I seem to have this recurring problem – I lose track of my existence and why I am here on this beautiful earth.

The last time I acknowledged my problem was in 2022 with “Writing myself into existence – again“.

I’ve been mired in the day to day of just going through the motions of retirement with the occasional long “traveler” trip. Last year we traveled to Ireland and Scotland for five wonderful weeks and then int the summer fulfilled one of my bucket list items by visiting all lower 48 state capitals.

These long trips keep me occupied through the pre-trip planning, executing the trip, and then the post trip reflections and occasionally producing a photo book of the experience. Before each trip I commit myself to writing each day so that I have notes to remind myself of what was important. But I never write. Being present on a trip is exhausting at my age, particularly when it is a driving trip. Surviving the tiny roads of back country Europe or the many traffic cul de sacs in larger cities is an anxiety nightmare.

Fortunately, I take a lot of photos and that becomes my mostly infallible memory of the events of a trip.

While I have the photos to jog my memory, my starting to write again comes back to a recurring theme – why do I travel? What compels me to take these long trips to Europe and through the United States? Is there a through thread or flow of our travels?

During the writing of my morning pages, I remember a profound experience when we were touring Jerusalem in 1990 with our parish priest from Manchester, NH. We visited the Church of All Nations which is next to the Garden of Gethsemane. During Father Marc’s mass in the church, I was overcome with a flood of emotions. After the mass, the tour group continued to Bethlehem. I stayed behind. I knew I had to spend the day meditating in the church and in the Garden. Every half hour a different group would say mass in the church. The languages ranged from English to German to French to Latin and others I wasn’t sure of. There was something about this place and its historical significance that I wanted to experience AND understand. I felt like my head and heart were one in this place.

Could this be the reason for our extended travel? Could I be looking to place myself in historical locations where my head and heart can meld into an authentic experience as I time travel? Is that why I spend so much time creating diverse itineraries so that I improve the chances of living one of these historical experiences? I remember a comment David Stone made after my presentation on ALL-IN-1 ignited enthusiastic innovation at a large management meeting in Majorca. I asked David how he knew that my presentation would resonate. He answered “I didn’t. But I create an agenda with a lot of diversity and I know that one of the topics will resonate and lead to action with our managers.”

As I reflect on our European and US trips since 2023, I find that each trip had one or more of these head/heart authentic experience moments. Here are a few of the moments that continue to resonate.

Oeiras, Portugal

We found ourselves in a small suburb of Lisbon on Easter Sunday. Instead of going into the city to the Cathedral to celebrate mass, we decided to visit the nearest parish church. The mass was in Portuguese so I went into my “speaking in tongues” spiritual meditation mode.

I was stunned by the beauty of this out of the way church and its nearby more ancient predecessor. The craftsman and artists who created this beauty are lost to history. This place was not famous or historical, but the church has provided the village with spiritual sustenance for a 100 years. It filled me with wonder as I pondered on the lives of the artisans who created this sacred space.

Quinta de La Rosa, Douro Valley, Portugal

I wanted to experience staying in a vineyard in the Douro Valley in Portugal. Over the last 20 years, I try to spend time walking in vineyards. There is something that touches me by viewing a vine that has produced wine grapes for up to 150 years still thriving.  

One of my favorite quotes is from Brian Doyle’s The Grail:  A Year Ambling and Shambling Through an Oregon Vineyard in Pursuit of the Best Pinot Noir Wine in the Whole Wide World.

“On my way back uphill to my car I remember what Jesse told me once, that each vine produces enough grapes to make about three-fourths of a bottle of wine, and I chew on the idea that three-fourths of a bottle of excellent wine is probably just the right amount necessary for two or three people to start telling stories fast and furious, so that each of the vines I pass is pregnant with stories, some of which were never born into the world before, and this idea makes me happy also, so by the time I get to the town where I am supposed to give a talk I am cheerful as a chipmunk.”

I could not believe how steep the hillsides were surrounding Pinhao, Portugal. Driving from the main highway down to Quinta de La Rosa felt like a death defying feat on the narrow twisting road. My heart stopped each time we met a truck or one of the big tour buses.

In the early morning, I had to climb the hillside to walk among the vines that were planted 100+ years ago. A single row of vines was carved out of a ten foot slope. I could not imagine the labor it took to create these vineyards on the hillsides that were present on both sides of the Douro River. I also cannot imagine how such a sparsely planted vineyard could keep this winery in business for a 100 years. As I climbed the vineyard with the sun beating down, I had to stop and sit and meditate on the labor that it took to create and maintain this gift to future generations.

I strained to hear the “conversations” that arose from the vines and wines of this 100 year old vineyard.

At dinner that night, the Quinta de La Rosa wines tasted even better for my getting to know a few of the vines.

Alba, Italy

While on our trip to Portugal seeking out a couple of wineries in the Douro Valley and the Algarve, we realized that finding wineries was a great way to see the rural areas. As I planned the trip to Piedmont Italy and Tuscany, I looked for unique wine tasting experiences. I came across the OneOnTheHill “One Day in Langhe with a Somme” private wine tour. I signed up for the full day tour. As I explored the website some more, I found that they also offered a private cooking class with Chef Fabio. I don’t know anything about cooking, but I thought it might be a nice experience. I added the cooking class to our itinerary.

As we found Chef Fabio’s house close to the heart of Alba, we didn’t realize we would be stepping into the home of the third generation of Montaneras. As we made small talk at the beginning, I asked Fabio how he was motivated to become a chef. He shared it was because of his grandmother. Then he shared that we were in his grandparents house and he was the third generation to live here. I thought I was here for a cooking class. I didn’t realize that I was going to learn more about northern Italian culture and heritage.

While I paid attention to the cooking lessons, I felt I was surrounded by his grandmother and her love of cooking passed on to her grandson. I could almost see her moving around the kitchen and then serving us in the dining room. Being someone who has moved around the United States every few years, I have no real sense of a home place. My extended family is widely scattered around our vast country. It is hard to imagine someone having the roots of a single house for many generations.

Chef Fabio was a fabulous teacher and every couple of weeks we bring out one of his recipes to enjoy. As we hand work the dough for pasta, the smells and tastes of our class with Fabio are rekindled. But most of my memories are about the stories of a Northern Italian family and place that Fabio shared.

Antelope Canyon, Arizona

For decades I’ve marveled at photos of the many shades of orange and pink of Antelope Canyon, Arizona.

The public tours are a relatively noisy untamed tourist attraction. But once I entered the canyon the unique light and color displays overwhelmed. Everywhere I looked there was another “painting with light” opportunity. I just wanted to find a place to sit and almost microscopically capture each shift in light and color and shadow. From the deep blue of the sky to the many shades of orange brown to the dark shadows of orange and brown, I couldn’t begin to pick out a place to focus.

When I could shift from being mesmerized by the colors, I could see the layers of sand compacted over the eons. Each line represents thousands of years out of the millions of years it took to form the canyon. As we stopped in a wide place in the canyon, our Navajo Guide pulled out his hand carved flute and began playing a haunting tune. His presence reminded me that while the canyon was millions of years old, the Native American peoples have inhabited this area for thousands of years.

While hundreds of photos had motivated me to finally travel to Antelope canyon, I still was not prepared for the beauty of the place AND the people. I could see, hear and feel the history of this land.

As we climbed out of the all too brief walk through the canyon, the Navajo guide asked us to look back.

What I saw was this dull brown arid landscape stretching into the distance. All of the vibrant colors and formations were hidden from view. How many times in my life have I passed by something dull looking, not realizing the vibrance of forms and colors so close by?

Writing myself back into Existence

As I look back on this post and my extended list of “profound” experiences, I realize how important photographs are to keeping the experiences alive. So am I really writing myself back into existence, or encouraging the slideshow of images and feelings to cascade across my mind?

Can I step into the same river twice?

Peace.