Travel changes lives. We know this from the humbling testimonials we receive from our clients every year. But it is far more significant than that. As we are reminded regularly here at Corporate Travel, travel does not merely change human lives. Travel has the power to help define our lives because travel exposes and amplifies that which makes us human! When we consider all that sets our species apart from the rest of creation—our capacity to experience goodness, truth, and beauty—we are forced to acknowledge that travel is itself a profound and integral part of the human condition.
Now I know what you may be thinking. Aren’t we overstating things here? Humans aren’t the only creatures to move about.
Yes, all animals move from place to place. Birds may migrate, squirrels may chase and climb, and fish dart gracefully through the water. But whether they are hunting, mating, or evading capture, for the animals, “travel” merely concerns physical relocation. The purpose and the benefits of their ‘travel’ do not include nor contribute to the profound qualities that define the human condition. Animals do not discover truth. They do not comprehend the concept of goodness. And they are not emotionally moved by beauty. Those things are the supernatural gifts that elevate the human soul above all of creation.
And travel introduces us to all three.
In their search for truth and understanding, our guests are able to reach back into time and literally touch history when they visit those places that illuminate the stories of our past. In our company’s performance division, we marvel as our traveling musicians ply their arts and talents in profound and distant venues, adding beauty to the musical lineage of some remote and captivating location. And only through travel can the guests we serve interact with foreign people in ways that reveal the goodness of unfamiliar cultures, cuisines, art, and customs. Yes, a large part of what defines our very humanity—where our tangible lives touch our intangible souls—might be lost entirely without the experience of travel. For, as was once penned so eloquently by its anonymous author, “We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.”
Earlier this summer, I experienced once again and first-hand how this reality can play out. Our family loves to hike. In June, I brought my wife and children to the breathtaking majesty of Yosemite National Park. I had not been there since I spent a week alone in the park during my mid-twenties. I remember emerging from that first experience many years ago referring to Yosemite as “God’s handprint,” for the land was then, and remains still, among the closest likenesses to my concept of Eden I may ever find.
As my family and I ascended the breathtaking (and occasionally white-knuckle) road into the park this year, I intentionally approached the valley via the “tunnel view” outlook—an approach that hides the full view of the valley until your car emerges from a mountain-carved tunnel. Unveiling the valley’s vista this way adds a dramatic effect to the already awesome grandeur of the park. After countless gasps and sighs from the family, I parked the car and we walked spellbound toward the majestic panorama before us. Cell phone cameras clicked away as we, in futility, tried to capture through a lens this life-changing moment. All of our senses were alive. The smell of the pines, the warmth of the sun, and the sound of the breeze all complemented the beauty, scope, and scale of what our eyes struggled to collect.
At this point, a joy had welled up within me. I was so pleased to know I had helped bring this unforgettable experience to my children. With an ear-to-ear smile on my face, I turned to my family to declare it was time for a family picture.
And it was at that point I came face to face with an image that I will harbor to the end of my days.
What I saw as I turned back toward my family was as powerful and beautiful as the image of the valley itself, now hidden behind me. My nineteen-year-old daughter stood motionless directly in front of me. Descending her tanned and youthful face streamed two continuous lines of tears. I blinked. I was expecting only the same joy and smile I had been wearing. Through a broken voice, compromised by the lump in her throat, my firstborn child could only whisper, “It is so beautiful. I have never had beauty make me cry before.”
At that moment, I saw my child’s pure humanity. I was given a sacred glimpse into her precious, elevated soul. The moment did not just change her life. It helped her to understand what makes us human.
And that moment was made possible by travel.