I never cried on a plane before July 29, 2023.
I’ve done a great deal of traveling throughout college, much of it international. Whether traveling with other students, my family, or on my own, I’ve typically spent my time abroad exploring beautiful sites, studying a nation’s history and culture, and tasting local delicacies. This mode of travel has served me well over the years: I’ve enjoyed many new experiences and eaten a lot of good food. But every time I head home at the end of a trip, I’m fatigued and ready to be back in a more comfortable environment.
This past summer, as I prepared for a month-long immersion program in Paris, I picked up The Vanishing American Adult by Ben Sasse. I began reading this book as I entered college and thought it would be fitting to finish before the start of my senior year. When I reached his chapter entitled “Travel to See,” I paid close attention. The chapter makes an excellent argument for how to travel well. Sasse expounds the value of travel for young adults, weighs the benefits of solo travel against those of traveling with companions, and gives concrete advice on how to pack light. But what remained with me as I began my time in Paris was a story Sasse recounted about sharing a meal with German widows during his studies abroad in Europe. These women told the young man about their experiences living through World War II, sharing stories hardly conceivable to an American of his age. Studying the history of World War II was one thing; hearing it described from the mouths of those who survived it was another
Each time I had traveled in the past, my goal was to do. Now, influenced by Sasse’s advice about traveling to see, my intention became to connect.
In keeping with this objective, I devoted almost every morning and evening in Paris to fellowship with my host family. I woke up at 6 a.m. each day so I could spend an hour and a half listening to French radio and chatting with the other multinational students living in my homestay before leaving for school. Rather than staying out late at night, I returned home for dinner every evening. I spent hours listening to my French host mother’s stories about her childhood in rural Normandy and conversing with my Iranian housemate, a recent immigrant to France who would not see his homeland for the foreseeable future. Often, the three of us – one from an openly secular society, one from the Islamic Republic, and one from the Bible Belt – would stay up late discussing religion and the existence of God. These conversations not only opened my eyes to the beliefs of others, but also breathed life into my own knowledge of the Gospel. I never understood the phrase “made in the image of God” so well as when I had to explain it in a foreign language to people totally unfamiliar with the doctrines of evangelical Christianity.
Unlike my past travels, I gained much more from this trip than photos to show my future grandchildren. This trip changed me. I now feel comfortable conversing with almost anyone, including strangers, and have learned how to organically steer a conversation toward the topic of religion. I have a newfound desire to meet more people from more places and speak more languages. I did do my fair share of “touristy” activities while in Paris, but after being back stateside for a month and a half, I rarely reminisce about my visit to the Musée d’Orsay or the afternoon I spent wandering the Tuileries. But not a day goes by that I don’t think about and pray for the friends I made in Paris.
I sobbed on my flight home. I didn’t want to leave. For the first time concluding an international trip, I was neither exhausted nor eager to return to the comfort of the United States. My time abroad was life-giving, not draining. Instead of merely consuming the culture according to my old habits, I spent my time forming relationships that shaped and grew me.
In the future, no matter how short the trip, my goal in traveling won’t be to visit as many museums or eat as much local cuisine as possible. The taste of a meal, no matter how delicious, dissipates as soon as it is eaten. Memories of a place become fuzzy until they can only be remembered through photos. A connection with a person, however, leaves an impact that won’t quickly fade.
