Upon reflection, though, I think I want to write about a pattern I observed as I read your posts—and also reflected on my own life. This pattern has to do with the meaning of travel at different points in our lives.
Growing up, I never left the state of Minnesota (or was on an airplane) until the age of 16, when I went to California with a youth group. This is in stark contrast with my own children, who have been travelling on vacations to distant locations since the time of their birth. It is also in stark contrast with the travel many of you did as children. Finally, we should note that it is in stark contrast with the many children who are forced to migrate due to violence, persecution, or economic conditions.
The meaning of travel for children is hard to determine.
Most certainly, I have been struck by how little my own children have seemingly taken in on our travels. For them, Lake Lansing’s beach seems just as good as the beaches of southern France—which, after all, are rather rocky and there are jellyfish to watch out for. The croissants in France were good—but do they really match a Bruegger’s bagel?
There is a certain wisdom in this outlook on life.
Travel for children—whether for pleasure or survival, voluntary or involuntary—seems much less about new experiences and much more about family togetherness. Home seems a rather portable concept for many children, marked by the path of the parent through the world.
Perhaps this explains the overwhelming bi-partisan concern at the recent decision to separate children from their parents at the border that joins Mexico and the United States?
Travel as a young adult, by contrast, is archetypical. It is the hero’s journey—from Odysseus to Luke Skywalker. For many in our class, it was the first time to truly leave behind all the comforts of family and friends, undertaking a journey to an unknown location, not knowing a single person upon whom to call should trouble arise.
This journey can have many purposes. It can be the soldier’s journey to fight in a war. Or it can be the backpacker’s trip across Bali.
This outward journey, of course, represents the inner journey of self discovery. The hero always uncovers new aspects of personality that she did not know previously existed. If she is lucky, she discovers her “true identity”—with the challenge being to return home and find a way to integrate that new self knowledge into everyday life. To integrate the sacred with the mundane.
As anyone who has experienced reverse culture shock after months or years of living abroad can tell, the return home can be a very difficult time, indeed. This is especially so, we must admit, for those who have experienced trauma during their hero’s journey.
Travel as mature adults, in life’s second half, is less commonly talked about in our culture. Within our group, it was recognized that travel back to a place where you had been when you were younger is more about maintaining past relationships and reliving past events.
Instead of hero, we are now mentor.
If the meaning of travel for children is unclear, the meaning of travel with children is—by way of contrast—quite clear. For when we travel with the young, we are invited to again view the world through their eyes. We are invited back in to the realm of fresh possibilities.
Such possibilities are often quite pleasant, but for some families they can invoke the absolute terror of the unknown. Either way, they bring us face-to-face with the concreteness of the now.
Walk on a beach with an adult friend. Now walk on the same beach with children. The simple fact of being with children will change how you experience the moment. Smells and sensations from your own childhood—things you might not have recalled for years, if ever—will suddenly return to you with a clarity that is hard to invoke in any other way. These waves, this brininess, those seagulls.
The journey inwards and the journey outwards. This is global education. As I encounter the world, I encounter myself. As I encounter the other, I encounter my own possibilities and my own limitations.
Life flows from our habits and our expectations. Education happens when our habits and expectations are challenged, in this way calling out intelligent and generous adjustments. Travel can facilitate such encounters. But so can everyday life.
The job of the teacher is to encourage students to travel across each day of their lives.
Travel as a young adult, by contrast, is archetypical. It is the hero’s journey—from Odysseus to Luke Skywalker. For many in our class, it was the first time to truly leave behind all the comforts of family and friends, undertaking a journey to an unknown location, not knowing a single person upon whom to call should trouble arise.
This journey can have many purposes. It can be the soldier’s journey to fight in a war. Or it can be the backpacker’s trip across Bali.
This outward journey, of course, represents the inner journey of self discovery. The hero always uncovers new aspects of personality that she did not know previously existed. If she is lucky, she discovers her “true identity”—with the challenge being to return home and find a way to integrate that new self knowledge into everyday life. To integrate the sacred with the mundane.
As anyone who has experienced reverse culture shock after months or years of living abroad can tell, the return home can be a very difficult time, indeed. This is especially so, we must admit, for those who have experienced trauma during their hero’s journey.
Travel as mature adults, in life’s second half, is less commonly talked about in our culture. Within our group, it was recognized that travel back to a place where you had been when you were younger is more about maintaining past relationships and reliving past events.
Instead of hero, we are now mentor.
If the meaning of travel for children is unclear, the meaning of travel with children is—by way of contrast—quite clear. For when we travel with the young, we are invited to again view the world through their eyes. We are invited back in to the realm of fresh possibilities.
Such possibilities are often quite pleasant, but for some families they can invoke the absolute terror of the unknown. Either way, they bring us face-to-face with the concreteness of the now.
Walk on a beach with an adult friend. Now walk on the same beach with children. The simple fact of being with children will change how you experience the moment. Smells and sensations from your own childhood—things you might not have recalled for years, if ever—will suddenly return to you with a clarity that is hard to invoke in any other way. These waves, this brininess, those seagulls.
The journey inwards and the journey outwards. This is global education. As I encounter the world, I encounter myself. As I encounter the other, I encounter my own possibilities and my own limitations.
Life flows from our habits and our expectations. Education happens when our habits and expectations are challenged, in this way calling out intelligent and generous adjustments. Travel can facilitate such encounters. But so can everyday life.
The job of the teacher is to encourage students to travel across each day of their lives.
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