Travel Adventures: A Journey Through Contrast

The world is vast, diverse, and often startling in its contrasts. In the past few weeks, I’ve moved from the bustling, survival-driven energy of Kampala, Uganda, to the serene, spiritually infused landscape of Ubud, Bali. The shift has been striking—not just in environment, but in energy, priorities, and the very rhythm of life.

Kampala pulses with urgency. Life there is about making things work, about resilience in the face of systemic challenges. People navigate crowded streets, complex bureaucracies, and the daily reality of economic disparity. One quickly recognizes an undeniable strength in the people that seems to hold everything together.

Ubud, on the other hand, feels like it breathes differently. It’s a place of flow and harmony, a land steeped in spiritual history and reverence for the unseen. The focus here is on well-being—of body, mind, and soul. Beautiful flowers in offering baskets are everywhere, placed gently on doorsteps and altars, a visible reminder that life is infused with sacredness. People move at a different pace, not out of urgency but out of presence. It’s a place where life feels lighter, more fluid, more intentionally designed to nurture the soul.

And then there’s me—moving between these worlds, feeling the contrasts. The journeying Mark and I have done over the last four months is a catalyst for contemplating my life experiences. I can’t help but notice, visually and viscerally, how decidedly different life can be depending on where we’re born, where we travel, and where we are allowed to be.

We went to Kampala for love. To be with our adopted refugee son, Dino. Being a refugee is not just about displacement; it’s about restriction. It’s about facing obstacles that many of us never even consider. While I can simply buy a plane ticket and step into another world, Dino cannot. His movement is bound by finances, by government policies, by layers of control that dictate where he can and cannot go. A passport—or lack thereof—is not just a document; it’s often a barrier.

The contrast is staggering. The privilege of choice versus the weight of limitation. The ease of movement versus the impossibility of it. The casual act of traveling versus the desperate hope of finding a home where one is allowed to belong.

And yet, amid these disparities, there is a shared thread: the search for a place that nurtures the soul. Whether in Kampala, where tribe and village provide an anchor, or in Ubud, where peace is woven into daily life, we are all seeking something that allows us to feel at home.

And, even as I soak in the stillness of Bali, I can’t ignore the turmoil in my own homeland. The United States is shifting in ways that make me ache inside – for my people, for our freedoms, for a more compassionate way of living. Layer upon layer of change is unfolding, and for many, the world they have known no longer feels recognizable. There is so much uncertainty, so much division, so much grasping for something solid amid the tremors of transformation.

And here I am, in this place of beauty, where rest and reflection come so easily. Some moments, I let myself be at peace, embracing the gift of simply being present here. Other moments, I’m deeply aware of those who are struggling and those who do not have the luxury of stepping away from the fray. Holding both realities—peace and turmoil, presence and responsibility—is a spiritual practice in itself – and so is limiting my consumption of news and social media.

As I move through this journey, I find myself surrounded by younger people—students, spiritual seekers, digital nomads, and those just beginning their own great adventures. Their energy is intoxicating, their optimism tangible, their resolve encouraging. And it makes me acutely aware of my own stage in life. Living six decades gifts one with a different kind of resilience, a different kind of patience, a different kind of compassion. And traveling the world the past few months has taught me so much.

I am no longer in a constant rush. I don’t need to prove anything. I’ve stopped believing that change must happen quickly to be meaningful. I’ve seen how the tides of time shape us, how the slow and steady currents of life carve out new paths in ways we never expected. There is a peace in knowing that we don’t have to have all the answers right away. That change—whether personal, political, or planetary—unfolds in its own time – and sometimes, the things we most dread are the things that lead us to the greatest growth and joy. I’ve learned to look beyond my own opinions and perspectives to see into a world of possibility and potential.

So I sit here in Bali, holding both the privilege of peace and the awareness of struggle. Holding my love for the young ones forging their own paths and appreciation for the elders whose deep knowing comes from having walked so many roads already. Holding the ache for my homeland and the gratitude for the refuge I have found, if only for a little while.

Perhaps this is what it means to truly live: to hold it all with an open heart, to walk forward with both wisdom and wonder, and to trust that wherever we are, we are exactly where we need to be.

P.S.  While I’m here, I’m taking the steps to organize a retreat to Bali in 2026. It’s a long journey to get here – and so very worth it! Please drop me a note if you’re interested in immersing yourself in a life-changing spiritual experience unlike anything I have found anywhere else in the world.