I love travel. It was seeded when I used to farewell my grandparents year after year at the airport as they departed for yet another exotic location. It began when I first set foot in Amsterdam at 19 years of age and realized that my dream of seeing Europe was becoming a reality.
Over the years, I have chipped away at my travel ‘to do list,’ and slowly built my collection of Lonely Planet guides.
A couple of months ago I found and bought the holy grail of travel guides. Lonely Planet: The World.
221 countries, 228 maps, and 700 full colour photos. When it arrived, I cracked it open in excitement… and drowned. I knew I wanted to see Morocco, but what about Monaco, Montenegro, Mongolia? What about Bhutan, Belize, Andorra, Afghanistan?
As I flicked through the book I was struck with an unsettling thought: I would never.
Just as I will never read all the books I want to read, I will never see all the places I would like to see. My life, which has seemed to stretch out so far in front of me, will not be enough.
There is one beautiful redeeming grace in the daunting finiteness of my life.
My life’s meaning and purpose was never grounded in reading all the things or seeing all the places. My core purpose is something far greater. And for that, I will have exactly the right amount of time.