Helping One Person Is More Than a Business Worth Millions of Euros
Despite the fact that life has brought Dan several painful tragedies, he does not hold any resentment. On the contrary, he embraces it. A qualified electrical engineer, he works as a project manager in the banking sector during the day. But early mornings and evenings are devoted to helping people with Chinese medicine in his own practice. He spends his weekends and free time with his family and a young boy from the children’s home, Sam, whom he has been helping navigate this world for over five years. He's not just his mentor; he's his friend. He is a BUDDY volunteer. This is Daniel Urban.
I met Dan one summer afternoon at Železná studnička. He chose this spot on purpose. Apparently, this was where he and Sam had solved several life questions, both trivial and profound, while walking up and down the popular forest park.
I turn on the recorder, and we begin our conversation.
I'm Broken, Fix Me
We go through the usual questions about his studies and first jobs quickly.
However, he pauses when talking about his passion—Chinese medicine, which he has been practicing for over ten years. He says he has been drawn to Eastern arts and martial arts since childhood. He practiced karate for sixteen years and later discovered meditation and Tibetan Buddhism. He began massaging professionally at the height of his martial arts journey. "But I still felt like something was missing. I needed a tool to help me better understand and help people. I found those answers in traditional, and later classical, Chinese medicine," he says in a distinctive voice. I notice an immense calmness radiating from both his speech and his movements.
Thanks to his studies at the University of Chinese Medicine, he came to understand that he cannot take full responsibility for the health of his clients. He is only there to help them understand how their own body and mind function. The real responsibility, he believes, lies with them. "Unfortunately, this mindset is not yet common in our society. People often come to the doctor saying, 'I'm broken, fix me.' But it doesn't work that way," he passionately explains, gesturing with his hands. I notice his forearms are adorned with black Tibetan symbols.
Dan treats two or three clients a week. Financially, his medical practice is a loss-making project. "But that's not important to me. I find it fulfilling to help people. I've closed business deals worth millions of euros, but helping one person truly feels like more," he adds, a tall man in his forties with a dark beard and a kind smile.
A Backpack Full of Pain
When asked what he wanted to be as a child, he answers without hesitation: "Garbage collector."
Then, he quiets down for a moment and becomes serious. The pace of his walk slows slightly, and only his loud breathing, which had accompanied his brisk pace up the hill, fills the air.
"I feel like I skipped my childhood," he says softly. "When I was 13, my mother committed suicide," he adds, in a reconciled tone. To the right, a young family with two schoolchildren unpacks their backpacks by the fire. "I was forced to grow up day by day," Dan continues.
I am in shock. I remain silent, searching for words. As though sensing my discomfort, he continues without needing a prompt.
"I've experienced more tragedies. My girlfriend died in a motorcycle accident. My grandfather, whom I loved dearly, passed away unexpectedly—he was hit by a car," he says, clearing his throat. "That’s life. You fall flat on your face, pick yourself up, and move forward. You may be sore, but you’re stronger for it," he rationalizes.
He gradually reveals the fragile history of his own family. He is the proud father of a daughter from his first relationship. Unfortunately, they could not have more children. They failed to fulfill their dream of having a large family with his ex-wife. She was diagnosed with invasive cancer, which she fought for over five years. After that, they no longer had the energy or time to have more children.
I ask if these life traumas led him to a path of volunteering and helping others. He pauses, furrowing his brow, as though searching for the right words. Apparently, this is something he hasn’t given much thought to. But he admits, "I don't know what my need is. But I’ll tell you this: my wife once told me, 'Dan, you live the way you give yourself away and die.' Those words still resonate with me today," he adds.
Right after that, he asks if I want to sit and rest for a while. I refuse, so we continue walking.
An Unusual Friendship
I ask him about the beginnings of his BUDDY volunteering. He tells me that at the initial meeting, there were many young students with the "savior complex"—eager to save the "poor creatures." That’s why it was important to educate them about children from the children’s home: the traumas they experience from being separated from their families, how they’re treated, and who shapes the values in their lives.
"I remember one sentence that the lecturer Zuzka Zimová said, which not only helped me in the beginning but also during several key moments of my relationship with Sam. She said, 'First and foremost, realize that the relationship you’re going to have is not about you; it’s about the child," says Dan, rubbing his hand. "Even now, those words give me chills."
While many in the program gained huge respect for the great responsibility, Dan couldn’t wait to meet Sam.
The official bonding event turned out to be a great success. Volunteers and children competed in teams, had fun, and got to know each other. The real opportunity to connect came during a several-hour competition where the newly formed pairs had to complete several tasks on their own. "I told Sam my story, and I could feel the trust building between us. Sam also began to open up about his family and his own struggles," he describes the beginnings of this extraordinary relationship.
At the time, Sam’s vocabulary was somewhat limited. "I could see that he wanted to tell me something, but he didn’t know how. That’s why it was so important to me that he knew he could be himself with me. I wouldn’t make fun of him, I wouldn’t tear him down," adds Dan.
Mirror, Mirror, Tell Me
In the five years since, they’ve achieved so much together.
They’ve spent hours walking through the forest, talking about school, grandmothers, and family. Dan has supported Sam in his football career, attending training sessions and matches. He’s taken him to sleepovers, to the forest, and they’ve often played sports together, biked along the embankment, and climbed ferratas. They’ve gone to restaurants or just watched football on TV. Even the pandemic didn’t stop them. Since Sam’s access to the Internet was limited in the children’s home, Dan would chat with him outside through the window.
"The key is spending time together. That’s what brought us closer. In this way, I help Sam see the world around him from a different perspective. And in turn, he, often unknowingly, holds up a mirror to me and teaches me immense humility," says Dan.
At fifteen, Sam was said to have a promising football career ahead. His coaches commented that they hadn’t seen such a gifted left foot in ten years. Yet, he didn’t push himself further. His lack of inner motivation and persistence frustrated Dan.
"It really bothered me when I saw him wasting his talent. I often found myself confused, wondering how I should treat him. Should I be forceful, or should I just be there for him and listen? We can’t even imagine how exhausted these kids are, what they carry with them," he reflects. "Even now, at the end of the day, I can offer advice, but I don’t take responsibility," he adds, with a note of humility.
He looks at me. Only now do I notice how piercing and deep his eyes are. We continue walking in silence for a while.
"The relationship with Sam also impacted my relationship with my own daughter," Dan continues. He used to be very strict with her, expecting flawless results in school and placing unnecessary pressure on her. "It wasn’t until Sam, where I consciously and empathetically reflected on my reactions, that I realized my behavior towards my daughter was counterproductive. It was driving us apart," he confides. Today, he says, he gives her much more freedom. "As her father, this approach is much more difficult for me, but I know it’s the right thing to do."
And the Water Keeps Flowing
It gradually grows darker. Mosquitoes begin to bite us unpleasantly, so we increase our pace toward the parking lot. On the way, Dan recalls his shared experiences with Sam. He is grateful to have been there for him during his formative years. He admits that now, their relationship has evolved into a friendship between two adults, since Sam is over 20 years old today.
He wonders aloud what Sam’s future holds, and when he will start a family of his own. I ask him what he would like to offer Sam. He falls silent for a moment, slowing his pace. With a fixed gaze on the forest path ahead, he carefully chooses his words. "I wish for him to find inner peace. To make his dreams come true, be happy, and enjoy life to the fullest," he says in a gentle voice, with the humility of someone who has faced many hardships in life.
"I don’t think I should be his constant support for life. I would be overjoyed if he found another person like me, someone he could confide in and who would help him embrace his vulnerability. A new person in his life would push him forward," adds Dan.
We walk in silence. Our eyes fall on the riverbed to the left. The water is clear, steadily making its way between the stones and plants. It carries small leaves and flowers with it, as they sail downstream together.
Author: Simona Lučkaničová
Photographs: Marek Švančara