, deserts, night watches, long drives, strange beds and the question of whether rest depends more on comfort or curiosity.

My Head Is Awake in Five Seconds

Sleeping on Demand

The Mind Does Not Always Stop

Coffee by the Sea

The Surprise Sleep