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.

This blend of intention and chance, this is life.

It's also the stuff of what I call “assisted serendipity.”

Serendipity: A Definition

Merriam-Webster tells me that serendipity is: “luck that takes the form of finding valuable or pleasant things that are not looked for,” implying that good fortune is in the driver’s seat. Dictionary.com, however, offers a definition more active, “an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.”

The term ‘aptitude' suggests a capability innate or acquired, or even a ‘faculty' as indicated by Oxford English Dictionary. This latter definition suggests there’s something each of us can do to cultivate serendipity. This outlook aligns better with the history of the term and the way I’ve experienced it in my own life.

To the degree there’s any doubt, that’s where the word “assisted” comes in. That is, we must do something.

Serendipity: A History

It’s said that Horace Walpole coined the term serendipity in 1754. The word refers to the tale of The Three Princes of Serendip, the Persian name for what was then known as Ceylon, now modern day Sri Lanka. In the story, the main characters would, by a combination of accident and wit, fantastically intuit what happened to a valuable lost camel. Speaking of the princes , Walpole said, “they were…always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things which they were not in quest of.”

Assisted Serendipity: A 7-Step Framework

For assisted serendipity, I offer a framework. The structure is much like a problem-solving process but with a twist. What follows is not a recipe or prescription, for the results are never the same.

1. Go…To Engaging Places

The most basic step is to get out. Whether you travel across your city or across the world, that is up to you. The main idea: put yourself in places that are different, where you’ve never been before, that perhaps stretch your comfort zone and build a bit of experiential and emotional muscle.

2. Allow Curiosity to Drive You

Whether it’s travel or networking, allow curiosity to guide you. Allow yourself to get lost, wander with wonder, follow the smell of spices or flowers, check out a street art mural on a wall around the corner. For us, directed wandering — where we have a destination in mind, but are open to never arriving — is one of the best ways to discover, and to set the groundwork for serendipity.

3. Open Yourself Up

Allow yourself to be vulnerable in safe spaces. There will be plenty of opportunity to say no or close down later, but head out the door with the attitude of the beginner's mind. Be open to the new. This includes opening up to other people, too.

An unexpected encounter or connection can be the storehouse of some of life's most fulfilling experiences. There will be plenty of appropriate times to say no. Openness is the magnet that signals that we are receptive of serendipity. Openness as an orientation allows impressions and observations to stream in. From there, filter.

4. Observe

There may be all sorts of serendipitous possibility in your midst. If you don't allow yourself opportunity to notice, it will simply pass you by. Put the camera down, stow the smartphone away in your pocket. Take a breath, be still, be present. With this, notice with all your senses — the scents, the sounds, the textures, the flavors, and the imagery — all to appreciate the patterned and the random around us.

Tuning your observation, you will intuit connections and join threads that may never have passed your consciousness before.

5. Act and Engage

Once you take time to observe, if something strikes you as curious or you wish to understand more, don’t wonder in place. Act on your interest. Go up and ask a question, put yourself in the middle of things, get your hands dirty. Otherwise, you might always wonder, “Was that who I thought it was? Where was that situation going? What were the possibilities?”

The idea of assisted serendipity is not unlike the essence of this quote from the poet Carl Sandburg: “Nearly all the best things that came to me in life have been unexpected, unplanned by me.”

Beware, though, that the beauty of assisted serendipity is the delicate dance of focus and flexibility. If you force too much intention, you may blind yourself to the possibilities.

6. Take Stock and Reflect

Give yourself time to look at what has happened and to take stock. What did the combined forces of intention, chance, and deliberate engagement yield? Evaluate and consider what you might do differently next time. Yet be grateful for what you chose to do this time around.

7. Repeat

There are no guarantees, but the more you exhibit these behaviors and apply these approaches, the more you’ll likely find yourself saying happily “I couldn't have planned it, even if I'd tried.”

Others may begin to comment about how the craziest things always happen to you, that serendipity smiles upon you, that your life is a charmed one.

While chance will have played its role, you'll also know that your actions played theirs.

And that you gave possibility a nudge.

That is assisted serendipity.

The post The Art of Assisted Serendipity appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Chief Seattle, a leader of the Suquamish Tribe, said: “Take only memories, leave only footprints,” a phrase now familiar as the mantra of responsible travelers. The problem today: our footprints are well beyond the trillions. What began as the promise of economic growth through tourism and the democratization of travel has taken a turn into the land of Unintended Consequences. As more of us travel — over 1.2 billion last year, expected to grow to 2 billion by 2030 – pressures build on everything from urban living environments to natural landscapes.

Always in travel, however, there is hope.

But it’s on us to ensure that what survives for future generations carries a spirit at least equal to what drew people like you and me to pack up, pick up and hit the road in the first place.

How?

First, allow me to invoke a psychologist, then a physicist.

Freedom and Responsibility: A Connection

Viktor Frankl, psychologist and author of Man’s Search for Meaning wrote, “Freedom is in danger of degenerating into mere arbitrariness unless it is lived in terms of responsible-ness.”

Look all around your social media streams, travel and otherwise, and tell me Frankl wasn't onto something when he wrote these words 70 years ago.

The relationship Frankl describes applies also to our freedom to travel, a privilege that carries responsibility.

A responsibility to what, though?

For travelers: to travel mindfully and respectfully so that the places they visit are not degraded, either intentionally or incidentally. For industry leaders: to create engaging destinations and experiences that co-exist with and help to create more pleasant places to live.

I understand this sounds zero-sum, but it doesn’t need to be. We can achieve this so it doesn't feel like we are constraining ourselves and losing out. Quite the opposite.

It does require a bit of a rethink, however. That's where the physicist comes in.

Albert Einstein said, “We can not solve our problems with the same level of thinking that created them.”

The sustainable, responsible, and ethical tourism brigades have chipped away at the level of the conservation challenge wall with certifications, guidelines, and initiatives. However, the terms can be murky and confusing and exhibit a sort of exclusive ring, niche and expensive. And, at the level the problem was created.

We have to consider the magnitude of people involved here, now and in the future. If sustainability truly is the goal, niche won't cut it. Instead, the core principles ought to be inclusive and within reach, conceptually and practically, to all travelers.

So now it’s time to tunnel under the wall. That tunnel: mindful travel.

Mindfulness demonstrates that doing the right thing doesn't need to be constrained or boring, but rather is an experience enhancer. Mindfulness applied to travel tunes us into ourselves, then back out to empathically understanding our world. Engaging with the world in creative and respectful ways delivers simultaneously on our needs as individuals while contributing to the promise of livable communities.

The more we each demand this approach to travel – one that is grounded in awareness and respect for local people, environments and economy — the more our fellow travelers, the tourism industry, and policy-makers will need to follow suit. The niche then goes mainstream so that what we once knew as “sustainable tourism” simply becomes “tourism.”

Good thing is: all travelers can do this.

20 Travel Mindsets for Today That Can Redefine Tourism for Tomorrow

Note: Much ink has been spilled regarding tips to reduce our carbon footprint and travel more sustainably (see here, here, and here). We offer what follows as a mindset to help us transcend and reframe what’s before us.

1. Avoid drive-by tourism.

Checking off the Top 10 list may provide good photos for social media, but consider the possibility of the empty feeling left behind if we cannot speak more deeply to the place we visited, to its people and to the delightful similarities and mysterious differences between us all. Not only that, rethink speed and superficiality, and you’ll reduce the threat of exhausting yourself and wearing down the physical and emotional resilience of the destination and the people in it.

2. Enjoy being still.

Stillness has a way of taking the rapid filmstrip of life and our travels and slowing it down so we might appreciate each individual frame. When we consider each individual moment, we are less likely to require more from our experience to satiate our needs. How better to engage than by being, observing.

I noticed when I began traveling a lot 30 years ago, I would talk about going to Cuba or going to Tibet, and people's eyes would light up with excitement. And nowadays, I notice that people's eyes light up most in excitement when I talk about going nowhere or going offline. And I think a lot of us have the sense that we're living at the speed of light, at a pace determined by machines. And we've lost the ability to live at the speed of life. – Pico Iyer on The Art of Stillness

3. Seek more to engage than to escape.

We often look to travel as a getaway from the stresses, challenges, and constraints of our daily lives. My personal experience confirms this to a certain degree, but in my escape I sometimes find myself drifting from being mindful about the people and places I’m visiting. Instead of a singular mindset of escape, consider travel also as a way to engage with something or someone in a new and different way. Think of this ex-comfort zone discovery as the new manner of escape. This approach can help build confidence and worldliness, and enable us to return to our everyday “normal” life with fresh perspective.

4. Ask: What did I impact and how?

The first step to being mindful is to think, to consider the impressions you make made, and their impacts. To question the positive and negative, in part and in whole, of the actions you take. Conversely, consider how you may have been impacted – mentally, physically, and emotionally — by your experiences.

5. Seek to participate, rather than simply to consume.

It’s too easy to consume a thing or experience and toss away the packaging (literal or metaphoric) for someone else to deal with. Consider what it will take for the experience to become part of you, rather than a one-off. An experience that is integral is not only more satisfying, but it binds us to the people and place where we undertook it.

6. Consider every travel experience as a context for education and learning.

If we look at travel the right way, every venture into our world underscores that travel is the classroom. However, as we seek more from our travel experiences, we can see each interlude as a potential context for active education and continual learning, be it a language lesson, cooking class or exploration of one’s artistic skills.

7. Travel with an eye to depth, rather than breadth.

Travel with an eye to depth, rather than breadth. Traveling at the surface has a way of skimming the cream from the top of destinations. Dig into the place you are visiting. Consider its challenges and opportunities, and the people who live there. This approach will better serve you, and the places you visit.

8. Choose interdependence, too.

Think of travel as a continual exercise in cooperation. There’s a time to set oneself free, alone in the world to take on its challenges. That’s independence. However, whether we like it or not, the ease of travel brings and forces us closer together in this world. Depending on the circumstance, this can sometimes feel satisfying, sometimes frightening. To temper any sense of anxiety as our world evolves, we might consider falling into its embrace: our cultural evolution highlights every day more than the next that we are in this together, connected.

9. Think itinerary-light or itinerary-free.

There will never be a shortage of things to do. Even if there is, the thing we call “boredom” can be just the ticket to opening our eyes and showing us something new that we might have otherwise overlooked. Sometimes, just the thing we need is no-thing. Give yourself and the environment a break by going itinerary-light or itinerary-free.

10. Cultivate an inner sense of care and stewardship.

When you are inclined to think, “This place is all mine for a day,” consider also what you must do if that place were your responsibility for life, how you would care for it. Then act accordingly.

11. Deepen the process of reflection.

Examine what Daniel Kahneman calls “The Remembering Self”. What of all those photos you took? To better process our movement, we need to be still to allow the lessons of our travels to “land” and to allow time for the enjoyment of reflection upon ourselves, our planet and our place in it.

12. Bring it home.

Don't risk an acquisition-oriented attitude whereby you replaced the once competitive acquisition of stuff with a similarly competitive acquisition of experience. Be careful what you covet and consider doing more with each experience in all its dimensions, perhaps including connecting what you learned on that trip with your life wherever you call home.

13. Satisfaction as your talisman, rather than happiness.

Happiness is a short-term goal, while satisfaction knows a longer arc. Long-term thinking will serve you well and properly frame your needs and expectations, better in the moment and certainly for tomorrow. Long-term thinking — especially the sort that considers what happens after we are gone — can only positively impact the communities you come in contact with.

14. Embrace simplicity, leave room for nuance.

We humans have a knack for contriving the complex in the hopes that complexity will divert our attention from what causes us discomfort. The bigger the party, the greater the celebration, the shinier the object, right? Not always. Consider simplifying when you can — to reduce stress and overhead. However, do reserve a bit of complexity for the shades of gray in which you interpret the worlds you happen to be visiting. There’s often more going on in the nuance than you think. And that’s where wisdom awaits.

15. Aim for connection.

Connection to people and places in the wider world injects depth and breath into the constrained scope of our lives. Travel alone can do that, but travel in a way that emphasizes sharing, not just of goods and services but of the concept of the world we inhabit together, seeds long-term meaning and lends our lives a greater sense of continuity and purpose.

16. Re-orient the bucket list.

A shift in the bucket list from the physical and resource-intensive to the emotional and experiential.

An ideal travel sector would join up the inner journey (where I’m trying to go in my life) with the outer journey (which outward destination I visit and what I do there). – Alain de Botton

17. Understand everyone has something to share.

It may sound obvious on the surface, but truly understanding and absorbing this principle impacts how we view and engage with people very different from us. It drives us to pursue the democratic elements of travel, those aspects that encourage the sharing of the often overlooked stories and wisdom of locals with visitors, just as we share ours with them.

18. Journal your gratitude.

Keep a gratitude journal while you travel. The process of being grateful on a daily basis encourages you to regularly take stock and inventory your experiences. If you do this, you'll notice there’s a lot more than you might otherwise recall (even that day), and what once felt like less or little now feels like “enough.”

19. Use gratitude to encourage a sense of vesting in the world.

Once you are grateful for what is and all that you have seen and experienced, wonder what you are going to do to preserve it or improve it. What tiny things can you do to sustain the beauty you’ve been so fortunate to be part of? Though the world may change regardless, a sense of investment and ownership can help underscore and grow your sense of meaning and purpose.

20. Know that this is a human exercise.

It’s tempting to consider travel an exercise solely of place. It often can be. However, in the broader scheme, travel also requires the respectful navigation of the sea of humanity. Similarly, we must solve environmental and conservation challenges first by comprehending the human element. Without people, there might not be any problem. Without us, there will certainly be no solution.

At its purest, travel carries with it an almost unassailable beauty. Our ability to move freely, to set ourselves aloft and into the clutches of a new environment, in short order and at will, represents a remarkable liberty.

With that freedom comes great responsibility.

Deliberately minding the steps we take, individually and together, will determine the world that we — and those who follow us — will have to enjoy.

Now it's your turn. What are your thoughts? What does “Redefining Tourism” mean to you?

The post Redefining Tourism: 20 Tips for the Mindful Traveler appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Odd question, I thought. But she was deliberate and determined in the way she asked. I figured there was something more meaningful behind it, something at the root that she wanted to share. I also noticed her apprehension; I would need to open up and share my story first to find out.

This is how two-way storytelling often begins.

What Is Two-Way Storytelling?

5 Reasons Why Two-Way Storytelling Matters

It Exposes Value in the “Ordinary” (Republic of Georgia)

Simple questions can get the process started.

“Do you have mountains in America?” a middle-aged vegetable vendor at a fresh market in the town of Telavi, Georgia once asked me as I admired the mountains surrounding his town. At first I thought he was joking, but his expression indicated a genuine question. He didn’t really know much about the United States, including its geography. Why would he? Why should he? Similarly, what might the average American know about the Republic of Georgia?

I answered his question in my broken Russian the best I could, extolling the cultural and natural diversity of the United States while making comparisons, where appropriate, to places I had seen in Georgia. I tried to describe the vastness of the Grand Canyon, the red rocks of Utah, the vineyards of Napa Valley (as we were in Georgian wine country at the time). I added, in simple terms, that the United States is huge, especially when compared to Georgia. I also noted it’s difficult to generalize the country on the whole since each region can look and feel so different.

“There are so many different people from all over the world living in the United States, so sometimes it can feel like many countries in one,” I explained, trying to shed light one of the aspects of the U.S. that makes it unique, yet doesn’t always seem widely understood. He got the connection, as eastern Georgia’s refugee and immigrant population had recently increased.

Just as others halfway around the world fascinate us with features of their lives they consider ordinary, so we have the opportunity to fascinate them with ours. This is especially true for people who may never have the option to travel to your country to see for themselves.

One-way storytelling encourages travelers to be keen observers and question assumptions. But it’s two-way storytelling that allows locals to benefit from this learning process, too.

It Breaks Stereotypes in All Directions (India)

While visiting the northern Indian city of Chandigargh, we met a couple of young women who’d recently graduated from business school. I was the first American they’d ever met. They bubbled with curiosity and excitement to know what life as an American woman was really like. Their questions for me ran immediately to dating, marriage, and love. I noticed them closely observing my behavior and dress, something I kept deliberately conservative and respectful. They attempted to square their observations with the prevailing stereotype in India of American women as being sexually available.

“Do American women date lots of different men at once? Is it really like what we see on Sex in the City?” they asked.

I was not at all offended; there was an innocence and sincere curiosity behind their questions.
“Well…not really,” I said. And then I went on to talk about my own dating experience, as well as that of my friends.

After sharing this, which perhaps disappointed them by not being more racy, I tried to turn things around: “What about Bollywood movies? Is that real life? Sexy outfits, provocative dancing, and all — is that the real India?”

“Well, we all know that’s not real life,” they said, laughing.

Then there was a pause. My point about Hollywood movies not really representing the real United States, the entire United States, finally landed.

One of them shared an experience of how she met her fiancé at graduate school. She explained how “dating” was relatively new in India, that she had challenges ahead to convince her parents to let her marry someone who was of a different, lower caste.

“But I’m confident I’ll succeed with my parents. Times are changing in India; not everyone wants an arranged marriage. They have to agree,” she concluded. (Spoiler alert: they did marry and have a couple of beautiful children.) My understanding of modern Indian relationships evolved.

We are all susceptible to prejudging, and to being prejudged. None of us is immune; stereotypes run in all directions. And two-way storytelling helps uproot all of it so we may recalibrate our thinking.

It Brings Us Closer Together (Laos)

“Can you explain something to me?” Our Hmong trekking guide asked in the hills outside of Luang Prabang, Laos. “We’ve had other trekkers on this tour who are black. Even Asian like me. Not white. But they also say they are American. How is it possible?”

He was admittedly confused. Why were the Americans he met on his tours so different than the ones he’d seen on American television shows? The show “Friends” in particular came up often in our conversation.

“You mean it’s not really like that?” He asked.

I laughed deeply inside, but focused on how to unpack a perfectly reasonable question whose answer might take the form of a book.

“Well, not really.”

I told him about the growing racial diversity in the United States, how historically it’s a country of immigrants. People moved there at first mainly from Europe, but eventually from just about everywhere on the planet. I told him that some people are rich, some are poor, and some in-between – even though our television shows may not always indicate it.

Along those dimensions, “Friends” didn’t quite represent. To the point, I mentioned that there were Hmong living in cities across the United States.

The storytelling baton then changed hands.

Our guide shed light on why this is. As he was growing up, family and friends helped him understand what happened in Laos during the Vietnam War. There were long, sustained bombing campaigns. Local Hmong were recruited by the CIA as informants and to fight against the North Vietnamese-backed Pathet Lao army. Many had to flee after the war as they faced persecution for their ties to the United States.

Although I’d heard fragments of this history before, the picture was now clearer. And, for our guide, he now understood how the whole of America didn’t match the image projected on a popular television show. That distant relatives of his who’d fled could all be “real” Americans.

It Amplifies (Iran)

“When you go home, please tell your friends the story of the real Iran, real Iranians.” If we heard this once traveling through Iran, we heard it dozens of times. We shared our experiences in conversations, on our blog, and on stages around the world. We believe that sharing these stories does make a difference.

Likewise, just as we’ve told their stories, we imagine that some of the Iranians we've met have told ours — the stories of real Americans who visited their country and answered their questions. Take, for example, a shy, high school girl at the Shiraz market who was determined to make sense of what she'd seen on local government news.

“Do you like Islam?” she asked. “Is it safe in your country for you and your family? We see on our news there are lots of guns, but I don’t know if it’s true.”

After two-way storytelling, each party to the original conversation goes home and tells her friends and family about the interaction. Then those people tell others.

Call it amplification. Reverberation. The ripple effect.

This is the ultimate power of two-way storytelling.

It Opens Up Others to Share (Back to Bangladesh)

So, what about Shanti and the train?

I responded to Shanti’s immediate question about my relationship with my mother-in-law, one that I’m happy to report is a loving, respectful one. Beyond that, I shared a bit more about myself — my background, education, and work. I told her about when I got married and how, referring to the evolving norms and family roles in American society.

In response, Shanti told me about her current university studies and her plans to marry her fiancé after graduation. But she had concerns: “My mother-in-law seems very nice, but I don’t know if she will like it if I work.”

In Bangladesh, as in many countries in South Asia, a mother-in-law can hold significant sway on a young bride’s life. As Shanti harbored dreams of applying her university education in some professional pursuit, she was clearly worried that her future mother-in-law might have other designs for her.

To Shanti, I was a woman outside her situation and from a very different background, but one she could relate to. Out of a sense of trust, she felt safe sharing her concerns and her dreams set in the form of a question — a question about my mother-in-law.

I encouraged her. They were her dreams, after all. I suggested that although she might face resistance in pursuing them, she should at least try.

We talked for another 30 minutes until the train pulled into her station. As it did, Shanti gathered her backpack and set off for another day of classes at university. She gave me a hug and thanked me. And I thanked her.

I hope she was wiser for the interaction. I know I was.

The post The Power of Two-Way Storytelling appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Sure, the nature of your travel experience will be impacted by where you decide to travel. Destination lists provide inspiration. They introduce us to places we may never have heard of or otherwise considered, which is one of the reasons why they remain popular. (Note: if you’re a hot list junkie, here are a few for your: Our Offbeat Hot List: 8 Destinations You’re Not Considering…But Should and 11 Offbeat Treks Around the World)

More and more, however, we travelers seek something to impact and transform us, to transcend the physical location of where we happen to be. By the notion of “the how,” I don’t mean the mode of transport you choose or the ways to get a great travel deal. Rather, I’m talking about carrying a mindset that yields an expanded sense of possibility of what your travel experiences can look and feel like, and the arsenal of travel behaviors and philosophy underlying the decisions you make to get there.

The following list is based one finger on the pulse of our conversations and observations in the past years and another finger in the wind, pointed to the future. It features emergent themes in experiential and mindful travel — that is, approaching travel in ways that alter your sense of self, of the world and your place in it.

While you could compose an entire trip based on any one of these themes, they are better considered as travel seasoning for any journey or experience you set off on.

1. Wanderlust to Wonder-lust

This taps the age-old debate of depth vs. breadth in travel, but adds a twist.

It’s fair to say that most of us will not make it to every corner of the Earth during our lifetimes. There’s a physical limit to the range of our travels. We can, however, gain a deeper understanding of the corners we do manage to visit, and we can allow ourselves be more deeply affected by them.

Think of this as “geography of the mind.”

We often imagine this sort of mental state as one that arises from interactions with nature. It’s also possible to find it amidst the urban or manmade — from the wind in the treetops, to the vibration of the temple bells to the rhythm of footsteps on the streets of Tokyo.

Recently, I stopped in my tracks reflecting on a church built into a stone hillside as I walked the walls of Luxembourg City. I'd seen the church only at a distance, yet I found myself intensely imagining its history, including what the town may have looked and felt like 500 years ago, what it must have felt like during a church service at that time. I considered its past, my present and what this might mean for the future. And this was only time, one dimension along which I took a brief mental journey.

The trick is to take in as much signal as possible while simultaneously shutting out the noise. What noise, you ask? The noise that brings us somewhere else other than where we are. When we avoid this temptation, we can immerse ourselves, hold on, and be blown away by the tiny bit we are appreciating, then roll it up into being astonished by all that is our planet.

This raised consciousness can healthily — and somewhat paradoxically — leave us wondering “where did it all come from?” just as we accept that the answer is not easily there before us.

2. The Travel of Caring

It may feel outside of the grasp of the average traveler to do something to “change the world.” This should not prevent us from caring deeply about the places we visit and the people with whom we interact. In fact, this orientation helps counter-balance the challenging circumstances and turbulent world we are likely to behold when we get amongst it.

Events from the last years underscore this. Many of the places we visit do, too.

Adopting this approach isn’t always easy. In fact, it’s often among the least comfortable options available. So why do it? The more we attempt to understand each other without judgment the better able we are to truly connect with one another. This connection is a win and delivers immediate returns to the one making the attempt. The effects are also long-term, for the generosity built into caring is selfishly good for one's own health.

What does this have to do with travel?

It is this deep caring – for people, our environment, ourselves – that determines what of the world we and our children will have left to live in…and to visit.

In this way, actions that cascade from a mindset of caring really do “change the world.”

3. Re-envisioning Authenticity

“Authenticity” and “authentic travel” are thrown about quite regularly these days. But what does authenticity really mean?

One resonant definition I heard a couple of years ago from a local guide, appropriately in Haiti: “Authenticity is showing the reality of a place — good and bad.”

Why is this relevant for travelers?

To truly understand a place we need to appreciate both its beauty and its blemishes, and to comprehend this from a local perspective. This last part is especially important, for this is what “having perspective” really means, observing the same subject from multiple points of view.

In the province of Guizhou, China, I recall our being approached by a young student who wished to practice her English. She offered to show us “the beautiful buildings” in her town. Our expectations were primed for some secret old town streets, something in short supply in China, even at the time.

We followed the girl out of the town center to an overlook with a perfect view…of a development flush with new apartment buildings. They were built on land recently cleared of traditional homes and historical living quarters. For better or worse, for nostalgia or progress, this is authentic.

Sometimes our quest for “authenticity” is at odds with our expectations of what travel ought to hold. Are we willing to accept what is and the perspective of local inhabitants — including all the surprises that run against the grain of our preconceived notions?

This re-interpretation of authenticity implies focusing less on what destinations once were and comprehending more of what they are now.

And after all, isn’t this the sort of adaptability that travel is intended to teach?

4. Volunteering/Voluntourism: From “Giving Back” to “Learning From”

The understanding of volunteering and voluntourism will reflect that such engagements are more often about the volunteer acquiring a new perspective or honing a skill in some faraway place rather than helping or “saving” the host community there. The concept that the greatest shift during a volunteer placement occurs in the volunteer himself is something deep and almost counter-intuitive that organizations such as Peace Corps have long recognized.

Awareness that volunteers are there first to learn and remain open to local knowledge can only aid volunteer effectiveness as it requires one to listen before doing. Witness, as we have, so many projects around the world that were meant to do good, yet went awry or away altogether because the organizations involved didn’t first seek to understand the local community’s needs, challenges and values.

Additionally, this shift in perspective also empowers host communities by recognizing their strengths and honoring the knowledge their members can share with volunteers and visitors. This orientation helps rebalance power in traditional volunteer-host community relationships. It also supports the idea that “everyone has something to share,” a philosophy first impressed upon us by Rabee Zureikat, the founder of Zikra Initiative, during our visit to Jordan years ago.

If we truly wish to do good we must open ourselves to doing it well — by first learning from those we seek to help.

5. Re-evaluation of “Sustainable Tourism”

We hope the discussion continues to evolve beyond “hang up your hotel towels” and other energy-saving “greening” checklists when it comes to sustainable tourism. Those are important, too. But let’s focus on the core value underlying sustainable tourism: RESPECT. Respect for culture, humanity, environment and economy — and all the nuanced interconnections between them.

All are needed for a holistic and long-term approach that imagines tourism as a tool for community development and conservation. As Judy Kepher-Gona from Kenya Conservation Land Trust (KLCT) is fond of saying: “Great places to visit must first and foremost be great places to live in for host communities.”

What will this mean in practice? An evolution in the minds of travelers and service providers that sustainable tourism is more of a process, rather than a distinct endpoint or destination. Sustainable tourism will be focused more on improving the lives of the people in the places we visit. From there, we can more easily set a foundation for creating travel experiences that are not only enjoyable for visitors, but also more immersive.

How to do that? Here are a few thoughts: The Good Global Traveler, The Power of Deliberate Spending and Tourism, It's the People's Business

6. Adventure Becomes Even More Personal

TL;DR: adventure travel is the travel of exploring all of one’s limits, not just the physical ones.

We’ve all seen images of people hanging from a cliff face, an inspirational adventure slogan underneath. This image cliché just might leave you thinking: “I can never be adventurous.”

Adventure, though, is intensely personal; it entails the exploration of one’s own peaks and achievements. Adventure implies something different for each of us, with the same apparent challenge stretching everyone in unique ways to unique ends.

So the adventure questions of the future: Did I stretch myself? Did I learn and grow? What did I achieve? And how? What were the challenges — my personal challenges — along the way?

Whether you make your way solo or in a group, personal is the future of adventure travel.

7. Disconnection and the Digital Detox

This is the new form of escape. The idea: disconnect to re-connect. As our lives are ever-consumed by the screen and the invisible tether of our social media feeds, apps and the digital messaging spaghetti beckoning in our smart phones, the great emergent luxury of the 21st century: stillness, nothing, peace, offline, digital detox.

I noticed when I began traveling a lot 30 years ago, I would talk about going to Cuba or going to Tibet, and people's eyes would light up with excitement. And nowadays, I notice that people's eyes light up most in excitement when I talk about going nowhere or going offline. – Pico Iyer, OnBeing interview

In the coming years, we will see more travel that involves getting away from the noise, the buzz, the notifications. More travel that is about doing less. Travel that offers time and space to be still, to be present, to breathe, and to re-evaluate your life and how you wish to live it. I’m not talking about necessarily checking yourself into a detox or yoga retreat (although I did appreciate my 10-day silent meditation retreat last year), but about taking time during your travels to be present, to absorb what you have experienced.

Listen to, identify and honor the emotions inside you — including the ones surfaced by your exploration.

8. From Observation to Participation

Participatory travel is on the rise. Travel has long featured classes and courses and “the art of making” to acquire a new skill or to delve into one's interests. Think cooking classes, batik painting, sailing lessons and the like. We take this theme but adjust the lens slightly to think about it as the idea of participating – doing things that get your hands dirty and engaged with people – rather than observing.

In addition to the itinerary item or scheduled experience, this also implies engaging on the fly. For example, asking the women at the market to teach you new words for foreign vegetables; learning for its own sake. Or engaging a local fisherman at the market to teach you how to clean a fish. This involves putting yourself out there, with all the vulnerability and discomfort that entails. Experiential travel and learning means gaining confidence and building connection through engagement.

9. Reflective. Bringing It Back Home.

I’m not talking about a dump of the photos from your trip on Facebook, Instagram or other social media platform. That has its place. Instead, I speak more about incorporating a little something from your trip back into your daily life.

Ask yourself: “Is there anything I take for granted at home that captures my fascination on the road?”

Chances are, there is.

Maybe you discovered something about food or a cuisine that you can bring back to your kitchen at home. How about infusing your life with a little bit of what you discovered on the road, including an adventure out to the ethnic grocer across town to find the ingredients in your favorite faraway dish?

On the mental front, “bringing it home” can include recapturing a feeling or emotion from your travels by identifying facets of the experience that are independent of place. Take the feeling of relaxation or decompression on that amazing beach. While you may not have a beach at home, there are plenty of opportunities to relax and decompress in beauty. But we're often not conditioned to take advantage of this at home because it sounds kind of silly.

Take the sense of amazement you felt while admiring a bit of astonishing natural beauty like the dunes of the Namibian desert.

You may not have fabulous orange dunes at home. I don't either.

But the potential for awe is all around us, everywhere. It’s just that we aren’t conditioned to look for it at home as much as we are when we're somewhere far-flung. In fact, at home we're accustomed to ignore it because it's right there; we've taken it for granted.

Harnessing this can be as simple as going out to your backyard on a clear evening and staring into the sky for a long, long time. Or taking a walk in a nearby forest, breathing deeply as you’ve never breathed before.

Sure, it’s easier to find exhilaration, adventure, relaxation and disconnection halfway around the world. But isn’t the greatest resonance of that awesome vacation found in translating a bit of its satisfaction into your everyday life?

10. There is No “Right” Way to Travel

We are all different from one another, and we often know different selves throughout our own lifetimes.

Each of us has inherent yet evolving preferences — what makes us tick, brings us joy and fulfills our objectives. What satisfies you about your travels may not do so for the next person. Nor is it guaranteed that what works well for you now will work for you the next time out. Travel is intended to help us grow. But as we grow, we also experience change. It follows that there's no rightful place for snobbery or rigidity in travel.

With all the access and flexibility built into modern travel, here's the not-so-secret: there's no sure-fire recipe. As in life, grasping deep satisfaction in travel is about engaging your sense of possibility and experimentation. It's about picking up and honing a set of tools (mental, physical, digital and otherwise) to fashion enriching travel experiences that work for you.

And to realize that the joy is the journey — or “the how” if you like — rather than the destination.

The post Travel Trends: The Year of “The How” 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.

But there are advantages. The ultimate benefit of observing the world through the eyes of a beginner is captured by a quote from Zen master Shunryu Suzuki: “In the beginner's mind there are many possibilities, in the expert's mind there are few.”

Unearthing new experiences, making personal discoveries, expanding our perspective on the road — isn’t this what we travelers continually pursue?

Are You Open? Truly?

In Zen Buddhism, the beginner’s mind is captured by shoshin — openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when considering a subject, a task or a problem.

“But of course I’m open when I travel,” you say. Sure.

Have you planned? You probably have.

Do you have ends in mind? I would imagine.

Goals? Likely.

Bucket list, anyone?

Those are all useful. Keep them. But for a moment, put some space between you and those plans, ends, goals and expectations. Make your mind a blank slate. Now what?

By training yourself to see outside of the boundaries of your experience and conditioning, you can slowly clear your mental windshield.

A temporary setting aside of all that you know, or all that you think you know. Suspend “certainties” so you can explore the deeper meaning of your travels, including the metaphysical and spiritual mysteries of life. If you prefer, dismiss all those squishy benefits and focus on the tangible.

See unseen details in an ancient site, experience new flavors in a dish, and connect with humanity in the smile of someone you've just passed while walking down the street.

Remember as a kid how you allowed wonder to flood into your senses? There was something almost subconscious about it. Lack of experience was an advantage. Judgment, you of yourself, others of you — while not always, but often — was on hold.

You were a kid after all. You were allowed to figure things out. You carried less freight of what ought to be. No history to grapple with. No preconceived notions. No shoulds.

Allow yourself to be the beginner. By training yourself to see outside of the boundaries of your experience and conditioning, you can slowly clear your mental windshield.

Why would you want to open yourself to such details and observation?

To see and understand what you might not have otherwise, from a different or unusual angle.

And why would you want to do that?

A richer, more fulfilling experience. Greater happiness, more lifelong satisfaction through discerned meaning.

If we employ the beginner’s mind, there are no guarantees though. There are only possibilities, just as in life itself. The trick is how to see and open those possibilities.

So how do we activate the beginner's mind while traveling?

How to Activate the Beginner’s Mind in Travel

Absorb one step at a time.

It’s easy to become focused on what we must see and do without fully absorbing what it is we set out to see and do. When we pack our itinerary full, it’s easy to miss something enriching as our holiday passes by in a blur.

Pull your camera back for a moment. Before you catch up with the group or the next item on your list, take a deep breath and sit with what brought your there — appreciate an old church, a cave painting, the strands of pasta on your dish. Notice the sights, smells and sounds – no matter how insignificant — around you.

You'll maximize gratitude for the moment. At the same time, you'll also develop your ability to see challenges, opportunities and beauty in a different light. Appreciation through observation builds not only happiness but also longer lasting satisfaction.

Suspend assumptions.

We often accept certain characterizations of the world as fact. Especially those that conform to a world view forged by culture and life experience. What if we suspend those judgments or assumptions, even if for a moment? In other words, what if you put on hold what you think you know of the world?

Allow yourself to say and feel, “I don’t know.” You are no less because of it.

On a recent flight, I recall sharing our travel experiences in Iran with a retired American military officer seated next to us. He responded wide-eyed, “The world is not always as we’re told.”

True that.

Take it further. The world is not always as our conditioning has taught us. The world is not always as we have told ourselves, as others have told us. But there’s no way to see beyond the walls we have built around ourselves until we can actually see those walls. Then, we must force ourselves outside of them.

Leave room for failure.

Accept that some things will work. And some won’t. Call it failure. Call it something else if uttering the word “failure” does not help. When we dust off our courage and set out to parts unknown with incomplete plans, stuff will inevitably go wrong. But stuff goes wrong even when all our plans are fully baked.

Much to the detriment of new discoveries, that’s the failure we don’t often give airtime to.

Accept that you don’t know. And that you may never know.

Isn’t this at the heart of the wonder we feel when we travel? Why spend so many cycles fighting it?

Allow yourself to say and feel, “I don’t know.”

The world is a big place. Saying “I don’t know”, even when you think you do, can be liberating. Feel the words, feel the meaning. And feel that you are no less because of it.

“I don’t know” is the warrior’s wisdom. If you know everything already, the implication is that there’s nothing new to add.

If nothing remains for you to learn, your personal growth is finished. And life becomes limited, stagnant.

Embrace that we are in flux.

The world has changed from what we thought we knew. It will continue to do so. To once prevailing human wisdom, it was flat. Now it is round. We were once the center of a universe, now only a speck.

This is life. When we travel the world, we find that “what is” is fluid and often more temporary than we’d like.

Our acceptance of this is for the sake of our own happiness and also for the betterment of the world. We balance connection and detachment from that which moves, changes and vanishes.

Ask questions like a child, of others and of yourself.

Entertain the possibility that the way you look at the world is not the only way. If your motivation is to understand, it’s acceptable to bare your ignorance.

I would not have lived half the life I’ve lived had I not opted to show what I didn’t know when I didn’t know it. In fact, I experienced more because I did. I asked questions so I could learn. In most cases, my vulnerability has been rewarded.

Questions borne of genuine curiosity can be joyful regardless of whether we find answers. Even if those we ask cannot answer them, we will share a connection based on sincere mutual interest in one another’s being and culture. Our most resonant life lessons have come from unlikely teachers: an Afghan vendor in Bangkok, an unassuming guide in Ladakh.

Ditch some “supposed to’s” and “shoulds.”

Some of our greatest missed opportunities stem from what a traveler “must do” and “must see.” The beginner's mind helps balance your needs with expectations crafted and set by “experts.”

The joy of the unexpected gains passage only when we allow our experience freedom to unfold.

I don't advise dismissing recommendations out of hand. Instead, put them in perspective. Suspend prevailing wisdom and suggestions. Honor the fact that time is limited and we all gain satisfaction in different ways.

When you’ve spent hard-earned money to get where you want to go, to do what you want to do, expectations are natural. Remain open to circumstances that take you off itinerary and show you a place or culture in a different way.

What if you miss a couple of the 10 “must-see” sights next time you visit Paris, but you have an unforgettable, unexpected conversation in a café one long afternoon? Is it worth skipping the Mona Lisa?

The joy of the unexpected gains passage only when we allow our experience freedom to unfold.

Experience the moment in full, from all angles.

Examine all angles for the joy of it. Look at it slant. (Sound familiar? Emily Dickinson suggests: “Tell the truth, but tell it at slant.”)

Photographers often advise students to “look at the object…this way…that way,” as they move their bodies, crane their necks, and turn upside-down. This holds also for the mind’s camera, the mind's eye. If we wish our experiences to carry richness, we must bend our perspective to see the ordinary in a new light.

Know when experience is essential.

Don’t take the beginner’s mindset while crossing the street or riding a bicycle through a busy intersection. Your adventures might be over if you do.

When it comes to danger, separate the wheat from the chaff. The beginner's mind is a deliberate setting aside of what we know when our personal safety is not at immediate risk.

The beginner’s mind can help us build our life experience and shape our sense of the world. Using this mindset is one method of living out favorite proverbs such as “Life is a journey.”

When we set aside our assumptions and judgments, the angle of our life lens widens. It also draws us in directions we never imagined.

The post How to Travel with the Beginner’s Mind appeared first on Uncornered Market.

After having traveled together to over 90 countries during the last fifteen years, we are often asked, “What’s the greatest lesson you’ve learned?”

Deep breath.

I feel as though my attempt to answer each time is never really up to the task of honoring the experience. The evidence stacks up almost too high, even for a single outing. My travels leave such deep imprints in and on me that I must on occasion deliberately take time to unpack those lessons, much as I might my luggage upon concluding a trip.

Nowadays, we have the opportunity to embark on journeys that were not too long ago unthinkable. The opportunities to explore the world — to feel and experience and comprehend it — are so vastly different and more broadly accessible than even just a generation or two ago. As modern transportation has placed us within a day or two of most of the world’s destinations, we stand at a moment in the history of travel that speaks to a remarkable privilege – one that is almost too easy to take for granted.

Still, our attention is captured, our sense of mystery engaged. Travel is thrilling.

If we look at it right, travel can be viewed as the ultimate act of appreciation.

Why?

Like running one’s hands through the soil of a robust garden at the harvest, travel is a vein of appreciation that seeks to know what’s at the root of our existence, of our being human — together.

24 Reasons Why the Freedom to Travel Matters

1. Enables us to better understand ourselves, our world, and our place in it.

Note: You can stop here if you like. The rest is “the how.”

2. Helps transform our fears into curiosity.

Travel is the ideal laboratory to question and test all the assumptions that underlie your fears, so that you may emerge with new conclusions and evolve not only your thinking, but also who you believe you are.

3. Expands the boundaries of what you thought was possible – not only for you, but also for others.

Travel helps us press the edges of our perceived limitations, so that we may re-imagine them and continue to reach beyond.

4. Spurs us all to be storytellers.

Travel provides a platform to tell your story and to hear the stories of others, then return home and tell a new story, a shared story.

5. Cultivates a sense of awe, curiosity, and respect.

It does this in light of all the grandness and beauty, natural and man-made — around us, on the road…and at home.

6. Reaffirms that in all of life’s struggles, we are never alone.

Travel and you will realize that whatever physical, emotional, and financial challenges you face, there’s someone halfway around the world that struggles similarly.

7. Evolves our perspective, helps us see things in a new way.

Travel not only shifts our thinking about the places we visit, but it can also help us carry back a spirit of innovation into our daily lives, personally and professionally.

8. Reveals the unexpected, if we open ourselves up for it.

For as much as we all construct our itineraries, our innermost secret hope is that we will find something new, something we never could have planned. Travel often delivers.

9. Enables us to accumulate experiential wisdom.

It’s one thing to read about a place, it’s another to walk its streets, eat its food, and engage with its people. Travel is among the most effective forms of experiential learning there is.

10. Develops humility. That is, humble-ness.

The larger the world, the smaller your place in it. Fortunately, this re-sizing of self is also simultaneously paired with a sense of how great our individual impact on the lives of others can be.

11. Allows us to let go, open up, and embrace uncertainty.

When everything around you is changing at pace, as it often the case on the road, sometimes the best choice – the only choice — is to accept it, to surrender to uncertainty, and simply be present amidst all that swirls around you.

12. Bends stereotypes to the point of breaking.

Travel helps unpack prevailing narratives about others and ourselves. In TED parlance, travel can aid a departure from the “single story”, to many stories and multiple threads.

13. Builds empathy.

Travel continually exposes you to people and contexts much different than your own. Listening to, understanding and connecting with the feelings, thoughts, and stories of others helps to strengthen your empathy muscle.

14. Helps bind us to our history, our arc.

The experience of travel reinforces that although we may appear very different from one another, we often are working towards a common goal of making a life for ourselves and seeking a better life for those who will follow us long after we are gone. This relationship ties us to our past, binds us to our present, and links us to our future.

15. Re-shapes “other” into “us”.

Fear of another is easy, and frankly it’s often understandable. Travel helps to swap that fear with memories of people you’ve met in the flesh. When this happens countries are no longer shapes on a map or hotspots on the breaking news, but instead are places filled with stories of someone who invited you in for tea, wrote you a poem, guided you when you were lost, or helped you see life in a different light.

16. Serves as a platform to explore adventure in all its dimensions.

Whether this is physical (e.g., climbing a mountain), emotional (doing something new that frightens you) or even psychological (re-imaging borders and barriers).

17. Cultivates your independence while revealing our greater interdependence.

Whether you travel solo, with your family or in a group, travel flexes the “get out there” independence muscle. At the same time, the experience of travel tells us that we need one another to get there and to enable those personal victories.

18. Connects us directly and firsthand to the environment and our impact on it.

Ride water currents to glaciers halfway around the world that are retreating, and you begin to understand that your actions at home do have an impact worldwide.

19. Empowers you to determine how and where you spend your tourism money.

Mindful purchases and spending choices in line with your values really can make a genuine positive impact on the local communities you visit.

20. Contributes significantly to economic growth and local job development.

In 2014, the tourism industry was estimated at $7.6 trillion (yes, you read that correctly) in annual revenue; it employed over 277 million people worldwide (Source: WTTC). That represents almost 10% of total worldwide revenue, and 1 in 11 workers around the globe. Behind these staggering statistics, which are only expected to grow, are people: mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, all trying to make their way to better support their families.

21. Demonstrates that everyone has something valuable to share, something to give.

Sometimes, it takes a visitor from the outside – wide eyes and all – to show us that what we sometimes take for granted in our daily lives is special, too. Next time: watch someone making the local bread or tortillas. Travel can serve as a remarkable platform of cultural pride and self-esteem.

22. Exposes our similarities, highlights our differences and reinforces our shared humanity.

Travel exposes us to others, others to us, and each of us to one another – and uncovers the diversity of being and experience that defines what it means to be human.

23. Catalyzes a feeling of inter-connectedness and greater community.

When we go outside our front door, we find that we are part of a local community. Similarly, when we travel, we find that we are members of a worldwide community. This awareness binds us to care and to take responsibility for our own — that is, the world’s — well being.

24. Reinforces that the more we seek to understand each other, the less likely we are to turn on one another.

Travel may not ultimately deliver world peace, but it certainly can help.

The Significance of Travel “Freedom”

So yes, it strikes us that travel is powerful, impactful, remarkable. But what’s so important about the “freedom” part?

Not everyone has the same freedom to travel. Audrey and I carry American passports, providing us with arguably some of the greatest flexibility of movement of any passport in the world. Without our privilege, we would not be able to do a lot of what we do, in the way that we do it.

Yet the freedom and right to travel can be restricted in various directions.

So what can we do?

We can act on whatever right we do have, and we can do so mindfully, pairing our freedom to travel with the responsibility to do so in a way that benefits everyone. We can help lay a foundation for others and make the case for a greater freedom to travel.

Travel is the act of movement. As you take your next step, your journey moves forward, and so it will for others, and ultimately for our planet.

Now it's your turn. What does “Freedom to Travel” mean to you?

The post Why the Freedom to Travel Matters appeared first on Uncornered Market.

Day four. It was 90 degrees outside, maybe pushing 95. Inside the meditation hall, I had been in some form of a restless, tortured cross-legged meditation posture for a total approaching six hours that day. It was 2:00 P.M. and I was in the midst of what one might informally refer to as a “body scan.” I was systematically surveying the surface of my body for sensations when I again faced a familiar barrier.

I sat hunched over at the bend in my lower back, forever a nexus of pain and constraint. “I cannot get to the rest of my body if I can’t get beyond here,” I thought to myself again. Sweat poured down my sides, inside my legs. A good sweat, the cleansing kind, the lubricating kind that eases the muscles and mind and allows impurities to spill from the body.

I leaned forward, to the left, attempting to wrest motion from and liberate the right side of my body. I caught on something, maybe a rib, maybe a burr, and pressed into a familiar painful muscle cluster, ground zero for all my body’s tension for as long as I have known. I moved further forward, twisting, bending.

Maybe this was focus. Maybe this was the “observation” I’d heard about over the speakers in the first days: “Observe the pain…craving and aversion create misery.” I observed my pain so deeply; it was electric. I leaned right into it. I immersed myself, bathing in the burn.

Then something snapped. I felt an unusual vibration, waves deep inside. Imagine twisting the tuning peg on a guitar just a little too far. You know, when the string breaks.

I have divided this article into different sections based on the various questions that have been asked of me about my experience. Skip ahead to what interests you most:

1. How I First Learned of Vipassana and Why I Put It Off for Years
2. The Snap…Continued
3. The Flow of My Vipassana Experience
4. Should I Take a Vipassana Meditation Course? (physical and mental expectations and outcomes)
5. How to Take a Vipassana Course, All the Practical Details (finding a course, food, lodging, cost)
6. A Typical Day: The Vipassana Daily Schedule

The Back Story: How I First Learned of Vipassana and Why I Put It Off for Years

Years ago our friend Jennie mentioned something about a silent meditation course retreat she’d taken. “It’s called Vipassana…ten days…no speaking…meditation…clear the mind…lots of traffic…it’s loud in the head…then peace.”

Those were among the tempting phrases and hooks I recall.

The term Vipassana means “to see things as they really are.” It's a meditation method discovered by Gautama Siddhartha (Buddha) over 2,500 years ago.

S.N. Goenka, a Burmese man of Indian descent who one might say reintroduced Vipassana to the world in the 1970s, opened the first centers. Today, there are more than 190 Vipassana centers around the world. His instructions and lessons are played during the course, the structure of which is identical regardless of the location: 10 days of silence, meditation from 4:00 A.M. and 9:00 P.M. with breaks for meals and rest in between.

Audrey and I were both sold on the idea, but I felt I had some physical impediments to overcome, including an inability to properly sit cross-legged. I could not fold my right leg in; I always sat leaning to the right or with my right leg kicked out. Whenever I visited a Buddhist temple during my travels, I was invariably that guy whose feet pointed in transgression at the Buddha, the altar, or the monks.

I have scoliosis, a curvature of the spine. Through nurture, nature or some devilish combination, the top of my spine is like a corkscrew, twisting like a piece of fusilli pasta while the base of my spine then collapses forward and the bottom tails off to the left. A lifetime of compensating for this had built up a rail of tension along the right side of my spine, a couple of small knots along the way, then a baseball-sized knot at the base. The tightness in the right side of my back extended to the hip and ultimately to the knee. Thus all those temple transgressions.

I never characterized myself as someone with chronic pain. When you have it, chronic pain is something you just learn to live with.

Shiatsu masters and Thai, Burmese, Swedish, Chinese, Laotian, blind, sighted masseurs — you name it and I have seen every type of massage therapist across the world — were all bewildered by my knots. I even took ten sessions with a Rolfing myofascial tissue specialist in Berlin last year, followed by sessions with other physiotherapists. All of that may have done some fleeting good, but nothing felt as though it really made a difference.

Each year I inched closer to being able to sit cross-legged, a little more flexible for some exercise I had done. Audrey and I would flirt with the idea: “Let’s do Vipassana this year.”

But I never felt prepared physically, so I put it off. It wasn’t the fear of silence, or other pleasures — like alcohol — that must be foregone during the course.

Then, last month Audrey was headed to Switzerland with her mom, giving me an opening of 10-14 days. I had plenty to occupy me work-wise. I also considered a host of getaways — to the beach, to the mountains, etc.

“How about Vipassana?” I thought. Ironically, Audrey was the more enthusiastic of the two of us about it. Perhaps that’s why I ought to have been the first to go.

So I did a search, found a newly available course at a long-standing center in Malaysia. I thought on it for a night, woke up, applied for the course and booked a flight to Malaysia for the following week.

If I waited until I felt “ready” I’d never go.

And what about the supposed mental benefits of a meditation course?

Yes, this.

The most apt description I’ve given as to my mental state prior to the course: “My head feels like a traffic jam.” I felt a ball of agitation, of quick response. Always reacting. I responded to too many circumstances negatively – not only more negatively than I would have liked, but also more so than was good for my health and for that of others around me. Whatever the appearances and whatever the notion is regarding “normal” for a freelance lifestyle, I was bearing a lot of stress.

It was time.

The Snap…Continued

So, about that snap of the guitar string on day four…

“What was that?” After the confusion and pang of “Holy shit, what did I just do to myself?” I felt a most remarkable release. A dissolve. An unraveling.

Buckets of emotion washed over my entire body. I felt as if someone continuously poured warm water over my head and the rivulets seeped under my skin. Then came the river of tears. Unassociated tears. Tears of joy. Tears of stored physical and emotional garbage. Tears for so much of a life lived with chronic pain. I sat in the meditation hall, soaked and completely wiped out.

I got up slowly as one does after his body has been pretzeled. I exited the hall, closed my eyes and the brightness of something new streamed through the veil of my eyelids. I bent over once, then twice. Did it really happen?

Yes, it did. No more mother of all knots.

Just like that?

Yes, just like that.

The knot was truly gone. There one minute. Gone the next. I poked around for it. My experience was the textbook illustration of the concept of annicca, or impermanence, that had been echoed throughout the course instructions.

I felt phenomenal. More accurately, I felt like I had never felt before.

It often struck me – no, it still strikes me — as facile the suggestion that we ought to focus on our pain, that focus alone can make it go away. I found it simplistic, until I found a reason and approach that doesn't belie the reality that this process involves a great deal of work. (Note: I am not suggesting that observing your freshly broken leg will heal it on the spot, by the way.)

A short time later, the meditation bell rang calling us back into the hall. We were asked to sit, holding whichever position we chose for one hour. Excruciating. Whatever my joy, it had been replaced with unassailable pain.

My moment of glory was short-lived.

Impermanence, it seems, cuts both ways.

The Flow of My Vipassana Experience

The Vipassana experience is a personal one. So it is different for everyone. I hesitate to share my journey out of concern that it may unduly influence someone else’s process and create unreasonable expectations. However, I’ve been asked a lot of excellent questions, and conversations suggest that sharing my story might serve to allay fears and apprehension about the course and process.

Arrival at the Vipassana Center

When I first arrived at the center, I felt a bit overwhelmed. Approximately 100 people were taking the course with me. There were people everywhere it seemed, people who appeared more adequately prepared for the experience in every way than I might have been.

I had the chance to speak with other students before the observation of “Noble Silence” began that evening. It was then I realized that meditators come from all over the world — truly of all ages and from all walks of life. Some had absolute no experience meditating while others had meditated a great deal. Some knew nothing of Vipassana, while others were returning for their seventh sitting of the course.

There were some who were severely troubled and were willing to talk about it — including people seeking to overcome addiction and personal loss. Others appeared fully evolved and completely free of internal struggle, however accurate or inaccurate that outward appearance might have been.

Within that universe, you learn to become comfortable. Comfortable with what is, who you are, where you are. Therein lies the first lesson.

Leaning into the Silence: The Work Begins

It became clear to me why the silence, why the monastic sort of life for 10 days. The process and schedule seems aimed to minimize decisions and to put one’s mind at ease regarding needs and logistics. With none of that to worry about, you can focus on the process and yourself.

For the first three days, we learn to focus solely on our respiration, not to control it. To focus the mind, I observe my breath at the point where it enters and exits the nostrils. This focus proves an almost laughable struggle mentally and physically.

As I do this, I recall one of the returning student's observations before we went silent, “You will uncover memories you didn’t even know you had.”

To his point, my mind becomes a flipbook of memories in those first days, as I turn page by page from present to the past as far back as pre-kindergarten. I find I’m re-processing who I am.

This is a good thing.

I appreciate that I can eventually identify bodily sensation in and around my nostrils and upper lip. This sounds ludicrous, I know. But eventually you take that focused awareness of sensation to the rest of your body.

…unpleasant experiences arise and fall, come and go. The flip side: the pleasant ones do, too.

And that’s where you spend the remaining six or seven days. During this time, the connection between mind and body becomes clearer, and the relationship between all that and how to balance oneself day-to-day becomes clearer, too.

During the one-hour video “discourses” screened in the evenings, S.N. Goenka explains the phenomena we experienced that day and foreshadows some we may experience the next. It’s as if he can read our minds. He puts into astonishing and also sometimes emotionally painful perspective that unpleasant experiences arise and fall, come and go. The flip side: the pleasant ones do, too.

When this awareness finally landed, I felt free. But I also felt a little bit sad. Everything in our lives, good and bad, comes and goes.

And so do we. But we cause ourselves more pain by trying to hold on to it all.

Breaking the Noble Silence: We Are Not Alone

On the tenth day, “Noble Silence” is lifted, enabling us to speak with other students. Many of us were surprised to find ourselves slightly reluctant to re-enter the world of the speaking. But we’re human, wired for connection with others, and so we do.

Particularly in the West, we are taught to be strong. But to find our greatest strength, sometimes we must find room to surrender.

During my first “speaking” lunch, I had a conversation with another student who shared his experience with focusing on pain. Beyond the physical pain, he explained, he found a “gap” in his body — a feeling, in his words, indicating that he “somehow didn’t belong.” The sadness he related still chokes me a little as I write.

But this is what it means to be human. We hurt. We all hurt, just as we all experience joy. It's this recognition that allows us to settle who we are and leave a growing space of compassion for others.

He belonged as much as any of us. I realized more than I have ever realized, the power of the words I spoke in a talk we gave several years ago:

“We are not alone. We will go through challenges, and we will go through very significant struggles, and they will be personal, they’ll be financial, they will be emotional, and they’ll be physical, but understand this: there are people in our midst who are going through the same thing, and if not, there are people half way around the world who are sharing it with us. Take solace in this.”

Particularly in the West, we are taught to be strong. But to find our greatest strength, sometimes we must find room to surrender.

Final Meditation Sessions

With even more newfound perspective from my fellow meditators, my final three meditation sittings were perhaps the most productive of my time. I went farther than before, finding something deeper, achieving moments of greater focus. I cried a lot, not for something specific or even for something sad, but perhaps for the inexplicable beauty of the moment.

The words to describe reaching such a point currently do not exist in my vocabulary. “Powerful” and “transformational” can’t even touch it.

I leaned over and touched my toes for the first time in my life.

As I scanned my body, I felt that flow I always do on the left-hand side of my body, but I stopped at the top of my right hip. I watched it. And probably because of the 90-degree heat and 10 days of stretching, it finally gave way. A line of muscles tensed at the base of my spine began to dissolve, as if to separate from the bone. The physical sensation was absolutely bizarre. Imagine old, caked adhesive warmed by the sharpened heat and focus of the sun, then pulled away from the wall it was long stuck to.

I exited the hall after the meditation bell rang. When I did, I leaned over and touched my toes for the first time in my life.

This wasn’t some kind of crazy healing. It was a recognition of and focus on a storehouse of emotional and physical tension balled up in stiffness and pain. And as I slowly rid my body and mind of that tension during those 10 days, I felt a freedom, the likes of which I’d never felt before.

I appreciated the moment, recognized its impermanence, and was grateful for it.

Should I Take a Vipassana Course?

Rare are the experiences in life that get an unequivocal “yes” from me, but this is one of them. Vipassana is not for the faint of heart. The 10-day course is demanding and difficult in many ways. However, it is ultimately doable by absolutely anyone.

Understanding the Physical Requirements of a Vipassana Course

If the thought of sitting cross-legged seems physically daunting and too painful to bear, there’s the possibility of using back rests or even a chair. In other words, your perceived physical limitations should not deter you from taking the course.

And know this: I did it. Sure, I was athletic and ran road races and climbed mountains. But I could barely touch my knees, let alone my toes. And you already know about my fusilli pasta spine.

Despite that, I’m glad I toughed it out on the ground on my meditation cushion, for I’m almost certain I wouldn’t have achieved the results — physical, mental, or emotional — had I done otherwise. During the course, you have 10 days to experiment and plumb the depths of what you can withstand and achieve.

Managing Expectations and Accepting the Work

Will Vipassana solve all of my problems? Can Vipassana help me dominate the planet and become rich?

The Vipassana website will be the first to disabuse you of the notion that Vipassana is a panacea. It can provide a process for focusing the mind, appreciating the present moment, and navigating life’s never-ending stream of vicissitudes. That's it, really. But that’s kind of a lot.

…there are no gurus and it’s up to each of us to find our own way. It’s found and cultivated here, in the present moment.

I asked one of the returning students, there for his seventh sitting of the course, what he gains with these additional visits. “The measuring stick remains the same: equanimity.” He said. “I gain a greater inner vision. With that, I not only understand myself better, but I make better decisions.”

Convincing.

I also appreciate another fundamental message of the course: that we are the source of our own wisdom and liberation. Though Goenka is the voice of instruction and there are assistants who can be consulted for guidance, Vipassana sends a clear message – or at least it sent that message to me — that there are no gurus and it’s up to each of us to find our own way. It is not given to us or promised to us upon death. Instead, it's found and cultivated right here, in the present moment.

If we wish to find answers, it’s on us to reach inside ourselves to do so. This is very difficult work, the sort that takes a lifetime. And it's much easier said than done.

Make no mistake, however: the focus on self is not ego, but a rejection of ego paired with responsibility. It’s no surprise that the terms “service” and “compassion” occur frequently in the discourses.

Developing Your Personal Meditation Practice

It’s not a requirement that you have prior meditation experience to sit a Vipassana course. I realized almost immediately how little I really knew about meditation, regardless of how much I’d attempted to practice it for the previous 18 months.

Vipassana shifted my focus to observing my breath and bodily sensations. To observe myself, in broad and subtle ways, to observe my discord, to observe my peace. Sure, I had done “body scans” before, as prompted by meditation apps like Headspace (a decent place to begin for meditation, by the way), but I never understood how to properly observe sensations — and most importantly, why I would do so. Both the how and why have become clearer, as has the impact on my meditation, my daily life and my understanding of the world around me.

It's recommended that at the completion of the course, you continue your Vipassana practice by meditating two hours each day — one hour in the morning and one hour in the evening. For various reasons, this is not an immediate reality for me. So I meditate 30 minutes in the morning, with the hope that I will eventually introduce a session in the evening.

At first, meditating feels like a chore to me because of some physical stiffness, but after about 30 seconds, I’m grateful. And after 30 minutes, I’m grateful still. It proves a little easier each day.

Will I return to sit another course? Yes. Some people even do so annually, either as a reboot, a continual building on their practice, or both.

What I Learned

The lessons I learned during my ten days are the stuff of books. Note, I did not say book-worthy. Even though I did not have paper, pens or any recording device (you surrender those when you arrive…for the good of your meditation), I have written well over 10,000 words about my experience since, from the more technical aspects of Vipassana meditation, to the underlying philosophy to the implications of what I learned on my everyday life going forward.

Yes, there’s a lot to take in. But never has being slightly overwhelmed felt this good.

Isn’t There More?

Yes, there’s always more. But that’s for you to find out for yourself. As I’ve shared my experience with Audrey and other friends, I have approached a sort of limit. I feel over-sharing might deprive you of experiencing some of the course’s most pleasant surprises and painful yet productive discoveries on your own.

I’m certain Audrey will also take a Vipassana course someday soon. We share so much in our lives together, it will be interesting to compare notes on experiences so similar, yet I’m sure so entirely different.

So I pull up a bit short and leave some of that on the table. The point of sharing all that I have shared is to suggest that life journeys are long, and that good things often require great effort. Stories do not unfold in the snap of a finger.

Vipassana is a good thing to do, even if you feel as though you might not be up to it right now. Someday maybe you’ll decide it’s the right time, and you’ll go. And you’ll find that the feeling you are least likely to emerge with is regret.

Just as I have.

Practical Details for a Vipassana Meditation Course

If I have piqued your interest in taking a Vipassana 10-day silent meditation course, here's some information you might need to help you take the next step. If you have more questions, please leave them in the comments section so I can address them in this article for the benefit of others.

Where can I take a Vipassana course?

Although the Vipassana course was developed in Asia, you can find Vipassana centers all around the world today. Check this website for a complete listing of course locations and dates. To understand which language(s) the instruction is in, check the Vipassana site. The audio and video components of the Vipassana course are in English (usually with local language translation offered) and individual consultation and question and answer sessions are often in the local language with one or another foreign language translation offered.

There are centers throughout Europe and the North America, although I found that these tend to fill up quickly. You may have to plan in advance to book your spot, especially if you are a beginner. The schedule, program, instruction and video discourses are identical no matter where you choose to sit your Vipassana course.

Can I do this course in less than 10 days?

Ten days may sound like a major time investment. Consider, however, that people from all walks of life with stacks of personal, professional and family obligations – far beyond my own limited responsibilities — have found the time. They do so because they have a sense that this process will be for their betterment and for the benefit of the ones they love. You'll find other courses, shorter and longer, available on the Vipassana website. However, you must begin with a 10-day course.

“Did you ever feel the urge to quit?” No. Out of the 100 or so people who sat the course with me, only one left during the ten days.

Can I take the Vipassana course with a spouse, partner, boyfriend or girlfriend?

The intent of the course is to focus on oneself, so the idea that you are taking the course with someone else or you have “company” becomes irrelevant once the course begins. In fact, it may be distracting.

Ideally, you and your partner set off at the same time and attend different centers and return together with a comparable, yet personal and differentiated experience. And most importantly, a new, shared vocabulary.

Where I took my course: The Dhamma Malaya Vipassana Center in Malaysia

I'm going to resist keeping this place a secret, all to myself. I thought the center and its facilities were excellent. I had my own room, for which I was grateful. (Note: I understand that not all Vipassana centers around the world are equipped to give new students their own room, but I found this feature immensely helpful, not only for my own convenience, but also to avoid creating any stir or inconvenience for someone happening to room with me.)

Having said all that, the center is not luxurious, nor is it supposed to be. It's not a spa. It's basic. Your ten days are to be lived simply.

For me, taking the course in the hot season was great. I could pack very light (a first for me!), as in a pair of light cotton trousers, a couple of t-shirts and bathroom stuff. Laundry dried quickly and I was never cold (something I find distracting). Additionally, all that I achieved physically was helped along greatly by the stretching I’d done, which I find becomes much easier in the heat.

What about the food at a Vipassana course?

“Simple vegetarian food” is on offer. It is plenty and it’s tasty. And there’s enough variety to meet most taste preferences. If you wanted, it would be easy enough to eat vegan during the week. If you have specific dietary restrictions, just let the organizers know in advance. There was even a pregnant woman taking the course while I was there.

Volunteers who have previously taken a course serve meals. I was profoundly grateful for them and their service. And they sometimes made me laugh inside. Watching a diligent server manage a 10-piece toaster while a bunch of ravenous meditators, me included, are trying to figure it out on the first day, is skit-worthy.

You also realize that food is one of those things with which we can barrage our body and senses. When heat and spice are toned down — not typical in my dining practice — as it is with Vipassana food, I found that it was one less distraction my body had to deal with. I also now find myself more sensitive to subtle tastes in food in general. I still eat the heat, but I find I'm even more attuned to enjoying the flavor.

Although the evening meal was very light – usually just fruit – I never felt wanting for food. You learn to eat only as much as your body really needs.

What is the cost of a Vipassana meditation course?

On principle, no fee for the Vipassana course is charged. Centers are instead maintained by the donations of those who have completed a meditation course. You may donate only once you have completed a course and you are free to choose the amount you wish to donate.

The idea: those who came before you support your course while your donation supports future participants. So you pay it forward.

Schedule: A Typical Vipassana Day and Timetable

For days one through nine, participants observe a “Noble Silence” which means no talking and no charades or other non-verbal communication. You can ask the instructor questions during sessions at 12:00 P.M. and 9:00 P.M. Remaining silent during this time is not nearly as difficult as it sounds.

The schedule is the same at every Vipassana 10-day meditation course, no matter where it is being held in the world. You can see this at the bottom of the Vipassana FAQ page.

Wake up bell: 4:00 A.M.

Most mornings, for whatever reason, my body anticipated the waking bells at 4:00 A.M. I set an alarm for 4:10 A.M. just in case and never had to use it. Not because I wasn’t tired in some way, or even jet lagged a bit, but because it was clear I had something important that I must do.

After a quick wash and water and a stretch, I was out the door into the pre-dawn darkness for a walk from my room to the meditation hall. The touch of cool before the birds would come alive and the warmth of the Malaysia hot season would land was something I’ll never forget.

Meditate in the hall or in your room: 4:30-6:30 A.M.

I quickly realized after a brief conversation with the instructor that meditating in the hall for newcomers is an important discipline. I found I would go much further with the structure and discipline of the early morning in the hall, despite the fact that the morning sessions ended with a chant that typically drove me borderline crazy.

On Day 10, after silence is lifted, one of the other students shared that he was tempted to leave the hall one morning after experiencing pain and frustration, only to look over and find me in a fit of what appeared to be even greater torture. Though we were discouraged from minding other participants, I’m grateful my struggles could serve as an inspiration to others.

Breakfast and rest: 6:30-8:00 A.M.

Both western and Asian options were usually offered for breakfast, meaning you could have toast and oatmeal or rice noodle soup and vegetables.

After breakfast, I would take a walk around the male side of the center (sexes are segregated during the course). I appreciated each and every sunrise in spectacular detail, well beyond the usual attention I might pay.

One sunrise sky in particular stood out: layers of the color wheel were strewn in bent wisps through contrails that arced over the intersection of red rooftops. The image was accented by the perfectly hung earth-tone outfits of the Bikkhu, those training to be monks.

If there was one tableau that captured the peace and simplicity of my 10 days, it was this. No, I didn't have a camera or iPhone to capture the image (you surrender those, too). But I'll never forget it.

Group meditation in the hall: 8:00-9:00 A.M.

Meditate in the hall or in your room: 9:00-11:00 A.M.

Lunch and rest: 11:00 A.M.-1:00 P.M.

For returning students, this is the final meal of the day.

Meditate in the hall or in your room: 1:00-2:30 P.M.

Group meditation in the hall: 2:30-3:30 P.M.

Meditate in the hall or in your room: 3:30-5:00 P.M.

Tea break: 5:00-6:00 P.M.

For new students, this is the final taste of food for the day. It usually consisted of a piece or two of fruit. Returning students only take tea. Hint: If you really think you’re starving, have some hot chocolate.

Group meditation in the hall: 6:00-7:00 P.M.

Evening discourse: 7:00-8:15 P.M.

“Discourses” are the videotaped talks given by S.N. Goenka, the founder of this Vipassana meditation course. These talks struck me as important because they explained the day’s experience, foreshadowed the practice for the following day and shed light on the connection between what we were doing, our lives and broad issues, including even life and death.

Final group meditation: 8:15-9:00 P.M.

Lights out: 9:30 P.M.

By bedtime, you are definitely ready for sleep.

Do you have any other questions regarding taking a Vipassana 10-day meditation course? Leave a comment and I will expand the information in this post so others may benefit from it.

The post Adventures in Silence: A Vipassana 10-Day Meditation Retreat appeared first on Uncornered Market.

No small feat to squeeze these various charges into one piece, but I think we did.

In honor of relationships, in all manner of their evolution, we thought it fitting to share a personal story of ours for Valentine’s Day.

When people ask us, “What’s the most frightening thing you’ve done while traveling the world?”, they often expect a story from Iran, Kazakhstan or Rwanda. Yet while we have encountered plenty of challenges during our travels, many of which have been fodder for stories on our blog, our most difficult moment came before all that. It was when in 2006, as mid-career professionals, my wife and I handed in our resignation letters, setting aside the security of one life for the uncertain opportunities of another – together.

Both of us are American, but we were working in Prague at that time. Audrey, my wife, managed tax and legal issues for US media organisation Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty. I was a management consultant for the mobile phone provider Vodafone. After five years in Prague, and a combined 20 years of professional experience, we both had begun to feel as though our careers no longer challenged us. We needed a professional and creative re-boot.

Travelling together wasn’t new to us, having followed our simple 25-person wedding in Pienza, Italy with a five-month backpacking trip across Europe. But it was a trip to Thailand over Christmas 2004 that truly illuminated how we could make long-term travel a reality. Even though we could have budgeted for a pricier hotel, it was a 400 baht ($10) per night bungalow that brought us joy and satisfaction.

Back home, intrigued by the idea of acquiring life experiences over objects, we found other ways to adjust our spending habits. We cut back on items for our apartment, clothes and eating and drinking out. Our goal: to save up for a 12- to 18-month sabbatical that would let us both travel the world and develop skills that could transition us each into alternate professions – and into the next stage of our lives together.

The major mitigating factor? We are two people. When you act alone, you can just pick up and go. As a couple you must constantly communicate to make sure you’re still aligned in your goals and needs. It’s something we call “checking in”, a process we’d used somewhat informally in our daily lives, but now approached more deliberately given the major life decisions ahead of us. The decisive check-in happened one night as we sat together at the edge of our bed in Prague, probing possible reasons for making the leap – or not.

“Are we really ready to do this?” I asked.

“Well…maybe we can put it off just a little while longer?” Audrey responded, echoing my own ambivalence.

“But one year becomes five, five becomes 10. The next thing you know you are looking back and wondering ‘What if?’” I said. We looked at one another, knowing what we were about to do.

Granted, our decision seemed a little unhinged, especially to those close to us. Luckily, we had prior experience with the challenging conversations and puzzled looks, having set off five years earlier from San Francisco to Prague in the mid-winter – with no jobs lined up. It was a decision that perplexed our friends and family, but also satisfied the nagging curiosity that we both had.

And so in December 2006, two years after our fateful Thailand trip, we handed in our resignation letters, sold everything except what we could cram into our backpacks and departed with two one-way tickets to Bangkok.

Over the next eight years, we travelled the Silk Road overland from the Republic of Georgia to China, climbed to the top of Tanzania’s Mount Kilimanjaro, took a 60-hour train from Iran to Istanbul, witnessed the sun rise over the salt flats in Bolivia, followed penguins in Antarctica, trekked in the Himalayas, tracked tigers in Bangladesh and were continually humbled by the prevailing kindness shown to us by people we met.

That one-year sabbatical? It became a new lifestyle – and it did lead to different professions.

Our website, Uncornered Market, began as a creative outlet for stories of adventure coupled with tales of places and people that aren’t usually represented in mainstream media. We began its development alongside Buddhist monks in internet cafes in Luang Prabang, Laos, and put the finishing touches on it somewhere in Battambang, Cambodia. The blog’s success has since led to various brand ambassador gigs, professional speaking engagements, freelance writing and photography assignments and digital consulting projects – all of which help fund our continued journeys.

Even so, the big question isn’t how we’ve made our finances and careers work. It’s how we’ve made our relationship work.

As American writer Alexandra Penney once said, “The ultimate test of a relationship is to disagree, but to hold hands.” We’d add, “…while traveling the world and running a business together”.

In some ways, we complement each other well while on the road. One of us often needs a little push from the other to get past fears and grow. In early 2007, for instance, Audrey was reluctant to visit Turkmenistan. She knew from her previous job that it could be a dangerous country where journalists were incarcerated; some even died in jail. I wanted to take the risk and see for ourselves. So we decided to leave the decision up to fate, resting on whether our visa applications were successful.

They were. On our ensuing cross-Caspian Sea ferry from Baku, Azerbaijan to Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan, Audrey, despite her initial concerns, was the one who started chatting with other passengers, using the Russian she had honed from both her previous job and two months of travel in Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan. The next thing we knew, we had arrived, and were being plied with glasses of vodka and watermelon by Turkmen vacationers on the beach.

Another difficult challenge was our own expectations. Ditching what we called the “perfection narrative” of our relationship – the idea that marriages are supposed to be easy and ideal, when in fact they are full of bumps and hard work as you inch toward shared goals – was especially freeing. And travel helps. Wake up after a week without showering in Nepal’s Himalayas and you have a new appreciation for who the person next to you really is. Later that morning, when that unwashed partner makes it over a 5,400m mountain pass and motivates you to do the same, you might just find your heart brimming over with pride.

Still, sometimes we must withdraw to our inner selves to maintain a level of independence and reflection. Allowing and respecting this need is especially important when one or both partners happens to be an introvert, as I am. This is where the ability to create mental space, even in shared (and small) physical space, can be a relationship-saver. We might sit next to each other on a 17-hour bus ride without speaking for hours at a clip. We aren’t angry at one another; instead, we are creating the circumstances we need to reflect and regenerate for the next adventure.

And yes: there are occasions where we fight, sometimes to blow-out proportions. One of those times was in Buenos Aires, the night before Valentine’s Day 2010 – and while I don’t recall what we fought about, the argument ended with us each boarding separate buses, headed in opposite directions, in the middle of the night. The next morning we reconciled, reflected and even wrote a piece on how to travel the world together without killing each other.

Today, we’re often asked for our secrets to travel, relationships and life satisfaction. Our biggest tip? The greatest impressions on life’s highlight reel need not always be attached to a several thousand dollar “trip of a lifetime”, but can instead be found, say, in the eight euro bottle of wine that you share under a tree behind an old train station on the France-Switzerland border.

As a couple, meanwhile, our travels have provided us the opportunity to create a library of shared stories and life experiences. Our respect and appreciation of our differences has helped us grow together, not apart. But it’s important to remember that travelling and working together forces issues to the surface; work through them immediately, rather than letting them stew and simmer.

Oh, and if you board separate buses, make sure they eventually wind up in the same place.

The post Traveling, Working, and Staying Together on the Road: Our Story appeared first on Uncornered Market.