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The article ‘ This Kite will fly!’ establishes a certain connection between making, launching, and adjusting a kite—a process that does not differ much from writing an article.
You sometimes hear people say, “That kite won’t fly.” It might look nice, but it carries too much weight, or its balance is off. In truth, the number of reasons why a kite won’t fly is endless. The same applies to an article: too much weight on the tail? Can the wind not get underneath it? Is it poorly balanced? With a bit of luck, it might flutter for a moment, but then the flight is over.
A kite also needs space; if it comes down and disappears into a dense forest, you will never find it again. And that, too, applies to an article that has to maintain its altitude along the World Wide Web and avoid disappearing into a digital Bermuda Triangle.
The Joy of the Process
But what is so fun about both kite flying and writing? The assembly, the launching, the thinking, and trying again. It doesn’t have to be important to the world; it simply gives you a huge personal boost, and you can start at any level. You don’t need to aim for a complex, steerable stunt kite that lifts you off your feet. No, it is simply working with the chaos of a few sticks, a piece of fabric, a long string, and a lot of useful thinking. The kind of thinking that causes no stress, but truly opens your own eyes.
Look at the late André Hazes, for example. A boy from the streets, certainly not highly educated, but a folk singer to his very core. According to the laws of marketing and music theory, he should have never made it. His lyrics were sometimes raw and defied all standard rules. Why did he succeed? Because he was one of the few singers who managed to touch both intellectual society and the everyday man straight in the heart. Year after year, young and old, highly or less educated, sang along at the top of their lungs whenever his music played.
A Letter to the Gates of Heaven
Think of his legendary Dutch song, ‘De Vlieger’ (‘The Kite’). It tells the story of a young boy who lost his mother and has to grow up with a stepmother. One day, he takes his father outside. Under one arm, he holds a kite; under the other, a letter.
When his father asks, “Son, what are you doing with that kite AND that letter?”, the child answers: “I am tying my letter to this kite, telling Mama how much I miss her. When I launch it, the kite will reach the gates of heaven, and she will be able to read my letter.”
Simple. Easy to understand. The entire song revolves around only a few words, yet its impact is priceless. It proves that real communication isn’t about expensive words, but about genuine feeling and connection.
So, if you aren’t only happy when you get to pilot an Airbus—like King Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands—but simply want to claim your personal space? If you want to learn how to get your own story and feelings into the air?
Let go of the rules and the fear of failure. Fly along with us!
This Kite Will Fly! (And André Hazes Knew Why)
📅 July 2, 2026•✍️ Editor In Chief
This platform proves that barriers are often raised by others, but that the true foundation should always be...
‘Sorry’ seems to be the hardest Word
The Signal and the Noise: Why We Need Less “Connectivity” and More Joe Cocker.
Reclaiming human empathy from the debris of the information age.
The Joe Cocker Remedy.
Is there a better way forward? Can we prioritize compassion over the constant, low-level hum of digital rivalry?
Art—and music in particular—offers a powerful lens through which we can re-examine our basic attitudes. As we reflect on how we treat our neighbors, we find the answer in the raw, gravelly vulnerability of the late Joe Cocker. His music reminds us of two things we have largely forgotten in the age of the algorithm: Humility and Courage.
“Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word”.
Cocker didn’t just sing; he confessed. The lyrics he made famous encapsulate a longing for connection that we often mask with online bravado:
“What do I have to do to make you love me?”“Sorry seems to be the hardest word to say.”
These aren’t just pop lyrics; they are a challenge. They highlight the difficulty of admitting fault in a culture that rewards being “right” and “loud.”
From Broadcasting to Reconciling.
We can take a cue from this emotional honesty:
Stop Broadcasting: Instead of airing grievances online to an audience of strangers, choose the honest, face-to-face conversation.
Start Apologizing: Offering a sincere apology when we are wrong is not a sign of weakness; it is the ultimate act of strength.
Extend Compassion: Reach out to the isolated. Transform a conflict into an opportunity for growth.
Let us challenge ourselves to listen more attentively and apologize more readily. In doing so, we embrace a new model of connection—one rooted in genuine human empathy rather than mere technological reach.
Listen to the master of vulnerability here:
We live in an era of paradox. We carry devices in our pockets that allow us to connect instantly across continents, yet we often find ourselves drifting further away from true empathy. The fiber-optic cables are working fine, but the human connection is broken.
Despite our unprecedented capacity for communication, humanity is struggling. Interactions are increasingly reduced to competition, exposure, and conflict rather than cooperation and care. We are building bridges of data, but burning bridges of understanding.
This piece strikes a chord that is often drowned out by the “ping” of a notification. It highlights a profound truth: we have perfected the mechanics of contact while neglecting the art of presence.
Joe Cocker is the perfect mascot for this movement because he was the antithesis of the “filtered” life. His performances were messy, spasmodic, and utterly unpolished—which is exactly why they felt so real.
The Contrast: Data vs. Depth.
In the digital age, we’ve traded the “gravel” of human experience for the “silicon” of efficiency. Here is how that trade-off usually looks:
The Digital Signal
The “Cocker” Noise
Curated:Only the best moments.
Raw: The struggle and the sweat.
Defensive:Always being “right.”
Vulnerable:Admitting “I’m wrong.”
Broadcasting: Speaking at people.
Resonating:Feeling with people.
Transactional:What can I get?
Relational:How can I help?
Why “Sorry” is a Superpower.
As the article suggests, the digital landscape is a “no-sorry zone.” To apologize online is often seen as a surrender to the “other side.” But in reality, an apology is a bridge-building tool.
The Bravado Trap: We use screens as shields. It’s easy to be brave when you don’t have to look into the eyes of the person you’ve hurt.
The Strength of Vulnerability: Like Cocker’s voice, a sincere apology is “gravelly.” It’s not smooth or easy, but it carries a weight that a thousand “likes” never will.
Reclaiming the Signal.
The suggestion to move from broadcasting to reconciling is a practical rebellion. If we want to fix the “broken human connection,” we have to be willing to be a little less “connected” to the cloud and a little more tethered to the person sitting across from us. It’s about trading the high-speed fiber optics for the high-impact “I’m sorry.”
If we were to apply the “Cocker Remedy” to our daily digital habits, which one do you think would be the hardest to give up: the urge to “broadcast” your opinion, or the habit of scrolling past the “isolated” in your own circle?
'Sorry' Seems to Be the Hardest Word
📅 January 4, 2026•✍️ Editor In Chief
We live in an era of paradox. We carry devices in our pockets that allow us to connect...
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When you click the 📋 Copy button on any post, the exact title of that article is automatically saved to your clipboard.
You can then navigate to your personal page and paste the title under the Tools tab.
Pasting the title unlocks advanced features, allowing you to listen to the audio version of the article or join a live chat with peers to discuss the content in real time.
📖 Active Full-Width Article
📅 •✍️ By
💡 Tip: Double-click anywhere in the text area to close
The article ‘ This Kite will fly!’ establishes a certain connection between making, launching, and adjusting a kite—a process that does not differ much from writing an article.
You sometimes hear people say, “That kite won’t fly.” It might look nice, but it carries too much weight, or its balance is off. In truth, the number of reasons why a kite won’t fly is endless. The same applies to an article: too much weight on the tail? Can the wind not get underneath it? Is it poorly balanced? With a bit of luck, it might flutter for a moment, but then the flight is over.
A kite also needs space; if it comes down and disappears into a dense forest, you will never find it again. And that, too, applies to an article that has to maintain its altitude along the World Wide Web and avoid disappearing into a digital Bermuda Triangle.
The Joy of the Process
But what is so fun about both kite flying and writing? The assembly, the launching, the thinking, and trying again. It doesn’t have to be important to the world; it simply gives you a huge personal boost, and you can start at any level. You don’t need to aim for a complex, steerable stunt kite that lifts you off your feet. No, it is simply working with the chaos of a few sticks, a piece of fabric, a long string, and a lot of useful thinking. The kind of thinking that causes no stress, but truly opens your own eyes.
Look at the late André Hazes, for example. A boy from the streets, certainly not highly educated, but a folk singer to his very core. According to the laws of marketing and music theory, he should have never made it. His lyrics were sometimes raw and defied all standard rules. Why did he succeed? Because he was one of the few singers who managed to touch both intellectual society and the everyday man straight in the heart. Year after year, young and old, highly or less educated, sang along at the top of their lungs whenever his music played.
A Letter to the Gates of Heaven
Think of his legendary Dutch song, ‘De Vlieger’ (‘The Kite’). It tells the story of a young boy who lost his mother and has to grow up with a stepmother. One day, he takes his father outside. Under one arm, he holds a kite; under the other, a letter.
When his father asks, “Son, what are you doing with that kite AND that letter?”, the child answers: “I am tying my letter to this kite, telling Mama how much I miss her. When I launch it, the kite will reach the gates of heaven, and she will be able to read my letter.”
Simple. Easy to understand. The entire song revolves around only a few words, yet its impact is priceless. It proves that real communication isn’t about expensive words, but about genuine feeling and connection.
So, if you aren’t only happy when you get to pilot an Airbus—like King Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands—but simply want to claim your personal space? If you want to learn how to get your own story and feelings into the air?
Let go of the rules and the fear of failure. Fly along with us!
https://youtu.be/EkD5iXxzGDg?si=xtMK4e8O44batUF8
This Kite Will Fly! (And André Hazes Knew Why)
📅 July 2, 2026•✍️ Editor In Chief
This platform proves that barriers are often raised by others, but that the true foundation should always be...
‘Sorry’ seems to be the hardest Word
The Signal and the Noise: Why We Need Less “Connectivity” and More Joe Cocker.
Reclaiming human empathy from the debris of the information age.
The Joe Cocker Remedy.
Is there a better way forward? Can we prioritize compassion over the constant, low-level hum of digital rivalry?
Art—and music in particular—offers a powerful lens through which we can re-examine our basic attitudes. As we reflect on how we treat our neighbors, we find the answer in the raw, gravelly vulnerability of the late Joe Cocker. His music reminds us of two things we have largely forgotten in the age of the algorithm: Humility and Courage.
“Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word”.
Cocker didn’t just sing; he confessed. The lyrics he made famous encapsulate a longing for connection that we often mask with online bravado:
“What do I have to do to make you love me?”“Sorry seems to be the hardest word to say.”
These aren’t just pop lyrics; they are a challenge. They highlight the difficulty of admitting fault in a culture that rewards being “right” and “loud.”
From Broadcasting to Reconciling.
We can take a cue from this emotional honesty:
Stop Broadcasting: Instead of airing grievances online to an audience of strangers, choose the honest, face-to-face conversation.
Start Apologizing: Offering a sincere apology when we are wrong is not a sign of weakness; it is the ultimate act of strength.
Extend Compassion: Reach out to the isolated. Transform a conflict into an opportunity for growth.
Let us challenge ourselves to listen more attentively and apologize more readily. In doing so, we embrace a new model of connection—one rooted in genuine human empathy rather than mere technological reach.
Listen to the master of vulnerability here:
https://youtu.be/axcXYkiO82Q?si=wvaw7LhN9GAnHP0y
We live in an era of paradox. We carry devices in our pockets that allow us to connect instantly across continents, yet we often find ourselves drifting further away from true empathy. The fiber-optic cables are working fine, but the human connection is broken.
Despite our unprecedented capacity for communication, humanity is struggling. Interactions are increasingly reduced to competition, exposure, and conflict rather than cooperation and care. We are building bridges of data, but burning bridges of understanding.
This piece strikes a chord that is often drowned out by the “ping” of a notification. It highlights a profound truth: we have perfected the mechanics of contact while neglecting the art of presence.
Joe Cocker is the perfect mascot for this movement because he was the antithesis of the “filtered” life. His performances were messy, spasmodic, and utterly unpolished—which is exactly why they felt so real.
The Contrast: Data vs. Depth.
In the digital age, we’ve traded the “gravel” of human experience for the “silicon” of efficiency. Here is how that trade-off usually looks:
The Digital Signal
The “Cocker” Noise
Curated:Only the best moments.
Raw: The struggle and the sweat.
Defensive:Always being “right.”
Vulnerable:Admitting “I’m wrong.”
Broadcasting: Speaking at people.
Resonating:Feeling with people.
Transactional:What can I get?
Relational:How can I help?
Why “Sorry” is a Superpower.
As the article suggests, the digital landscape is a “no-sorry zone.” To apologize online is often seen as a surrender to the “other side.” But in reality, an apology is a bridge-building tool.
The Bravado Trap: We use screens as shields. It’s easy to be brave when you don’t have to look into the eyes of the person you’ve hurt.
The Strength of Vulnerability: Like Cocker’s voice, a sincere apology is “gravelly.” It’s not smooth or easy, but it carries a weight that a thousand “likes” never will.
Reclaiming the Signal.
The suggestion to move from broadcasting to reconciling is a practical rebellion. If we want to fix the “broken human connection,” we have to be willing to be a little less “connected” to the cloud and a little more tethered to the person sitting across from us. It’s about trading the high-speed fiber optics for the high-impact “I’m sorry.”
If we were to apply the “Cocker Remedy” to our daily digital habits, which one do you think would be the hardest to give up: the urge to “broadcast” your opinion, or the habit of scrolling past the “isolated” in your own circle?
'Sorry' Seems to Be the Hardest Word
📅 January 4, 2026•✍️ Editor In Chief
We live in an era of paradox. We carry devices in our pockets that allow us to connect...
