Soren Kierkegaard

time, I summon up all the most blessedly wonderful thoughts I can muster
about what a loving person is—and I say to myself, This is how God is at
every moment.”
The very next day the desire to travel awoke anew, now with the some-
what more modest destination of Stettin, but once again he succeeded in
subjugating the impulse .Kierkegaard told himself with a shudder that, of
course, “the whole of my constitution, all the habits of my physical life, are
diametrically opposed to the madness of traveling during the dog days, when
the temperature is 84°(F.), when I hardly even dare to take a carriage ride
at noon .Rather, I feel much, much better when I refrain from moving at
all .What is the sense of traveling at this time of year to a sandy desert where
the heat of the sun is intolerable? What is the sense of trifling with one’s
sleep, for I never sleep while on board and am therefore very exhausted the
next day? And in foreign surroundings, which always make the temperature
20 °hotter?”
Kierkegaard was a true master of the art ofnotpacking any suitcase at all.
He conscientiously listed his flimsy and transparent excuses in his journal.
First of all, it was less than a week from today to August 9, the anniversary
of his father’s death, and he couldn’t possibly be sitting all the way down
in Stettin on that day .Furthermore, he was involved in negotiations with
the book dealer Reitzel, who wanted to purchase the remaining copies of
his writings, “and I know how careless he is; if I set a bad example, then
Good Night!” And finally he was expecting a man who might perhaps
purchase the house on Nytorv .And although it is fine to have a “an idea
of flight once in a while,” rather than this “forced journey” it would be
preferable to take a little vacation in Denmark, so he could laze about, read
a bit, and in general “let the head rest.” Possible reading on his summer
vacation might include his newly purchased copy ofSouthern Travel Pictures
by J .L .Ussing, which depicted, among other things, life in Constantinople
and Thessaly .After all, to read was also to travel.
So Kierkegaard decided to remain in Copenhagen, but on August 14 he
was again haunted by Berlin and lamented his indecision: “As soon as I have
thrown myself into a coach or aboard a ship, there I am, there is a sort of
decision in it .The negative decision is far more difficult .” The anniversary
of his father’s death had now disappeared as an argument for remaining at
home, and the business with Reitzel had become unimportant .The re-
maining pretext was the man who was to look at the house, but he still had
not shown up; under the circumstances this was both intolerable and yet
convenient: “My ideality suffers so indescribably from the slovenliness, inde-
cision, and nonsense that constitute the secret of practical life .A man does
not turn up at the appointed time, or bungles something, or wastes my time: