Saniha loves vacations. They light her up. Some of her best childhood memories were made on family trips—moments of joy, wonder, and togetherness that shaped her sense of what it means to feel alive. I love seeing that in her.
But I’ve always struggled with the idea of vacations. Growing up, we didn’t take trips to faraway places. Each summer meant visiting grandparents in Pakistan. It was meaningful in its own way, but it didn’t feel like an escape or adventure. And now, when I do get away, there’s a part of me that wrestles with guilt—how can I indulge when there’s so much suffering in the world?
Then I came across this passage from Contentment by Robert Johnson and Jerry Ruhl:
“It is instructive that there is no word for vacation in ancient languages such as Hebrew or Sanskrit. If you were to visit the villages of a premodern culture, you would see people instead going on pilgrimage.
The essential aspect of a pilgrimage is that you go to a holy site and present yourself to something that is greater than your personal self. This gives value, meaning, direction, and healing, opening the pilgrim to new possibilities.
When Westerners go on vacation, they present themselves to something they think is greater—the ego’s pleasure. It is the inflated ‘I’ that must be honored and served. If this is not achieved, then the vacation is a bust.”
It helped me reframe things. Maybe I don’t have to choose between joy and meaning. Maybe a vacation doesn’t need to be an escape, or an act of self-indulgence. Maybe it can be a kind of pilgrimage—where I stay open, present, and grateful. Where I notice beauty and return home changed, even slightly.
I don’t need to reject what Saniha loves. I can honor it differently. And perhaps, over time, find my own way of traveling that lets me hold the world’s sorrow in one hand, and still reach for joy with the other.