Why do we spend our lives building a home and a life that is beautiful, luxurious, safe, and comfortable – and then long to leave it? What is the pull to explore and to leave our sanctuaries to go in search of the unfamiliar? What part of our soul does it feed? As I’m flying home from a week in Alaska aboard the Seabourn Odyssey with my beautiful Megan sleeping peacefully beside me and watching Mt Rainier out of my window, I’m reminded again of the answers to these questions.

It is a great irony to be standing on the edge of what we know, looking at the exquisite expanse beyond, and to somehow simultaneously feel both insignificant and also seen. To feel small, but also connected and fixed to what is real and true and good. Kayaking to the base of Dawes Glacier through a field of recently calved ice, in water more turquoise than the Maldives, I felt negligible next to the millions of tons of ancient solid water that towered above me. But when I looked around me and saw the Harbor Seals resting contently on icebergs as they floated by and the birds effortlessly diving beneath the surface to feed on the fish that had eaten the plankton that were nourished by the plants that grew in the mineral-rich turquoise glacial water, I felt connected to a system and a world in which I had a place. My visit to that glacier was short, but the impact of that feeling will remain with me forever.

I believe that the most profound luxury of travel lies beyond butlers and thread counts and canapes. I believe it is found in the renewal that is matched with an expanded perspective. When we travel well, we zoom out on our lives for a time to reassess our place in the world while also recharging our capacity to thrive within it. After spending a day exploring Misty Fjords National Monument, one of the most beautiful places on our planet, I could feel my perspective shifting. My busy daily life in the sun-drenched desert of Arizona was temporarily replaced with a solemn, reverent, witnessing of this stunning landscape. My fast-paced routine gave way to undistracted introspection. The following day, the weather remained an appropriate melancholy as we sailed through the narrows of Southeastern Alaska. Megan and I found ourselves having very raw and real conversations inspired by the raw and real landscapes that enveloped us. This led us to a renewal of purpose, renewal of direction, renewal of commitment, renewal of hope. We were seeing our lives and each other with new eyes and a new empowering perspective.

Fittingly, the following day at Alert Bay, British Columbia, the clouds and rain gave way to a completely clear sky and radiant sunshine. Megan found pockets full of treasures on beaches that seemed to be made as much from sea glass as from sand. We are returning home today to lives as busy as they have ever been, but with an increased capacity to thrive in our beautiful chaos. In many ways, we are different people, better people, than we were a week ago. This. This is why we travel.