We are all visitors in this time. Our lives, no matter how full or empty they feel, are just brief flashes in the long arc of human history. The seconds turn to minutes, the minutes to years, and before we know it, we are older than we meant to be. “The cosmos is within us,” Carl Sagan once said. “We are made of star-stuff. We are a way for the universe to know itself.” That “star-stuff” he spoke of – the literal elements that make up our bodies, our breath, and our bones – has been around since the beginning of time. The carbon in our cells, the iron in our blood, the calcium in our bones – they all originated in ancient stars that lived and died long before Earth ever formed. It’s a humbling reminder that even in our short visit, we are connected to something eternal.
Time and travel have always been linked. We measure time in distances – days passed, miles walked, cities left behind. When we travel, even briefly, we disrupt our routine sense of time. Minutes stretch on unfamiliar roads. Hours vanish in new conversations. Some places make us feel like we’ve stepped into another era altogether. And sometimes, in the middle of it, we begin to see ourselves differently. Travel, like time, can both heal and expose. It can offer perspective, pulling us back just far enough to see the shape of our lives more clearly. It’s in those in-between moments – airports, empty roads, quiet motel rooms – where we sometimes confront the reality of who we’ve become.
The choices we make shape how we experience that short while. I’ve made decisions I regret – a few that have carved deep shadows into what might’ve been a lighter path. In hindsight, I see now how certain choices, made without thought or made from a place of fear or anger, turned days into burdens and made this short time feel much longer than it should have. Gandhi once said, “The future depends on what you do today.” That has become a quiet mantra for me, not just about changing my course, but about owning what I’ve done and how I move forward.
Gandhi once said, “The future depends on what you do today.” That has become a quiet mantra for me, not just about changing my course, but about owning what I’ve done and how I move forward.
Even in that, though, there is grace. I’ve learned from my missteps – lessons that could only come through pain, reflection, and time. It’s hard to explain the kind of growth that happens when you face the weight of your own decisions. But growth is the gift, if you’re willing to accept it. Kurt Vonnegut, never one to shy from truth wrapped in wit, once said, “For some reason, the most vocal Christians among us never mention the Beatitudes. But often with tears in their eyes, they demand that the Ten Commandments be posted in public buildings. And of course, that’s Moses, not Jesus. I haven’t heard one of them demand that the Sermon on the Mount, the Beatitudes, be posted anywhere.” That quote reminds me to look at life – and the faith I claim to walk with – not as a weapon to punish myself or others, but as a guide toward compassion and humility.
We are visitors, yes. But we are also travelers, constantly moving through time and space, whether we realize it or not. And in that movement – through regret and growth, through miles and moments – we gain new eyes. Every sunrise we greet, every apology we offer, every kind act we give to others or ourselves is a way of making this short time matter. I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I can be present. And in that presence, I can make peace with time – however much of it I have left. Have you made peace with yours?
