Blint er í annars brjóst að geta
The workshop of Bjorn smelled of rich cedar shavings, strong coffee, and the faint, salty tang of the fjord just outside the door. It was a good smell, a comforting smell, that his son, Rune, had associated with safety since he was old enough to walk.
At twelve years old, Rune was eager to be more than just an observer. For the past month, they had been building a færing, a traditional four-oared rowboat in the evenings after school. It was the biggest project Bjorn had ever trusted him with.
Bjorn was a man whose hands spoke better than his mouth. He could feel the grain of a plank and know exactly where the hidden knots lay, but finding the right words to speak to his energetic, sometimes clumsy son was a task that often defeated him.
This evening, they were steaming and bending the ribs for the hull. It was delicate work requiring patience and precise timing.
"Hold it here, Rune," Bjorn said, his voice low and steady, pointing to a steaming strip of oak. "Firm pressure. Don't let it spring back."
Rune nodded intently. He gripped the hot wood with his gloved hands, pushing with all his might against the jig. His knuckles turned white. He wanted desperately to get it right, to show his father he had the "boatbuilder’s eye," as Bjorn called it.
But Rune’s grip slipped just a fraction. The oak strip twisted, making a sickening cracking sound before snapping cleanly in two.
Rune jumped back, horrified. The expensive piece of wood was ruined.
Bjorn didn’t shout. He just let out a long, slow sigh through his nose. He picked up the two broken pieces, examined the grain for a moment, and then tossed them onto the scrap pile for the stove.
"Grab the broom, Rune," Bjorn said quietly, turning back to the steamer to select a new piece.
Rune fetched the broom, his chest tight with failure. The silence in the workshop felt suddenly heavy. As he swept the sawdust, Rune’s mind raced. He knew what that sigh meant. It meant his father regretted asking him to help.
After an hour of working in tense silence, Bjorn motioned toward the small cast-iron stove in the corner. "Break time. Warm up."
They sat on upturned crates, sipping from chipped enamel mugs of hot cocoa. The only sounds were the crackling fire and the wind whistling around the eaves of the shed.
Rune stared into his dark cocoa, unable to meet his father's eyes. "You don't have to let me help tomorrow," Rune mumbled to his boots. "I know you'd finish faster without me breaking things."
Bjorn lowered his mug slowly. He looked at the top of his son’s bent head, surprised by the sudden admission. He thought back to the moment the wood snapped. He had been annoyed, but at the wood for having a hidden weakness, not at the boy.
He realized then how vast the distance could be between two people sitting three feet apart. He saw how easily his quiet nature was mistaken for judgment.
Bjorn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Blint er í annars brjóst að geta.
Rune tilted his head, waiting for the lecture he felt sure was coming.
But Bjorn just smiled, a rare expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "When that wood snapped, I wasn't thinking about you being clumsy. I was thinking that I should have steamed it five minutes longer. And just now, while we sat here quiet? I wasn't thinking about how slow you are. I was thinking about how much you look like my grandfather when you concentrate, and how glad I am for the company out here in the cold."
Rune blinked, the tension slowly leaking out of his shoulders. "Really?"
"Really," Bjorn said, standing up and clapping a large, warm hand on Rune's shoulder. "The boat will get built. Wood is replaceable. But these evenings with you? They are not. Now, come on. Let's try that bend again."
Blint er í annars brjóst að geta
This proverb acknowledges the impossibility of truly knowing what another person is thinking or feeling.
It serves as a reminder that the human mind is a private, sealed vault. No matter how well you think you know someone, you cannot see their hidden motives, secret sorrows, or true intentions. You are "blind" to their inner world.
