With fair regularity, I get asked why I travel so much with my kids. Isn’t it exhausting? Will they even remember it? How do you make the time to get away? I could give the stock answers, and I sometimes do: I travel with my kids because I want them to have first-hand knowledge of their country and world. I travel with them because I hope that in so doing, I will create life-long learners of them. I travel with them because I enjoy it, and yes, I travel with them because I can.
But the more I journey with my children, the more I realize that travel isn’t just about the big picture. (Ironic, no?) For us, it’s about those singular moments that shine in the spaces between the major stops on the itinerary: the surprise glimpse of a sailboat from the window of the train, the unexpected enjoyment of the emptiness of a cathedral on the historical tour, the temporary camaraderie between the siblings stuck together in the back seat. It’s the anecdotes that become family lore: the missed turn on the interstate that leads to the missed flight (and longest stint in an airport ever), the rodeo that turns Toby into a hero when he announces he’s ‘an American’ to a crowd of cheering cowboys, the subway conductor who delays his train to give us directions to Penn Station. (Most of our anecdotes include navigational error.)
The secret (which isn’t a secret at all) is that these moments can’t happen without the big events that frame them. Had we not planned a trip to New York City and put everyone on a cross-continental plane, I’d never have seen Calvin enter Central Park on a muggy June evening and confidently join a pick-up game of soccer, or Toby volunteer as a sidekick in a street performer’s act in the Battery. Had we not mapped out a five-state road trip to four national parks, I’d have missed Nate’s sheer joy upon zip-lining through Montana’s Big Sky wilderness and Toby’s scream of delight upon seeing a bear with her cub. (He scared them both.)
These moments are captured and surrendered in the space of minutes and hours, and some will be remembered and some will not. But as a traveling parent, I have to believe that the lasting impression created by these moments will be much more wide-sweeping. I have to believe that the confidence born of knowing their place in the world (which is everywhere, anywhere, and anything in-between) will enable them to always say I am capable. I am compassionate. I have as much to learn and as many experiences to have as there are places in this world, and I know not one definition of beauty, of history, and of humanity, but many.
Inspired by our travels to 
I think, if only for my own benefit, that I need to repeat that: does not care. That’s hard for us to grasp, isn’t it? I think this may be why time as a concept feels so elusive to us, and distance, for that matter: earlier in this road trip, I could barely wrap my mind around The Loneliest Highway in America, let alone the distance between a single star above my tent’s canvas and the path of its light to our planet. Our entire perspective is limited to such a tiny pin drop of experience.
