The Norwegian author Kathrine Aspaas smiles at everyone she meets — even in traffic — and sometimes pays for the next person’s coffee at the café. She has written a bestseller about generosity and believes we are entering a kinder age. Once she herself was a critical and judgmental financial journalist — but then she met the puppy Sari.

By Sannie Terese Burén , featured in Magasinet Psykologi 2/2014
Photos Sif Meincke

My first encounter with the Norwegian bestselling author Kathrine Aspaas is a YouTube clip in which she talks about the connection between vulnerability and generosity while playing J. S. Bach on the grand piano. And I am already won over.

Because Kathrine Aspaas — who may well be playing Bach, though not entirely without mistakes — dares to show the world her own vulnerability. And in doing so, her message becomes both genuine and compelling.

In Norway her book Raushetens tid (The Age of Generosity) sold seven print runs in its first year, and Kathrine spent most of that year touring the country giving talks to business leaders, economists, nurses — and people from all walks of life.

When she comes to Denmark to give her first talk, I hurry to buy a ticket. The day after the talk we meet for a conversation about her life, the personal journey she has been on during the past seven years, and about the generous age she believes we are moving towards.

She grew up in a small town by the fjord, about an hour and a half south of Oslo, Kathrine Aspaas tells me as we settle into soft sofas in the lobby of Hotel Kong Arthur in Copenhagen.

“There was me, my mother and my father, my older sister — and a dog. We had a good life. I had a very loving childhood and I still have a close relationship with my family.”

As a child, Kathrine Aspaas dreamed of becoming a musician. But her father, who is both an economist and a jazz musician, advised her to make a living from something else and keep music as a passion, because life as a musician can be very uncertain.

“So I became an economist. Like my father. I have always looked up to him.”

After studying at the Norwegian School of Economics in Bergen, Kathrine Aspaas became an economic journalist.

“It was a very tough environment to enter. I was not allowed to be naïve. I had to be hard-hitting and tough, and I tried to fit in. I became ironic, sarcastic — and very, very lonely inside my own ‘perfect’ bubble.”

For many years Kathrine worked at Aftenposten — Norway’s largest newspaper — and in time she became a respected editorial writer. Every day she went to work looking for people who had done something foolish, or preferably something illegal, to write about.

“People were seen almost as criminals and had to prove that they were not. And constantly criticising people inevitably affects your mood. In the end I was in a terrible mood!

“Little by little I moved further away from the girl I once was. The little girl who loved music and felt enthusiastic about life. Eventually I realised that it could not continue. Being a commentator was no longer my dream job — even though others would give an arm and a leg for it.”

Kathrine also felt an increasing sadness about not having a family life.

“I felt like a failure as a human being because I did not have the things I was supposed to have — a husband and children.”

And then Kathrine met the puppy Sari.

“It was a major turning point. Or perhaps a small, sweet, furry turning point,” she says with a smile. “Getting a puppy completely changed my life. Chemically, as I later learned. Because spending time with a puppy releases the hormone oxytocin in the brain — the same hormone that is released, for example, when a mother breastfeeds.”

Kathrine even took what she calls puppy leave: three weeks of holiday followed by three weeks of unpaid leave.

“I experienced an enormous contrast between my normal tough, lonely, hard-hitting life and those six weeks with that tiny, adorable puppy — discovering the world together with her. We went on little adventures together, and I felt so happy. I remember thinking: This is how I want to live! Then it does not matter how I earn my money. I have to live like that little puppy — go out, sniff around and be happy.”

When Kathrine returned to work, she was told that the newspaper would be reducing its number of journalists, and that those who volunteered to leave would receive a severance package equal to eighteen months of full salary.

“So, I thought: Hallelujah! This must be meant to be!” Kathrine says with a big laugh.

Kathrine began a new life as a freelance journalist. But she was soon confronted with her own vanity.

“I had imagined that people would come knocking, inviting me to exciting jobs and projects. But they didn’t. Everything went quiet.

“So, who was I without Aftenposten behind me? The sense of importance that comes with having a byline with your photo is very addictive.”

It sent her on what she describes as a journey of identity.

“I had to find out who I was without those things. It was a powerful encounter with myself and my inner demons, and it was not easy to go through. In fact, I call it my detox..

“First, I had to face my vanity. And then my envy.”

Kathrine, who had begun reading quite a lot about brain research, also realised that she was full of the stress hormone cortisol. She consciously began working to increase the amount of oxytocin in her system.

“You can do that in many ways — by taking a shower, giving someone a hug, smiling, helping others. And of course, I still had my dog.

“I also began practising while driving. Before, I drove like a maniac. I saw the other drivers as idiots just waiting to do something stupid.

“Now I have made it a habit to smile and wave at people in traffic. And sometimes I even give someone else my parking space. Then I feel wonderfully generous and it makes me feel great!”

In the autumn of 2009 Kathrine Aspaas was invited to moderate a major literary event at the Oslo Opera House, where three writers on stage were to talk about vulnerability from very different perspectives. Kathrine’s task was simply to guide the conversation.

“One of them had written about Francis of Assisi and his words that ‘a rich life is to live in vulnerability without falling into the role of a victim.’ That line struck me very strongly that day,” Kathrine says.

As the conversation continued, she felt a deep inner pain rising.

“In the end I realised that I could no longer relate to vulnerability as an intellectual concept. I had to show it. Right there and then. So, I turned to the audience and said: ‘Do you know what vulnerability looks like? It looks like this!’”

Then she told them how envious she was of her sister.

“She has everything — a wonderful husband, a house and garden, children, a beautiful bathroom… And here I am, single, childless, without a steady job.”

When Kathrine finished speaking, there was a moment of complete silence in the hall.

Then people stood up and began to applaud. And shout bravo.

“It was overwhelming. Afterwards the atmosphere in the hall changed completely. The dialogue moved in new directions and the distance between the audience and the stage disappeared.

“We met each other at eye level — and that has become very important to me since then. We are all just human beings. Whatever kind of journey or story we have, we share a deep longing for love and connection.”

After the experience at the Opera, Kathrine realised the importance of daring to show her own vulnerability — and of “keeping your own pigpen reasonably tidy,” an expression she borrowed from her brother-in-law.

“I think it’s such a wonderful expression,” she says, “because it reminds us that we all have a pigpen inside us — and that we must take responsibility for it. But also, that we only need to keep it fairly clean. No one is perfect. Or perhaps we are perfect precisely in our own imperfection. Everyone knows envy, vanity, greed, fear… To admit it to ourselves and to others is to take responsibility.”

Envy is admiration that has lost its way, vanity is pride that has lost its way, and greed is joy for life that has lost its way, Kathrine believes. In this way the “forbidden” feelings can become signposts.

“That actually makes it quite easy to work on yourself. And even fun. Of course, it can hurt when you meet yourself like that. Because then you see the vanity, the envy and whatever else may be hiding in there. But it is still a good encounter, because it brings you closer to both yourself and others.”

Today Kathrine firmly believes that we are moving towards a new era marked by generosity and vulnerability — where individuals, organisations and companies must dare to show who they really are.

She believes this shift can be seen in technology, neuroscience, psychology and new economic thinking.

“Many economists become a little pale when they hear me talk about generosity, because they think it means they will have to give something away. But most of them relax when I assure them that generosity is actually very profitable.”

Because generosity and kindness are also about economics.

“We need to make our companies places where we can learn from each other and help each other grow. That is where the good ideas will come from — the ideas we will live from in the future.

“And when we are generous, we automatically become more attractive, both to ourselves and to others. That is why care is the new efficiency.”

“Working hard still brings prestige. But it is no longer effective — because it makes us ill. Instead, we can work intelligently. And generously. That is what I believe the future will look like.”

The greatest change in Kathrine’s own life, she says, can be felt in her relationships with other people.

“There is so much more love in my relationships today, and that love continues to expand. Before, I believed it worked the other way around — that something good happened, and then I felt gratitude. But now I have discovered that it is the opposite.

“So my morning ritual now is to take my dog for a walk and remind myself of everything I am grateful for. It’s such a lovely way to move through the world. At least for me.”

Kathrine Aspaas, born 1967, lives in Oslo with her dog Sari. She holds a degree in economics and a master’s degree in international economics from New York. For many years she worked as a financial journalist and was a commentator for the Norwegian newspaper Aftenposten.