I can’t believe 2020 is here. For me, the past decade has been full of paradox. One of the greatest is that I’ve become both more locally rooted and more globally connected than I could have imagined. Nostalgia hits me in waves as I reflect on 10 years living in the unique neighborhood where my housing business came to life and where I’ve met scores of wonderful people I can’t imagine how I’d know otherwise.
Over this decade, my career and personal travels have also taken me far from home—all over Asia, Europe, Africa, and Latin America. From Burma to Uzbekistan to Panama from where I write, I’m incredibly privileged. Most of history and even present day people will never experience such opportunities. Friends mean well when they ask me: how many countries have you been to? I’ve always dodged the question with slight embarrassment, and I’ve come to understand why. Checking countries off a list isn’t my aspiration—as if they were a collection of bucket list items or passport stamps. Rather, they are more like unique friends that you grow to love and appreciate—each one different, none superior to another, not to be consumed or exploited, but treasured for all the joys and struggles that make them what they are.
It might sound contradictory, but after all of my travels, I’ve actually found that real global perspective comes when becoming deeply present, rooted, and committed in one community at home across time. In our culture that promotes endless options and mobility for the middle and upper classes, we’re sold the promise that we’ll be happy if we choose individual fulfillment over the constraints of place. David Brooks so perfectly names this irony in examining the cultural success story underlying one of the beloved Dr. Seuss books we read to our children:
This is the lie books like Dr. Seuss’ “Oh, the Places You’ll Go” tell. In adulthood, each person goes on a personal trip and racks up a bunch of experiences, and whoever has the most experiences wins. This lie encourages people to believe freedom is the absence of restraint. Be unattached. Stay on the move. Keep your options open.
In reality, the people who live best tie themselves down. They don’t ask: What cool thing can I do next? They ask: What is my responsibility here? They respond to some problem or get called out of themselves by a deep love.
It’s so true. The more you know yourself—not just as an individual living in your personal consumer bubble, but as a community member whose well-being is bound up with others—the more content you’ll become. This is by nature limiting, but it’s the best life—the only way to deeply know and be known. “It’s the chains we choose that set us free” Brooks declares in great irony.
After so many years of globetrotting, this resonates profoundly. You can’t meaningfully appreciate other cultures unless you are rooted and known in your own context. I’ve learned this the slow and hard way in the work of poverty alleviation I’ve dedicated my life to. It’s shallow at best—impossible at worst—for me to be of any help solving problems cross-culturally if I haven’t done that same hard work in my own place. If I don’t look at issues plaguing my own country in the face—hyper individualism, mass incarceration, the opioid crisis–what makes me think I’ll ever be able to meaningfully recognize and respond to the realities facing people and cultures that aren’t my own?
I haven’t fully sorted through this tension between being rooted and roaming. Until I do, I still want to discover the world, to enjoy my precious years of youth and health. To, as the ancient wisdom of Ecclesiastes tells us, “follow the ways of your heart and whatever your eyes see in the days of young manhood.” In great paradox, I also insist on rooting myself more deeply. I want to share stake with neighbors in one place, pouring myself out to seek the peace and welfare of my own city.
So, to those living in the same tension, who want to see the world, I say: go. Whatever your fears, go anyway. Explore with intention. Do your best. Be free of the guilt of your privilege. Let your travels form you, as much as humanly possible, more into the image of God. And bring that image home. Home to your less than perfect city. To your complex colleagues. To your own sheets, creaky wood floors, and porch swing that still needs to be refinished. To your own neighborhood, to your loved ones and those who are hard to love, to those people you long to see smile and those you’d rather avoid. And lean in hard. This decade, invest in community over opportunity. Root yourself deeper—and discover the joy of being fully alive.
P.S. If you’re itching to thoughtfully explore the world in 2020, check my video toolkit: Pilgrimage to Any Country for Pennies. Here I lay out clear steps for how you can plan and create an unbelievably affordable, meaningful experience that you can bring back home to bless and know your community in a deeper way.
This is a thought provoking article…amazingly written. Grace
Thank you for your kind words! Love you.
I relate so much to what you said. It’s the time I spent at home with my children, caring for them and teaching them as the grew before my eyes, time spent having tea in the kitchen of a dear friend after we had our children in bed for the night, time spent at the table breaking brown bread in the home of friends on Inch Island, Co. Donegal, Ireland, time spent as a young girl drinking in a Nigerian mother’s way of bathing and feeding her babies in her home, time at my cousin’s table sharing a home cooked meal, and looking back, basking in the glow of family bonds, to name a few, that I treasure most. And, yes, I’ve done my share of travel; but nothing compares to “home time”. May we live our lives with intention and value more what we so often take for granted . Thank you for sharing your heart.
I appreciate you sharing these experiences, too. It’s so hard for me to be present and soak in the moments in this age of distractedness – but they are the very moments that make up life. Thanks for engaging!