The Explorer’s Conundrum
When Wanderlust Meets the Challenge of Expectation
Some people are moved by rivers. I need a northern light or a Florence arch. That doesn’t mean I feel less—it means I’ve learned to feel differently. When beauty moves me now, it moves me to my core.
When Beauty Doesn’t Speak
Earlier today, I was in the passenger seat of a car, driving past a river. The driver kept nudging me. “Look over there. See how stunning it is?” I turned my head politely. It was a stretch of water, calm and silvery. Nice enough. He kept insisting I look again, as if the beauty might strike on the second try.
But I couldn’t fake it. I wasn’t moved. At all.
At first, I wondered if something was wrong with me. Had I become numb? Cynical? The truth felt simpler and a little uncomfortable: I’ve just seen a lot.
The Explorer’s Conundrum
I’ve sipped cappuccino in Tuscany and watched lavender fog roll over a temple in Kyoto. I’ve walked across bridges that seem to float, stood under arches in Lisbon that left me breathless, and shimmered beneath northern lights. I’ve seen the “wow.” And now, in a small town, someone tells me a view is stunning. My brain, spoiled, well-traveled, maybe even wise, quietly asks, “Compared to what?”
It made me wonder if seeing more of the world takes something away. Are we trading our sense of surprise for a library of comparisons?
Does Wonder Fade With Time?
But then another answer came. I haven’t lost wonder. I’ve refined it.
A New Shape of Wonder
What once made me gasp now makes me pause. My joy isn’t louder, but it is deeper and fuller. It’s a quiet appreciation for detail: the way light hits an alley in Paris at dusk, the view of waves from a cliff in South Africa, the green hills rolling through Edinburgh. The gentle sameness of human laughter across cultures. I still admire beauty, but now I look for it differently. I recognize its layers. I compare not to compete, but to remember.
The Quiet Awe
And it’s not just beauty I’ve seen. I’ve also seen brokenness. Poverty in Manila. Loneliness in major cities. The ache in people’s eyes, and the joy that survives anyway. These moments sharpen your empathy. They remind you that beauty is not always in the postcard image. Sometimes it’s in resilience, in warmth, in the ordinary made sacred.
So when I seem unimpressed, it isn’t detachment. It’s reverence. It’s the quiet awe of someone who has seen enough to know that real beauty asks for presence, not performance.
Wander More, Wonder Differently
I will keep wandering. I will keep wondering. Just not always in the same way.
And that’s the gift.