| My parents, while by no means rich, taught me to love traveling. My older sister and her husband moved to England, and my mother and I visited her there when I was six and again when I was nine. I saw Loch Ness, watched an Agatha Christie play in London, ate real fish and chips, and visited Shakespeare’s house. I bought a book of Wordsworth poems at Wordsworth’s house and camped in Scotland in a VW bus with a pop-up roof. Mom and I just accepted the fact that the English spell “color” as “colour” and say “tidy” instead of “spotless.” The people were lovely, and they made me feel lovely. My father showed me a lot of the United States. We always traveled cheap, staying with relatives or in Motel 6, packing a “feed bag” full of snacks, and eating in cafes frequented by locals. My dad was a map genius and we often played a game while driving: I’d look at the Texas map and name two roads, and he could tell me in what city they intersected. Any roads. Genius. Even though my parents were divorced, they both valued travel and, together and apart, they shaped me into the movable person I am. |   |
 | My husband, Sam, and I have loved to travel for as long as we can remember. Now, we’re planning a round-the-world trip. How does travel fit in with our values of following God, being kind to others, sharing, teaching our children to love what’s right, and being a blessing instead of a curse to those around us? This is not a rhetorical question—I’m really asking you. |
 Sam’s first trip outside Hong Kong, stopping in Yehliun Geopark, Taiwan, on the way to the US. | My husband spent the first sixteen years of his life in Hong Kong as a British Colonial Subject, and much of that time on the Kowloon side, since the Hong Kong side contained no relatives and you need ferry money to get there. Apparently, spending your first 16 years in one city gives you really itchy feet, because soon after immigrating he got to know New England, drove to Colorado and back, and explored California and Utah. He’s still moving. That’s why we love to travel. But aside from being enjoyable for us, what good will this trip do? We can’t just be Boy Scouts to the world, helping every old lady across the street. We can’t financially alleviate all the poverty we see. We can’t solve all society’s ills. How will this trip make the world, even my little corner of it, a better place? Why can’t I just admit that I’ve always loved to travel, and now that we have the time and money to do it, we’re going to fulfill a life-long dream? What’s wrong with enjoying myself? Is it my Protestant work ethic rearing its ugly head? Is it my fear of being labeled a privileged white person? Am I perpetuating the world’s inequality by viewing other cultures like a person who goes to the zoo? I’m going to go wash the dishes and think about it. I’ll be right back. |
Well, the only thing I came up with is that while I can’t solve the world’s problems, I can get out there and try to understand people and their cultures. I’m going to meet people, listen to them, look at their beautiful/ugly/sad/happy/interesting lives, and tell you about it. I’m truly grateful that God has blessed me with an adventurous husband and the means to do this.
Like I always told my kids when we cleaned up after a picnic, “Leave it better than you found it.” Maybe that’s our motto for this trip.
Let me know if you come up with anything.
Like I always told my kids when we cleaned up after a picnic, “Leave it better than you found it.” Maybe that’s our motto for this trip.
Let me know if you come up with anything.
