A travel note in the language of presence
We took off.
Destination: Lisbon.
Just a few days — a mini break, a glimpse of elsewhere, a chance to show my 2.5-year-old son a piece of the world. A harbor city, full of salt air and tiled secrets, old trams and steep steps.
In my hand luggage:
Hope.
A quiet kind of anticipation.
But also: fatigue.
Not just from last week — but from the accumulation of months, maybe even years. The kind of tiredness that doesn’t sleep itself out in one night, but settles in the bones.
And yet, I chose this.
To move. To witness. To be together.
With two of my favorite people.
With my child, whose eyes see everything for the first time.
It’s not an ideal kind of rest.
It’s not spacious silence, it’s not a private jet, or a luxury hotel with freshly pressed sheets and a calm sea view.
It’s a different kind of wealth.
Crowded metros. Security checks. Snack queues.
Tiny hands to hold. The beauty of compromise. The abundance of connection.
And still, somewhere deep inside — I’m already on the return flight.
Already wondering what this trip will have changed.
Already searching for the takeaways, the clarity, the insight I can bring back with me.
My mind, so quick to skip the present and land in the future.
But not this time.
Or at least — not entirely.
This time, I brought no laptop.
I left it at home as a quiet rebellion.
Instead: I packed a notebook. Paper. Pen. The kind that requires a slower hand.
And of course — my phone, for maps and moments. But even that, I touch gently.
Because this journey isn’t just about Lisbon.
It’s not just about showing a little boy boats and sunlight and foreign streets.
It’s also about meeting myself again — in unfamiliar rhythms, in pauses between destinations, in tiny discoveries.
Travel always changes us.
Not because the world is different —
But because we are.
In movement, in transition, in dislocation — something in us loosens. Opens.
And that’s my real invitation for this trip:
To stay a little closer to the moment.
To meet the world as it arrives —
and let the world meet me, too.
No agenda. No expectation.
Just presence.
And the quiet miracle of walking a new path with familiar hearts beside me.