Worlds Within Worlds

I find travel to be one of life's greatest privileges. Few people are fortunate enough to experience the wonders that exist beyond their own corner of the world.

Travel has shaped many of my opinions. More importantly, it has allowed me to see myself outside of my comfort zone, outside of my natural habitat here in America.

I've often said that we live in worlds within worlds. Even our minds, the way each individual perceives life, are worlds of their own. There is something beautiful about that realization. It reminds me that we, as humans, are much smaller than we often imagine. Compared to the vastness of our planet, the cosmos, and the universe itself, we are little more than ants wandering through an incomprehensibly large existence.

I digress.

Travel is no longer a luxury to me. It has become a necessity. It is one of the ways I decompress, disconnect from routine, and experience the world unfiltered. I have visited places so ancient, so beautiful, and so humbling that I have come to believe that most people want the same fundamental things: to live, to love, to care, and to be free.

Over time, I realized that I need that change of scenery. While I respect that everyone is different, I have always struggled to understand why some people have no interest in seeing the world beyond what is familiar to them. Perhaps my curiosity is simply wired differently.

I have observed that a lack of exposure to different cultures often contributes to biases and assumptions about the world. I have participated in conversations with peers and strangers whose opinions about entire countries or cultures were built on stereotypes, media portrayals, or secondhand information rather than firsthand experience.

Travel has helped me challenge many of my own preconceived notions about cultures, religions, and countries. In some cases, my assumptions were wrong. In others, there was some truth to them. The lesson was not that stereotypes are always false or always true, but that reality is usually more complex than either extreme.

One idea I often find myself exploring is how societies determine what is acceptable and what is not. In Western culture, for example, we have established laws and norms around adulthood and the protection of children. In other parts of the world, those standards may be very different.

The point is not to debate specific examples. Rather, I find it fascinating that what many of us consider universal truths are not universally accepted. Our moral compass is not perfectly synchronized across cultures. What is considered right, wrong, normal, or strange often depends on where and how someone was raised.

Travel has forced me to confront that reality.

It has challenged my assumptions and made me question many of the beliefs I once accepted without scrutiny. Much of what we believe is shaped by religion, culture, upbringing, social norms, and, my favorite word, indoctrination.

Stepping outside of my world and into someone else's allows me to see reality through a different lens. It is almost like what people describe as an out-of-body experience, except I am still very much in my body. I am simply experiencing another world within my own.

I find that fascinating.

When someone tells me they have no interest in seeing the world, my immediate question is simple:

Why?

Not because everyone must travel internationally or spend thousands of dollars exploring distant countries. Rather, because there is something transformative about experiencing a culture, environment, or perspective completely different from your own.

One of my most memorable experiences occurred in Hong Kong.

My family and I took a cable car to visit the Tian Tan Buddha, commonly known as the Big Buddha. As we ascended the mountain, thick fog surrounded the gondola. The wind howled, the cabin swayed, and all I could see was our reflection in the glass. It looked like something straight out of a horror movie.

As the cable car shook, I briefly became convinced I might die that day.

Thirty minutes later, we arrived.

What awaited us was breathtaking.

After climbing hundreds of steps to reach the Buddha, I found myself staring across endless mountains, valleys, and forests. The fog slowly lifted as sunlight pushed through the clouds. Standing there, thousands of miles from home, I felt completely disconnected from my everyday reality.

For a brief moment, I forgot about work, responsibilities, and deadlines.

I simply existed.

We explored nearby temples, watched monks going about their daily routines, smelled incense drifting through the air, and watched koi fish glide peacefully through ponds.

At one point, I looked at my son and wondered:

Will he remember this?

Will he appreciate moments like these one day?

Later, we traveled to the fishing village of Tai O.

The journey itself felt like an adventure. We boarded a coach bus that raced down steep mountain roads with a level of confidence that was both impressive and mildly terrifying. Once again, I briefly considered the possibility that I might die that day.

Thankfully, I survived.

When we arrived, we wandered through the village and eventually signed up for a boat tour in search of the famous pink dolphins.

For twenty dollars, the three of us climbed aboard a small vessel and headed out into the water.

To my surprise, we found one.

After spotting movement in the distance, our captain quickly turned the boat toward a faint pink shape surfacing from the water. We never got the dramatic dolphin show you see at theme parks, but we saw it.

And honestly, it was one of the best twenty dollars I've ever spent.

What struck me most about Tai O was not the dolphin.

It was the people.

I watched fishermen working along the docks. I saw families living behind their shops. I saw locals laughing together outside modest homes built on stilts over the water.

Many had far less than the average American household.

Yet they seemed happy and satisfied.

They laughed. They socialized. They enjoyed one another's company.

I found myself wondering why so many people in the Western world, despite possessing more wealth and convenience than almost any generation before us, often seem so unhappy.

The people of Tai O reminded me of something important.

Happiness does not appear to have a strong relationship with excess.

The foundations of a meaningful life seem remarkably simple: love, connection, freedom, purpose, and community.

Those principles appear to transcend culture.

As I walked through the village, I realized that despite all our differences, people around the world are far more alike than we often assume.

We all worry.

We all hope.

We all love.

We all suffer.

We all search for meaning.

That realization may be the greatest gift travel has ever given me.

Travel does not require hopping on long flights, crossing oceans. It can be as simple as visiting a neighboring city, exploring a different community, or spending time with people whose lives look different from your own.

The goal is not distance.

The goal is perspective.

I truly believe that if we spend enough time observing others, listening to their stories, and stepping outside of our own worlds, we eventually begin to see ourselves in them.

Each stranger becomes a slight variation of ourselves.

Travel has taught me that there is a slower way to live. It has taught me that not everything requires urgency. Sometimes the greatest lessons are not found in schools, textbooks, or lectures.

Sometimes they are found in a quiet temple.

A fishing village.

A conversation with a stranger.

Or a moment spent looking out across a distant landscape, realizing that the world is far bigger, and far more beautiful, than we ever imagined.