London. I awoke this morning to the sound of the bells at St. Paul’s Cathedral. There is a hostel in the building that once housed the boys’ choir of St. Paul’s. I love staying here because it is a couple of blocks from the Millennium Bridge and the Thames. I walk out on the bridge last thing before going to bed every night and then again first thing every morning.
Tomorrow morning, I am off to Heathrow and the flight back to San Francisco. I left California almost four months ago. This long sojourn is nearby over.
About half-way through my journey my wife asked over the phone: ‘how has going on this trip changed you?’ I froze. Not only did I not have an answer, I hadn’t even asked myself the question. I thought I must be pretty shallow—or arrogant. I wasn’t going to find myself, but to find the world.
I did come up with a quick rejoinder to Lisa. “You’ll be with me in South Africa in a few weeks. When you see me, please tell me how I’ve changed.” But the question lingered.
St. Paul’s is in the old Roman city of Londinium, which today is the heart of London’s business and financial district. (Interestingly, Amman is the site of the Roman city of Philadelphia and at the other side of the empire.) As I walked this morning, the sidewalks were thick with people in suits and business attire heading to their workplaces. I wandered down a car-free lane where every other business seemed to be a coffee shop—and, gratefully, none were Starbucks.
I often begin my blog postings with a description of where I am at that moment. And the most remarkable thing about my trip is the string of ‘I am heres.’ It has been incredible. Johannesburg. Vryburg. Haertzenburg. The Iron Crown. Sandton. Lusaka. Bauleni. Nelspruit. White River. Zwelisha Township. Masoyi Township. Karongwe Game Reserve. Selati Game Reserve. Soweto. Royal Natal National Park. Mtamta. Coffee Bay. Lubanzi. Bulungula. Jeffrey’s Bay. Wilderness. Cape Town. Cape of Good Hope. West Coast National Park. Cederberg Wilderness Area. Franschhoek. Lion’s Head. London. Amman. Petra. Wadi Rum. Aqaba. The Red Sea. Jerusalem. Ramallah. Hebron. Qalandiya. Bath.
Now I’m on a train to Felsted, northeast of London, my last stop before flying home tomorrow. I am looking forward to seeing my family and friends back in California, to enjoying the many pleasures of where I live–the amazing food, incredible natural beauty and great art. But the truth is I would happily keep going. Leave London tomorrow for, say, India to visit friends and schools and help with some community projects.
But this trip is ending and I don’t spend much time speculating on might-have-been.
I am incredibly fortunate to have been able to do this. There were so many things that had to line up for this to be possible: work giving me a sabbatical, the presence of people at work capable of filling in for me, the health of myself and my wife and my daughter and our mothers, family finances. I am fortunate and grateful.
I return to California in time for the start of my summer vacation, so the transition shouldn’t be too painful. My sabbatical doesn’t end when I land in San Francisco, just the being-out-of-the-USA part. But I can’t help but think about my life when I’m back at work and going about my daily rituals. I have a great job running the community service and international programs at the Athenian School, but it’s not as exciting as this trip. My brain gets stuffed with thinking about the myriad details of the many work projects I’m jugging. I get caught up in the culture of work and busyness. Maybe I’ll be able to shift that some. Maybe not.
During this trip and during the year we lived in Tanzania, I often found myself thinking about how to share the experience with people who weren’t there. That kind of reflection is very different than thinking about how to manage some work challenge According to Plato, Socrates said ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ And for him this was not some bromide about the power of reflection, but a life-or-death question.
I am alive. At 61, nearer the end of my life than the beginning. My future health is unknown. In a couple of years, a trip like this might be beyond my physical capacity.
And so I watch the lush green English countryside roll by the train window. I feel the gentle rocking of the smooth ride on the tracks. I hear the clink and buzz of the wheels.
Onward. To enjoy this beautiful day. To connect with people. To make the world a better place in some small way.
The unexamined world is not worth living in.
No Foreign Lands 