Popular question these days. The temptation to answer “yes” or “no” misses the opportunity to separate the issues facing travelers, including that our freedom to travel carries with it a personal responsibility — just as it always has.

There’s nothing new there. It’s just that the din of the pre-COVID travel party and the freedom cocktail we all shared drowned out most of the conversation about personal responsibility in travel.

Then COVID-19 came along and pressed a gigantic pause button, including on our assumptions. It subjected us to some travel deprivation and served up some forced reflection. It also seems to have tricked us into thinking that some of the ethical considerations surrounding our travel decisions are new when they’re not.

As our own health and well-being have come into sharper focus, so has the health and well-being of others — something that probably should have been atop everyone’s radar all along.

Freedom, Responsibility and Meaning: The Travel Payoff

“Freedom, however, is not the last word. Freedom is only part of the story and half of the truth. Freedom is but the negative aspect of the whole phenomenon whose positive aspect is responsibleness. In fact, freedom is in danger of degenerating into mere arbitrariness unless it is lived in terms of responsibleness.”

—Victor E. Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

When we go out into the world – whether across the globe or around the block – we exercise a freedom. That freedom is paired with a responsibility to ourselves and to others. We can choose to ignore that responsibility. If we do, we slowly — and usually imperceptibly — erode those freedoms.

This plays out always – whether in the context of COVID-19, climate change awareness, or consciousness while walking the streets of a destination you’re visiting.

It’s tempting to quietly give up on something like responsibility, for it’s another burden atop all the others. Maybe we ought to realize it’s impossible to live an entirely ethical life. If that’s our goal, exhaustion is ours. Instead, maybe we abandon purity and perfection and do the best we can by being aware of the impacts of our actions on others.

We can begin by thinking, caring and respecting. We can spend a few cycles educating ourselves, performing research, practicing awareness, and acting on some of what we learn. As we consider our decisions and their impacts, we become more aware of the parameters and the forces at work.

We adjust, shaping a world that aligns with our values.

Should You Travel Now?

“Should I travel now?”

“Should I do ______ now?”

It’s a personal decision. That redirect is not just diplomatic avoidance. Instead, it implies that your answer ought to depend on the choices you make, how you intend to travel and whether and how you care about the well-being of others along the way.

It applies whether you journey just outside your front door or halfway around the world.

It has always applied.

And its truth remains with each of us until we take our last trip.

The post Is it Ethical to Travel Now? With that Freedom Comes Responsibility appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Sweet 16, of a total of 19 years that we’ve been together. (Yikes! Has it really been that long?!)

For me, anniversaries serve as prompts — cues to consider where we are, what brought us to this moment, where we aim to go.

As I look back and unpack a bit of our joint travel and life history, I’m drawn to a few key inflection points that, in the moment or in retrospect, marked the arc of our lives bending together. I think not only of the place or context, but also to my frame of mind at these intersections and ask: “What motivated that decision? How did that take us to the next stage?”

This is another way of answering the oft-asked: “How did you build your crazy life…as a couple?”

Truth is, the travel bug predates our latest journeys and the blog, and goes right to the beginning — to a chance encounter, to an unlikely confluence. It’s not always in a relationship that both people have the urge to travel to the extent we each did. Nor is there always in a relationship an implicit, shared understanding about what one another wishes to get out of life, and give back to the world.

My experience tells me that sometimes it's there, in seed or in blossom, and sometimes it grows over time.

When I consider the signposts of our lives from the last 16 years, where we took a turn here or there, I find something else: I am grateful for what I have and realize how privileged we are to have had the choices we had. And, to have made some of the unorthodox decisions we did.

Deliberate decisions, yes, yet inadvertently laying down the tracks of an unconventional life story. No matter how our decisions might appear on the surface, they were never particularly easy — especially in the moment. I suppose if you wish to lead an adventurous life, in part or in whole, that’s what you do. You sometimes do what's not easy and you eat the fear.

In partnership with The Ritz-Carlton we share six moments or inflection points, and how each built on the other to create the relationship and the life we share together today – not only with each other, but also with the world.

1. Chance: Northern California, Where it All Began

How did we meet? Completely by chance, on a driveway in Monterey, California. As much as we’d like to credit ourselves for all the bounty in life, we must give a nod to the role chance has played.

Our simple beginning and its limitations laid the groundwork. Time was short. When Dan and I met, I knew I would leave the country nine months later for the Peace Corps and a 27-month stint in Estonia.

Circumstances forced us to an awareness that moments are one-time, you grab them while you can.

During the weekends that followed, we jumped out of an airplane at over 15,000 feet, hiked together in Yosemite, and earned our scuba diving certifications in the uncomfortably cold waters of Monterey Bay. As we commuted between San Francisco and Monterey on weekends, we used the time to explore locally, as well as up and down the coast — drinks in Carmel, picnics in the Presidio, drives along Pebble Beach, oysters on the coast, wine tasting in Sonoma.

We squeezed every ounce of experience out of that time together. This was how we — and our approach to life — came into sharper view in those early days.

People often talk of really enjoying life in their Golden Years, as time slips by. Circumstances then forced us to an awareness, though, that moments are one-time. You grab them while you can. You appreciate them as they come.

2. Persistence: Norway, An Engagement That Almost Wasn’t…Three Times

It’s always good to have a backup plan. Or two. Or maybe even three.

That’s how we ended up on a 4,500-km road trip to the tippy-top of Norway way above the Arctic Circle, searching for the Arctic Sea. This was, I might add, after two failed proposal attempts, five boats, three flat tires, a few naked men, some drunk Swedes, and swarms of super-sized Finnish swamp mosquitos.

I should also note that I had absolutely no idea what was going on during all of this. I just thought Dan possessed a bucket list-like desire to see the Arctic Sea. I was game to join the crusade.

It was only when we finally reached a fishing village at the water’s edge — where, amidst the rocks Dan got down on one knee, ring in hand — that I began to wake up to what had been going on. But I was still a bit slow on the uptake; I just thought we were on another adventure.

“Are you serious?” I responded to his question.

Then I saw his face, white as a sheet.

Sometimes you must keep searching, going — even if it means driving to the ends of the earth — until you find just the right place to fit your occasion. And failure is sometimes worn down by the repeated attempt. If at first you don't succeed, try again, if only for the story.

3. Adventure: Pienza, A Tuscan Wedding

Prior to even imagining a wedding, we’d had it in our minds to backpack around Europe for four or five months after I completed my Peace Corps service in Estonia.

Neither of us wanted a big, traditional American-style wedding so an idea emerged: why not get married in Europe along the way?

So, Italy – and Tuscany specifically — seemed to be a perfect match for what was important to us: a gorgeous, engaging destination; beautiful and romantic turns coursing with remarkable food and wine. Even if absolutely everything went wrong logistically, as it would sometimes feel along the way, we figured that Italy in all its charms would somehow save the day. (Spoiler: it did.)

…that’s how life stories are built. They are not assembled by the finely tuned itinerary, the perfect anything. They are defined by the messes along the way, the joy amidst the storm…

We alerted our family and close friends of our plans and advised them: “take a vacation in Italy, and stop by our wedding along the way.”

After backpacking our way through Eastern Europe, we landed in the Val D’Orcia region of Tuscany in late September. We made heaps of changes last minute to wedding plans and accommodation, but our ceremony did indeed take place in Pienza as planned.

It was all wickedly romantic. Unpredictable, too. But that’s how life stories are built. They are not assembled by the finely tuned itinerary, the perfect anything. They are defined by the messes along the way, the joy amidst the storm, and made better by the perspective and knowledge in the moment that a hash of plans and unexpected turns are what constitute life as we know it.

I won't claim to have been entirely Zen-like in the moment. But there was a part of me – Dan, too – that said, even as the first batch of DIY wedding flowers were discovered to be Italian funeral flowers by the agriturismo owner's wife who promptly threw them in the trash, “This is the way it's supposed to work out.”

Full of turns, memorable, different.

And when we – and our guests – think back on this experience, it’s all the messy stuff, most of which was unplanned and unexpected and overturned, that we remember and still laugh about most.

4. Exploration: Prague, Living and Working Abroad…Together

The pre-wedding backpacking trip around Europe planted the seed of yet another idea: move to Europe sometime before the end of the following year. I had been fortunate to live abroad several times in my life, but for Dan this would be a first.

And we would set off together this time.

Looking back, our instincts were way ahead of their time, and at a moment when figuring life plans seemed more back of the napkin kind of stuff, rather than available in an ebook or online course.

You can’t explore the new without separating yourself from the old. You can’t grab hold of the unfamiliar with both hands, until you've freed them from the familiar.

After I finished graduate school we embarked on what we now refer to as a “research trip” –- an on-the-ground tour of seven selected cities (Prague, Czech Republic; Bratislava, Slovakia; Budapest, Hungary, Vilnius, Lithuania; Krakow, Poland; Zagreb, Croatia; and Ljubljana, Slovenia) that we'd visited as tourists, but now would consider as prospective residents. We considered factors such as job opportunities, visas, cost of living, and more.

The choice was difficult, but in the end it was clear: Prague. We returned to San Francisco, sold our cars and downsized to a few boxes. Just before Christmas, we arrived in the Czech Republic on a stunningly cold winter day with three bags each, no jobs and the slight inkling that we’d done something unhinged.

Our friends and family thought we were nuts, the Czechs we met thought so, too. “Why would you leave a perfectly good set of circumstances to come here?” was the reasonable essence of their query.

Our answer? Because that’s what curiosity compels you to do. For me, this behavior is the embodiment of exploration. You can’t explore the new without separating yourself from the old. You can’t grab hold of the unfamiliar with both hands until you've freed them from the familiar.

Admiring Prague Castle from the edge of the Charles Bridge, we would often ask each other in disbelief: “Can you believe we actually live here?”

Within a few months of our move to Prague, we both found jobs and created full lives there, professionally and personally. Instead of staying for two years as originally planned, we lived there for five.

But the curiosity itch surfaced, this time to explore the rest of the world on a creative sabbatical. And we decided it must be scratched.

5. Inspiration: Thailand, A First Stop on our Round-the-World Journey

With the digital nomad world as fully developed as it is these days, there’s a part of me that feels slightly cliché by saying that Thailand started it all.

But, Thailand pretty much started it all.

The inspiration for our round-the-world journey and creative sabbatical began there about two years prior to our departure from Prague. Not only did this first trip to Asia together introduce us to street food eating in Bangkok and a thoroughly relaxing and rejuvenating beach on the island of Koh Pha Ngan, but it illuminated how we could make long-term travel a reality. A $10 per night bungalow and $1-2 street food meals delivered a joy and satisfaction that opened our eyes that we could make our dream of traveling around the world a real possibility.

Neither of us wanted to look back in 10 or 20 years on this decision point with regret.

We found ways to adjust our spending habits in order to save money. The goal: to travel the world together for 12-18 months and develop skills that could transition us each into new or expanded professions, and into the next stage of our lives together.

But, it’s one thing to talk about something and another to actually do it. We asked: “What if we put this off? What if we don’t do this?” Neither of us wanted to look back in 10 or 20 years on this decision point with regret.

And so in December 2006, two years after our first fateful Thailand trip, we handed in our resignation letters, sold everything — save a few items to cram into our backpacks — and departed with two one-way tickets to Bangkok.

A few days after landing, we found ourselves in the same $10 bungalow right on Haad Yao beach, Koh Pha Ngan that started it all. We had done it.

At that time we had no idea what might happen or how our careers might be affected by taking this break. What we did know is that even if things didn’t work out quite as we'd expected, we wouldn’t look back at our decision regretfully.

During that time in Thailand, we picked up our first freelance writing work. The idea of extending our journey into new and expanded professions and lifestyle was born.

6. Balance: Berlin, Our Current Base To Explore the World

After nearly seven years of a nomadic life, we'd made a decision to shift again and signed for a flat in Berlin and pursued residency in Germany.

This may sound like an easy shift, but let me tell you that change – whether it points in the direction towards or away from the “norm” – can actually be quite difficult.

Although we could have continued our previous nomadic lifestyle — flush with its captivating continual movement, refreshing uncertainty and seeming glamour — we'd felt a bit Energizer Bunny-ish. You know, the one who keeps going and going, without reflection on where he’s going and why he might be doing it. Not only did we require some stability — if only a reliable place to process our travels and what they taught us — but we were also missing a community, in the flesh, in our lives.

The question we’re often asked: why Berlin?

The simple answer is: we enjoy it. Berlin had drawn us long before we decided to make it our base. If you’ve ever visited, you’ll know that Berlin features a certain vibe or atmosphere – at once entrepreneurial, creative, energetic, irreverent.

Although we still have the travel bug and a persistent curiosity itch for discovery, new destinations, and continual learning, Berlin grounds us in a way that allows us the space, time and distance to better process it all and to properly unpack each trip and experience. Each time we return, we also look forward to the descent into a place at once more familiar yet never fully explored, into a place where we’ll spend time catching up with friends and with ourselves. Together, this enables us to explore other professional challenges and projects — all while knowing that the rest of the world is accessible, ready for our exploration.

This is our current balance, and it is a good place to be. During our time in Berlin, we've expanded our capabilities as thinkers, writers, speakers, and consultants, and among the self-appointed stewards of the mindful and the “travel as a force for good” in the world.

And so, when The Ritz-Carlton, Berlin kindly offered to host us for a few cocktails to celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary, we used the occasion not only to take stock, but to reflect on what brought us to this point and to imagine what will take us forward.

As broadly as our first steps around the world may have opened our minds, we now feel an even wider appreciation both of what we've accomplished as well as what remains. In a moment of honesty, I can also tell you that when I consider our mission and the cascading decisions that lie ahead, I'm both apprehensive and exhilarated.

But this is — has been, will be — the essence of life.

The post Sweet 16: Anniversary Reflections and Travel Inflections appeared first on Uncornered Market.

The morning after the terrorist attacks in Paris, I was glued to my devices, ingesting every update. At some point I needed to peel myself away from the news. So I went for a run in Tempelhof Airport Park, my usual spot in Berlin, to get some fresh air and to try and clear my head.

As I made my way down the runway, I noticed in front of the old terminal building the German flag flying at half-mast in honor of the victims in Paris, a gesture of solidarity and shared grief. The changeable arc of history was not lost on me: Germany and France, now friends, had once been at war with one another not that long ago.

In what I might call a historical flipbook moment, I considered the near constant state of change of this place where I was running.

In the mid-1930s, the airport terminal was rebuilt to be the largest building in the world, a symbol of Nazi power. During World War II, it was the site of a forced labor camp. Between 1948 and 1949, Tempelhof Airport was ground zero for the Berlin Airlift as Allied troops delivered food and supplies to the people of West Berlin during the Soviet blockade. The airport continued to serve commercial flights until it closed in 2008, after which the entire site became Berlin’s largest public park. Now it stands as a remarkable, if unceremonious, symbol of freedom and openness where everyone — from bearded hipsters to headscarved Turkish mothers — walk, picnic and thrive in common space.

Most recently, the Tempelhof terminal building became a shelter for 1,000 refugees, many of whom fled the war in Syria.

In stride, I continued to turn over the events in Paris and the attacks in Beirut and Baghdad earlier in the week. It seemed fitting that I would do so in the temporary mental refuge of a place that once symbolized humanity’s worst, yet now seeks to embody its best.

One of the techniques I use as a travel writer is to examine where I am in order to find perspective. As I communicate place, I consider the layers of history. I examine what is, versus what has been. I give air to what could be. Are there lessons I can take away? Can I find balance amidst it all?

As I ran in Berlin, thinking about Paris, some thoughts came to mind to help move me forward from what happened this past weekend. Maybe you’ll find them helpful, too.

1. So many things in life are out of our control.

Travel teaches me this lesson constantly. I see it firsthand as circumstances great and small unfold against the grain of my plans and expectations. But when our sense of security and freedom has been pierced by an act of violence or terrorism, we feel especially vulnerable and helpless.

This is natural, but it doesn’t change the fact that so much of what happens around us is fundamentally outside of our control. In fact, it underscores it.

2. How we choose to respond is in our control.

I am on a permanent journey of coming to terms with #1.

I don’t believe my acknowledgement of circumstances is a kind of fatalism. It’s a recognition that while a great deal is out of my hands, there’s still much I can do, many opportunities where I can exert influence. At the same time, I accept limits and understand that I may not always be able to prevent “bad” things from happening. However, I don’t allow these limits to restrict me, but rather to focus me and lend scope to my efforts.

So instead of shrinking from what is, I observe it, unpack it and ask myself, “What’s the most productive way I can respond?” Sure, I find that much easier said than done, particularly when my sense of what is “productive” shifts, as it’s apt to do.

Regardless, there remains an empowering takeaway: our response is our choice.

3. Consider your fears.

As I reflect on what is right and appropriate for me, I honor my fears by considering them. I’m not going to beat my chest and advise you to deny your fears and take on the world. There are plenty of good reasons to be frightened. However, question your fears. What are you afraid of? Why? What is at the root? Where will your fears take you?

At first pass, this may not be satisfying. It might even be nauseating. But there’s the potential for two very productive things to happen as you do. Examination of the root of your fears can yield new information, and consideration of this information can prevent you from self-destructively acting on impulse.

In the face of atrocity, it’s natural to want to protect yourself by retreating to safety, by building a wall made of bricks of fear. Before you do, know what that fear is made of at its foundation. Also, re-consider item #1 and think on what it really means to be safe.

4. My front of choice: Focusing on how I engage with others.

After feeling angry that the world “shouldn’t be this way” and frustrated by not having any control over what has happened, I found a sense of empowerment in how I can choose to respond.

I choose to honor my life and the lifestyle that I value, and to honor the humanity that I am one of, one with. From those core values — the big things — I progressed to the little things. There’s power in the little things. Always will be.

As I passed other people during my run — some on their own, others with children, some in hats, others in headscarves – I made a point to acknowledge each of them, maybe even to smile. This is my response.

I find that making a conscious effort to engage people with kindness and a greeting makes me feel more connected to those around me. After an unsettling event like the attacks in Paris, I notice others making this effort, too. Whether its the guys originally from Lebanon throwing pies for years at the corner pizza joint or the old German guy who owns the cheese shop down the street, they all understand that despite the initial appearance of insignificance, simple interactions are how we build and rebuild connection and goodwill.

5. Reject the wedge, the divide.

Make no mistake, terrorism of the sort we witnessed in Paris is designed to injure and it relies on the ensuing pain and grief as a lever to turn one group of people in a society against another. It’s a deliberate attempt to construct a narrative — the “us vs. them” narrative — where there really is only us.

We can counter the barbarity of terrorism by being better than it, to choose to engage even more within our community. We can practice empathy and try to understand what others have gone through, what they are still suffering with now. No, it won’t always be easy. But in the shadow of pain, it is our best way forward.

6. If you are inclined to cancel your travel plans, reconsider.

There are plenty of good reasons why you might be pulling back on that booked or almost-booked trip to Paris or wherever else. If you are, I can’t fault you for being scared. I’ve been on that edge myself; I know how it feels. All I can suggest is that you pause and reconsider. Living in fear and canceling plans to insulate yourself from the “other” are exactly what terrorists would like you to do.

Travel is one of the best ways to say “no.”

We have control over how we choose to act and how we engage with others. This constant gives each of us power in the face of atrocities meant to instill fear and hate.

In this, I find strength. I also find hope.

The post Responding to Terrorist Attacks: A Traveler’s Perspective, Moving Forward from Fear appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Now, on gratitude.

Thanksgiving, The Excuse

Thanksgiving, I’ve said repeatedly, is my favorite holiday.  Aside from the craziness of “the biggest travel day of the year in the U.S.” and the lunacy around the Black Friday shopping perversion, the idea to my mind is pretty straightforward and pure: get yourself together with family and friends, share a meal (OK, so eat a ton), and be thankful for it.

Then maybe, in a food coma stupor, ruminate gratefully.

Or perhaps ruminate before the gorge.  After all, blood rushes to the digestive system thereby depriving the brain of the much-needed oxygen to ruminate.

Regardless, I seized this holiday – the day of giving thanks — as a convenient excuse to do something I’m certain I personally ought to be doing more of throughout the year: being grateful and reflecting on what gratitude actually means.

Finding the Time to Consider Gratitude

Recently, I’ve carved out the luxury of little bits of time, something that very recently either felt out of reach or that I did not stretch far enough to grasp.  This newfound and hopefully less fleeting joy has further afforded me the opportunity to reflect.

Reflection, by the way, is a wonderful thing.  Regardless of whether you are examining the “good” or the “bad”, processing is something we humans need to do.  And I don’t know about you, but this human needs to do more of it.  After the autumn I’ve had — whereupon my head had become a traffic jam the likes of which they have in China that takes 20 days to clear — this reflection is most welcome. Each passing day reaffirms this more then the previous.

During this reflection, I’ve had ups and downs that shall serve as fodder for another discussion entirely.  I have also realized something.  I have so much to be thankful for, yet sometimes the panels of my life story flip by so quickly that I don’t take the time to sit with it and take stock of what I could be grateful for.

Gratitude is not a time-intensive exercise. It’s a choice to allocate a slot of time however narrow to simply look around.

So where did I find the time to reflect on gratitude?  I made it.

Gratitude Defined

To that end, a definition. I tell you, there’s a bit of variation out there regarding the meaning of the word gratitude.

“Readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness.”

“Thankfulness”

Applied Gratitude

Gratitude, it appears, is an art.

At its most basic, the definition of gratitude seems all about gifts and givers, about merit undeserved.  Underneath this perspective is the idea that gratitude is about being thankful for something specific, to someone specific be they living or not.

But it seems to me that the art of gratitude is about entire package of not just saying thank you to other people, but being thankful for what is — stepping back for big things and small and appreciating the whole.

Which raises a question: can you be grateful without uttering a word to another soul?  I’d like to think so.

But I will not fool you, or sell the effort of gratitude short.  Gratitude takes some work. A life’s work, you might say.

Gratitude: Good for the General Us

Practicing gratitude, it’s good for others too.  Collateral benefit you might say. Even directionless, gratitude into the ether acts like a cosmic air freshener.  Think about it as ammunition in the battle against ill will.

Gratitude lays a foundation for things like generosity, sharing, and contentment – and the continual learning and re-learning of what that means.

I don’t know where it comes from or even why it is that I feel gratitude around certain people and in certain situations. I am simply thankful that it I do – and that it is.

The Flip Side

The foil of gratitude, expectation or entitlement, suggests “Why should I be thankful when I actually deserve this?”

Beware the assumption of what you should have.  There exists a real danger behind that entitlement: disappointment.  So much of our existence, our sense of happiness and satisfaction is a function of our expectations. And these days, it seems like we are taught more and more to begin with an astoundingly high baseline.

Being grateful for what is, all things big and small, helps keep our expectations in perspective.

My Gratitude

So, I am grateful.

I am grateful to all our friends out there who sent so many kind comments about concern for our well being, whether it was connected to frightening flights, crazy buses or the volatile situation in and around Kashmir and Ladakh.  Travel can teach us many things in all manner of ways, and one of the greatest lessons is that we ought to be truly grateful.

I’m grateful for opportunities to see and experience things — astonishingly beautiful things — in such volume that I might well be tempted to take them for granted, which I am afraid I sometimes do.

Finally and most importantly, I am thankful for friends and for family.  And to know at any moment that they and the people they care about are well.

If you have trouble focusing on gratitude, close your eyes and be still.  Maybe it’s before or after your Thanksgiving meal, or maybe even during.  And sit for a moment with what is.  Take it in.  Then allow your gratitude to seep into the ether.  Maybe you’ll even feel it come right back to you.

—-

That’s my piece on gratitude.  I’m grateful that you took the time to read this article and even more grateful that you made it this far.

So, Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate it.  Happy Hanukkah, too. Or Thanksgivukkah, if you don’t find the name appalling like I kinda do.

Now go eat that turkey (or tofurky) or whatever you choose, even if you choose to fast and eat nothing at all.  I’m grateful you have the choice.

The post On Gratitude appeared first on Uncornered Market.

If you’ve ever known that pang of sadness on the longest day of the year or the faintest glimmer of hope on its shortest, this is for you. If you’ve ever pondered cycles and the tricks of the seasons, that too.

It was an early August heat wave. Audrey and I were returning home on bicycles from a late-afternoon-turned-evening gathering with friends, a craft brew and food festival just a few miles away. The sun nearly finished setting. We were just passing the final light of day. Along our path, we approached the western end of Tempelhof Airport, the airfield that was the site of the Berlin airlifts in 1948-49 and had remained open until 2008.

Now it stood empty – but not entirely so, for it had thankfully been turned into a public space, Tempelhof Park. Especially when the weather is fair, people turn out in droves to take it in – to picnic, to create, and to work all manner of wheeled and wind-propelled devices whose enjoyment requires open space.

“Let’s see if we can still get in,” I said to Audrey as she passed alongside me, casting night shadows.

After dark, the airport is usually closed.

But not this time.

We turned our bicycles into a narrow entrance and there was the old airport before us. I rolled over a few chunks of broken tarmac until the wide strip of 9L/27R, its main runway almost 2100 meters long, smoothed ahead of me.

2000 Meters

As I peddled faster, I picked my body up and I could feel a gathering rush of warm air. I drank in the summer. Sheets of heat lightning broke high in the darkness, but rain was no threat. All manner of warmth — like a blanket of goodness — washed over me.

Warm days are wonderful, but there’s nothing quite like the weight of a warm night. Anywhere — but here especially — it feels to me like something that maybe shouldn’t be. But when it is, I take it in.

This is joy, pure and unadulterated.

1500 Meters

Amidst the runway tar strips, I caught flickers of light from other bicycles. We weren’t the only ones with the idea of enjoying an empty airfield on a warm night. Others were still here. And I wondered if any of them were thinking what I began to think:

A warm wind, once a cool wind.

1000 Meters

I could see boyfriends and girlfriends wrapped in blankets, embracing.

I wondered if they’d been there all day long. Friends in t-shirts, long days, the haze of freshly poured beer.

My mind began to wander to so many moments on this runway, through the exchange of seasons. I had experienced Berlin just enough to see and feel each one. Summer to winter, and the in-betweens.

The movement of seasons is something beautiful and complex. It hearkens to death and rebirth. But it’s not so straightforward. It plays tricks. For on the longest day of the year, the Summer Solstice, we’re told we have the entire summer ahead of us, yet the days will become shorter. On that day, I feel just a little sad amidst all that light. And on the shortest day of the year, the Winter Solstice, we’re told we have the entire winter ahead of us, yet the days will become longer. On that day, I feel just a little upbeat amidst all that darkness.

500 Meters

I could see the end of the runway and the little hill that rolls up to the edge of my neighborhood, a cache of life called Schillerkiez.

The seasons would change. And it would be winter once again right on this very spot. And I will feel it then, too. I'll jog these runways and when I do, I'll take in their stillness, the silence, the peace, and the solitude. The cold, the biting wind also. For there’s something oddly beautiful in all that, too.

I might also think back to a warm summer night when I could cycle across it in the dark, with a warm breeze washing over me.

0 Meters

I pulled up off the runway and into the neighborhood. There was great life as people hung out open windows and spilled out from restaurants and bars into the streets. Even from the local Turkish taxi driver men’s club.

I wondered where they all would be several months from now, in winter, at this very moment, at this time of night.

—-

In the change of seasons, there’s a balance, an exchange.

I sometimes wonder what makes us alive. I hope we all do. This wonder gives us a platform for gratitude – for what is, for what was and what remains, in cycles.

The post Tempelhof: The Yin and Yang of an Abandoned Airfield appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Then I consider what’s at the heart of the spirit of marathons, and the reasons why crowds of people were gathered at the finish line in the first place. Through this process, I attempt to restore some of my lost hope in humanity, because I believe if we lose that marathon spirit, that’s when we’ve really lost.

Pump your arms, your legs will follow…

— Marathon advice. Life advice?

Marathons and the Human Spirit

I have an oddly emotional relationship with long-distance races considering that I’m not an avid runner, that I’ve never once run a race.

Dan introduced me to the world of running. I remember cheering him on during a hailstorm at the Prague Marathon 9 years ago. We have friends who are runners, some of whom we cheered on less than ten days ago at the Berlin Half Marathon. I’ve stood out in all shades of weather along the edge of race courses. What’s most remarkable, though, is that I find myself cheering my heart out for people I’ve never laid eyes on in my life and will likely never see again. I’ve fought back inexplicable tears and emotions watching complete strangers pursue their potential, wage their struggles.

I know I’m not alone. If you've ever been to one of these races, you probably know what I mean.

Dan tells a story of a spectator who ran beside him for a couple of blocks in Prague when he’d clearly hit the wall around mile 23. The supporter clapped his hands and offered advice for marathons and life the world over, “Pump your arms, your legs will follow.”

Why on earth would someone do this?

Because self-destruction be damned – this too, is the human spirit.

Boston Marathon: Bombs, Stories of Hope

When I heard the news yesterday about how bombs targeted the finish line of the Boston Marathon, my view of humanity took a hit. How could anyone deliberately target something built of goodness, of kindness — an event that exemplifies people working together, cheering on strangers, celebrating hard work and potential?

Clearly, those bombs were not only meant to harm a large group of people, but also to wipe out our spirit.

Not long after the incident, however, stories of hope emerged. Of people helping people. Of runners continuing to run after 26 miles — not only to finish but also to make it to the hospital to give blood. Of people bringing blankets and food, of people placing their names on a list to open their homes to runners needing shelter.

Every time I think we’re down for the count, I find an overwhelming resilience in humanity. It's one that finds energy in the collective effort it takes to pick ourselves back up, to help and support each other. Perhaps I'm buoyed by the concept that the greatest measure of who we are is not in how we respond to the favorable wind, but how we respond in times of difficulty.

Amidst all the questions surrounding what happened in Boston yesterday afternoon, I want to shine a light on that spirit, the marathon spirit, the spirit for all long roads ahead.

Channeling the Spirit of the Marathon: Five Lessons

What is it about marathons that stir my emotions? No matter where, they are infused with the best of what the human spirit has to offer. Hope, support, potential: we celebrate the effort and achievement of not only the people we know, but also the people we don't.

Consider the beauty of this. And recognize how these lessons learned might apply to everyday life. In this way, I wish that every day could be race day.

1) Cheer people you don’t know.

For some reason, walls come down on race day and we have no inhibitions cheering on someone we don't really know, some of the same complete strangers we might otherwise disregard or avoid. We look someone we don’t know in the eye, and we want – no, almost will – them to keep going, to do better. We create connections, however fleeting, and lasting good will. We may never see each other again. But that’s OK; the impression of that moment remains.

Don’t go blindly, but beware of putting up walls that prevent us from celebrating one another and lending a helping hand when it's needed.

2) Defy stereotypes.

The runners that often bring me to tears are the atypical ones, the unlikely suspects. Perhaps the 65 or 75-year-old man (or woman) who demonstrates that activity and goal setting need not end as we grow older.

Or there's the middle-aged woman who does not look the role of prototypical runner. You know she has poured hundreds of hours into training, likely juggling a job, kids and other commitments, to run and finish.

That's determination. And if that isn’t inspiration, I don’t know what is.

Imagine if we all did something a little different than what we “should” do?

3) Push the boundaries.

So many people running marathons are people who never imagined “..that they could ever do it.” That they were capable of such endurance, perseverance. They allowed themselves to dream, and perhaps they had the support of others in that dream. Marathons often shed light on that great expectation of life, our potential.

What thing seems so far off right now that maybe shouldn’t be?

4) Celebrate hard work.

As we all know, dreaming is not the same as doing. People prepare themselves for months on end for every type of race. They navigate commitments, aches, pains, ice packs and days when they feel they cannot move. But when they are out on that course, we celebrate their discipline and the effort that brought them there to the start and will carry them to the finish.

Hard work shouldn’t be a bad word; it’s something we should celebrate in light of accomplishment, and for its own sake.

5) Build personal and shared motivation.

On one level, long-distance races are an individual sport — each runner works with and against himself only. But those crowds of supporters – other runners as well as those on the sidelines – are the magic sauce of motivation that alter a seemingly obvious equation. This is not zero sum. Their presence is good for each and for all of us as a whole.

We can indeed be greater than the sum of our parts.

—

Even though I didn’t know anyone injured or killed in yesterday’s blast, I still feel devastated, particularly as my thoughts go to the people impacted and their families. This was deliberate destruction brought to the foot of what should only have been a joyous and hopeful event.

As we pick up and reassemble the pieces as best we can, maybe we can use the spirit of the marathon as a guide — good will, community, and perseverance — for how we respond to tragedies like this.

As we pump our arms, so too our legs will follow.

The post Channeling the Spirit of the Marathon: Hope Going Forward appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Anniversaries, they help mark time. They remind us to remind ourselves to admire our arc, our path through the world in time. No, not to admire it in some self-satisfied way, but to admire that there’s a process of growing, changing, evolving, and continually understanding that our lives are portions of an unbroken circle connecting all the dots of who we’ve become. Anniversaries invite us to step back to view the path we’ve helped to unfold — a path that takes us from where we’ve been to where we are, all peppered with hints and imaginations of where we would hope to go.

This particular anniversary of six years passed almost without notice. “How could that happen?!” you ask?

Our response? Life. You find yourself putting together a workshop on a Nicaraguan beach, and believe it or not, you can get a little lost. Then you look up from your cup of coffee one morning and think, wait a minute, didn’t we leave a pork butt behind in Prague six years ago yesterday?

Yes, six years. Sometimes it feels like just a few days, sometimes it feels well beyond several lifetimes. You know how that feels, I’m sure.

When we set off, we’d imagined 12-18 months. You could say we miscalculated, just a spec. We’ve made decisions, had discussions — some might even call them arguments (yes, we are human) — and our approach and the “why” is continually reaffirmed from within and from without.

What does that mean?

I suppose the inner compass, with all its confusions and magnetic pulls in occasionally unproductive directions, always brings us back to making our way through the world in a manner that brings meaning, meaning that is continually and surprisingly reflected back to us by others.

A Little Perspective in Three Stories

Story #1

In Nicaragua, a colleague and newfound friend commented, “When we die, when we leave this Earth, we can’t take our stuff with us, we can only take our experiences, our memories.” You might say there’s no checked bags or carry-ons when we leave this life. Thank you for your spirit, Selena.

Story #2

On our flight from Atlanta to Amsterdam, around hour 14 of a monster travel day, we had the good fortune to sit next to a retired career American serviceman on his way back to Afghanistan as a private contractor. He would be away from his wife and children. This was profoundly difficult, I can only imagine. It’s Christmas after all.

In any event, he’d seen so much, yet still so much struck him wide-eyed. We told him of what we’d seen and felt during so many of our trips. But when we mentioned visiting Iran last year, his eyes really opened and his jaw dropped ever so slightly. He almost hesitated to ask, “How was it? What happened?”

We shared a few stories, from the continual invitations from ordinary Iranians we met on the streets to the incredible kindness we experienced on the train from Iran to Istanbul. I even pulled out my iPhone and showed a few photos of the architectural jewels of Shiraz and Esfahan.

“The world is sometimes not as we’re told it is,” he said, continually tilting his head in wonder, shaking his head in disbelief. Thank you, Will – for your service and for reaffirming for us so much about what can be right in this world.

Story #3

Finally, on just about every turn of this journey, thanks to the unnamed many who shed continual light on our good fortune with sentiments like this: “Six years, you must have been everywhere.”

Well, no. We haven’t been everywhere. And even if we had, there’s always something left on the table, notwithstanding all the changes undergone by places we’ve visited since we’ve visited them.

We thank every one of the people who echo this sentiment and remind us that there’s always more to explore and learn. They reaffirm that it’s always a good idea to unpack, if only to take a moment to take stock of what you have and what you’ve done, what remains and why you’re doing it all.

Perhaps most importantly, they imply that we should never take anything for granted.

Looking to Year Seven

Six years ago, words like “digital nomad” and “professional blogger” weren’t really in our imaginations, much less our lexicons. So our “journey” has become more than one of just travel; it has become our life, our lens, our business. Our imaginations are stretched by what is and what could be. Honestly, it can feel intimidating at times.

So what do you do when a journey and its various pieces come together as one? Recently, we took a private look back to the very beginning and reflected on why we got started on this journey in the first place to guide us — to the themes of exploration, continual learning, stories, meaning and creativity.

The world and all the things we learn, they all take time. They are delivered to us at their own pace. And if we rush too much, we run the risk of missing the little things.

Likewise, if we just wait for things to happen, they may never do so.

Independent of the results, life as a process is pretty fascinating.

And just in case you are wondering: I am addicted to sentence fragments because sometimes you have to unpack and take apart what you have in order to understand what you’ve built.

It’s with this spirit that we begin our seventh year of this journey. A year we hope is one of continued surprises, shared lessons and good stories.

Thank you for being part of it.

The post Six Years on the Road: A Journey Becomes Life appeared first on Uncornered Market.

In early September, Audrey and I co-presented at a conference in Monterey, California. Monterey just also happens to be the place where we'd first met almost exactly 15 years before, where our joint approach to life on the road got its start.

In the driveway, the exact spot where our lives together began, we got to thinking how best to answer another oft-asked question: “So how did you guys meet?”

This is the story, roughly and in brief, like we might tell it at a bar. His and hers, back and forth, crumpled unlined notepad paper, speckled with red wine. History, revision, and an occasional differing point of view.

Dan: As I walked down the street vaguely wine-addled, I witnessed two young women emptying a small car of a large pile of worldly collegiate possessions. One of the women looked up. She took a long gaze at me, then dropped her bags, her breath apparently taken away. Her name was Audrey.

For her, this was love at first sight.

Audrey: Imagine that scratching sound where the record-player needle gets pulled across the record. Let’s reintroduce ourselves to the truth.

Dan: You want the whole truth? OK. So much for keeping this short.

It was August 1997. I had been living in San Francisco in a jaggy one bedroom, 495 square foot apartment. To its miniature defense, the building had a hot tub on the roof and featured a full view of the Golden Gate Bridge and a sliver view of the Bay Bridge.

I shared this abundant abode with my friend Tony. I drove a VW Cabriolet. I was told nickel-for-a-rich-man-so-many-times that my hair made me look like Flock of Seagulls. So basically, I rolled with a circa mid-1980s look. But I could cook, sort of. I drank wine, and not just white zinfandel. I wore double-breasted suits with suspenders to meetings with clients and somehow thought that was appropriate.

I was dating. Women. A few of them. I was a management consultant and spent a lot of time on the road. (This makes me sound like I think I was a player. I was not. I was simply confused.) Anyhow, by mid-August of that year I had sworn off dating for an indefinite spell, if only to clear my head. No more dating, at least not for a while.

Then something happened.

I got a phone call from a friend. (Or was it an email?)

“You want to come down and meet me in Monterey? I’m headed back for a couple of weeks.” An elementary school friend then stationed in the U.S. Army in Korea had planned a visit back to Monterey, California to see his girlfriend.

Monterey. Friends. Weekend. A free place to crash. Tony and I could take a drive down the coast, tool around the area, and hit the Monterey Wine Festival.

Sure. Why not?

It was an unusual Monterey weekend. While a bit of fog graced the peninsula that morning, it burned off early. And with the Monterey Wine Festival underway — something that Tony and I would take advantage of from about the time doors opened around noon — a perfect day was served.

After a few oysters, tapas and a dose of mid-afternoon wine tasting-qua-guzzling, we opted to head back to the apartment for a recovery nap.

I cut my way down the street, probably feeling cool, but looking much less, haphazardish. There were two young women, a little sun beat, emptying crates and bags from a scrappy, well-worn gray Volkswagen Golf GTI.

As Tony and I approached, he suggested that we might help the young women unpack their car. Their destination: the same house where we’d slept the night before. Points to Tony for chivalry in time.

Hmmm. This could get interesting. Who needs to swear off women for a while, anyway?

Audrey: I had just driven across the United States, a 3,000 mile road trip from Virginia with a close friend, in my 10-year old VW GTI. “California, here I come!” I felt. Living in California, graduate school, Peace Corps. Three life goals coming together within a year.

Me and my GTI, the final leg cross-country, up the Big Sur coast.

Boys would play no part in it. Nope. This was going to be my year.

So I laughed when my housemate’s boyfriend, Tom, half jokingly warned me of his friends visiting from San Francisco: “They’re trawling for women.”

As I began unloading my life from the car, I heard offers of help ring from the foot of the driveway. Two guys, a little worse for wear from the sun and fun, introduced themselves and quickly joined in to help carry my stuff.

Dan’s memory of my being struck by love? Perhaps a misread of my amusement: How eager these two guys were to help. A little too eager I’d say.

Dan: Ouch.

The rest of the afternoon and evening was a bit of a haze. There was interest, some jockeying. We went to a local pub en group, returned home, and continued to chat. Audrey put away, rather impressively, a few Boddington Ales.

As everyone else peeled off to sleep, Audrey and I stayed up. I don’t recall all that we talked about, but it was apparently a lot because we were up almost the whole night. Travel was certainly part of it. I was mesmerized by Audrey's international background — from a family of diplomats and missionaries, of a life overseas. I felt like the local boy trying to figure out the world, even as I prepared for my first trip abroad to India and Indonesia that winter.

We talked economic theory, too, recovering Econ majors bound in shared nerd-dom. We even discussed the Coase theorem.

Who on earth opens a relationship by talking about the Coase theorem?!

In no way did the scene sing romance. This was not a bar out of the Frank Sinatra song, It Happened in Monterey.

Audrey: I’m good with this version of events. It was fun. Goofy, really. I didn’t think much about it. I was leaving in nine months and there was no point in meeting anyone, Economics majors or otherwise. Easy come, easy go.

Or perhaps because I was leaving in nine months I was more open to taking chances.

Dan: On my way out the door back to San Francisco, I gave Audrey my details: “Here’s our address, my cell phone.”

Audrey’s friend, Sarah, was scheduled to fly out of San Francisco late the following afternoon. Their plan: to visit San Francisco and stay with Audrey’s brother. (Maybe I pulled off being cool, but I'm sure I double-checked the number at least ten times before I handed it over.)

“Just in case things don’t work out with your brother and you need a place to stay.”

Come late Monday afternoon, I got the call. Rather conveniently, things hadn’t worked out with Audrey's brother, and there were Audrey and Sarah, planless and no place to stay but chez Dan and Tony.

It was also Audrey’s birthday. With Tony’s counsel, we collected provisions from an Italian deli or two in North Beach and headed out to a cliffside spot in the Presidio with a sunset view of the Golden Gate.

No impromptu birthday picnic could beat this. I’d stolen Audrey’s heart, though in reality it was pretty much Tony’s idea, so maybe he was the one doing the stealing for me. Thank goodness someone in the story used good judgment. We get by with a little help from our friends. Sing it with me.

Everything was left open-ended. No commitment to continue that either of us can remember.

But alas. The following day when Audrey took off back to Monterey, she also conveniently left behind a pair of shoes. “Easy come, easy go, eh?”

Eventually, she got the shoes.

And I got the girl.

Epilogue

During the weekends that followed, we jumped out of an airplane at over 15,000 feet, hiked together in Yosemite, and earned our scuba diving certifications in the uncomfortably cold waters of Monterey Bay.

A couple months later, I left for my first trip outside of North America to India and Australia (hence, the scuba diving classes). Audrey left several months later for the Peace Corps, which would take her away to Estonia for 27 months.

Time was short. When we think back, we feel like we squeezed every ounce of experience out of those first few months together.

This was how we — and our approach to life — came together in those early days.

Nowadays, we spend 24×7 with each other. For the behind the scenes on that story, you’ll just have to wait for another post.

The post It Happened In Monterey (Or, How We Met) appeared first on Uncornered Market.

When Dan and I recall all the unusual yet universal connections we've uncovered throughout our travels and life experiences, we often reflect on how “we're all more connected than we think.” However, each time we accept this maxim and settle comfortably into its implications, life surprises us once again in an odd, humbling and inspiring way.

A few weeks ago, we'd just arrived in Berlin, fresh off of speaking at the World Domination Summit (WDS) conference in Portland. Then, I received this email. The story just blew me away, but I hesitated to share it, my inner skeptic saying maybe people won't feel it like I did. But every time I tell the story, listeners are struck.

So it's time to share the story with you.

The only context I think you'll need: When Dan and I left for the first chapter of our lives together abroad in November 2001, we moved from San Francisco to Prague. In slimming down to six bags, one of the many items we divested ourselves of was a maroon 1989 Honda Accord hatchback.

dear audrey and dan,

i saw your presentation at the wds conference in portland last weekend. i'm so glad you were chosen as the impromptu speakers because i thought your presentation was phenomenal! so many of your words resonated with me. we are all connected, indeed.

and i have a suspicion you and i are even more connected than we think…

about ten years ago (or maybe more) when i was living in san francisco, i had purchased a used car from a lovely woman. it was a honda accord in maroon color. i didn't check out too many details of the car because i felt a strong sense of connection with the woman who sold it to me. she said she was moving to prague for an indefinite period of time, and i immediately felt a sense of kinship. i, too, am an avid traveler. when the car purchase was made, i met her husband briefly. he had been reading a book by ken wilber, and i immediately recognized the book.

i always remembered that woman. she left her necklace hanging in the car – it was a round crystal-like piece that shimmered in the sun because of its clear translucent color. at the center, you can see a very subtle “A” inscribed within. it always reminded of the lovely woman, because her name was audrey. after many years after having sold the honda, i kept the necklace with me. it reminded of the lovely woman, and her spirit of luck and grace remained with me. it now sits inside my car, a used diesel volkswagen golf.

after so many years, i believe the wds conference is a very fitting to place to run into the both of you again, if indeed you are the couple i had met in san francisco. i hope to meet again in person soon.

blessings to you both,

vina lustado

We are indeed that couple.

Thank you, Vina for taking time to send this email and for allowing us to publish it. To receive it meant so much to us. It took us back to a very special moment in our lives, when we were in the process of making a rather frightening life leap — moving to a new country without jobs or security of any kind.

That initial leap was the first of many that led us to where we are today.

—-

The lesson? Life is full of coincidence, of course. But well beyond that, if there's no other reason to be a decent person, it might be this: you'll make impressions and those impressions will take on a life of their own. They may last longer than you can ever imagine, and maybe they'll come back to make you smile one day.

We are all more connected than we think.

This, I'm certain, is a good thing.

The post We Are All More Connected Than We Think appeared first on Uncornered Market.

But as Michiko shared the story of what happened to her family in Hiroshima on August 6, 1945, she carried an even more important message for all of us today — one of peace. As she explained it, her mother instilled in her that we should all work together for peace, to prevent war, to prevent events like the atomic bomb from ever happening again.

With each mother's wish for peace in a world that she passes on to her children, we hope we are getting one step closer to a more peaceful world.

So to our mothers who are far, far away from us today, and to all moms out there, we wish you a very Happy Mother's Day.

The post A Mother’s Day Message of Peace from Hiroshima appeared first on Uncornered Market.