I boarded my first airplane when I was 11. Looking around, I knew before the door was sealed that I would eventually walk into the cabins of hundreds more. By the time I got out of college, my suitcases seemed the most logical possession I owned. I don’t know how many pieces of travel luggage I have upstairs — they are all shapes and sizes — but I do know know I lack enough fingers and toes to do the math.
Two bags, both well-beaten, have been packed for four days. Since I usually pack for a trip 40 seconds before leaving for the airport, clearly something important is afoot.
And it is. I’m going “off the grid” for a rather long walkabout. My passport will take a savage beating but I will return, as usual, a better man for having gone alone to a bunch of bug-dot somewheres I do not speak the language.
The older I’ve grown, the shorter my fuse has become for people who reflexively judge virtually everything without insight or understanding. This net is cast wide, because it seems to me that most who profess to understand issues, people, religion, and politics really understand virtually nothing at all. Were they around today instead of on Wikipedia, Plato and Socrates would give up trying to teach progressive thinking and instead head to the athletic club for a relaxing game of tennis.
American television and radio do not teach understanding, the world does. And unless we’re out in it — face-first looking at and living life through the lenses of others — we can never understand half of what we could.
A lot of people have been more places than me, but I have spent a lot of alone time on six continents. I’ve seen too many ugly Americans virtually everywhere I’ve been. Amateur travelers are takers, which is the price receiving nations pay to foster tourism. I despise the judgmental behaviors of these “ugly Americans” but have seen so much of it I’m not to the point I do not need to hear one utter a word before knowing where they’re from.
Until we are happy with who we are, we are never happy with what we have. This is a life lesson, and a great one, and certainly one I wish I’d learned sooner.
For the first half of my life I didn’t realize that powerful truism. Back then I was an accumulator. Everything was never enough, so I kept making money and kept buying more. While materialistic pursuits preoccupied my time, all the purchases actually filled were closets, a basement, and a garage.
When I moved from Miami to Denver, my mover came into the kitchen with a clipboard of papers for me to sign and said, “You have 22,000 pounds of stuff. That’s a lot of stuff.”
It was a lot of stuff. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted to impress the next mover even more, so when I got to Denver I immediately started buying heavier things.
Gray hair ushered in mid-life and along with my crisis came an awareness that although I was surrounded by mountains of things, I was hollow and unhappy on the inside. I didn’t know what was wrong but deep down knew I was slipping further away from where I thought life was supposed to head — which was closer toward contentment and fulfillment.
I organized a small group of fellows that raised a little money that was a big deal to some very needy people. When we handed it over, I felt good. So my friends and I did it again, raising more money for a different group of good, needy folks. Watching that money help again felt really good.
I knew then that happiness would never come from accumulation, but instead from sharing, supporting, and enabling others to advance with challenges that were important to them. Since then we’re at $1.3 million and rising. And that feels really good.
There are a lot of hurt people out there, some better actors than others, just as there are a lot of needy people. At this stage of life I have what I need materialistically — and more than I need in an increasing number of categories.
But what I really require — the emotional fuel squeezed from compassion and understanding — remains there for the taking. Tonight I’m off for a trip across four southern African countries to see, learn, and give back. Among my scheduled meetings will be one where I read, tell elephant jokes, and teach life skills under a big shade tree to 130 AIDS orphans whose dreams are different than yours and mine.
When we’re finished with all that, I will get a couple volunteers to upturn a bag of gifts for all. We’ll play soccer and throw frisbees, and maybe hit a Wiffle ball with a plastic bat. Laughter is good for the soul, and theirs will be good for mine.
I will leave behind all I brought. More importantly, I will return home with much, much more.