I had a very different blog post planned to write today, but it will have to wait. In light of the horrific terror attacks this weekend in Paris and Beirut, I can’t seem to focus my mind on much else. I suspect many people feel the same way.
On Friday night, I was out with some friends for the evening as the word began to trickle in about the Paris shootings, and the scope and horror became increasingly clear. One of my friends, shaking her head over the awful news, commented that hearing about events like this makes her want to turn on her favorite fictional TV show and forget all about the world.
I understand this sentiment; I really do. But I can’t agree with it.
Because the truth is, no matter how many horrible tragedies may mar its beauty, I still love the world.
Ever since I was a child, I’ve been fascinated by events around the globe. I was a news junkie even as a little kid growing up at the tail end of the Cold War, watching the news with my parents in the evenings. I may have had a limited understanding of the things I saw and heard, but I was developing a sense from a very early age that this big, mysterious place—The World—was important. What happened out there mattered.
I went to college to study political science, moved overseas twice, got a graduate degree in international relations, and have traveled to almost thirty countries, all for the same reason: because I love the world. Even when it horrifies me. I can’t stop caring about it, about what happens on our planet and to the people who live here. I can’t stop myself from exploring it and always wanting to learn more.
The world can be ugly and frightening, but it’s so much more than that. It contains so much beauty and wonder that it would be a tragedy to stay home, hide under the covers, and miss out on experiencing it.
The world is the magical allure of Paris, the Eiffel Tower reaching to the sky, its broad boulevards and museums cafes and patisseries inviting weary travelers to come in a while away an hour, or two or three.
It’s the spectacular art in the Sistine Chapel in Rome, and the glorious seaside town of Positano looming in the hills over the Amalfi Coast.
It’s London’s red double decker buses and endless rainy drizzle and how it feels to duck in a warm pub or café or bookstore to escape the grey day, surrounded by camaraderie and friends.
It’s the view from a table on the beach in Tel Aviv, Israel, eating falafel and hummus before heading to the Dead Sea to float for an afternoon.
It’s the windmills and whitewashed houses and impossibly blue waters of the Greek Islands.
It’s the magnificent gold-pattered Aya Sofia in Istanbul.
It’s tapas and sangria in Barcelona.
It’s drinking wine looking out over a sweeping green vineyard in Stellenbosch, South Africa.
It’s the thundering of Gullfoss waterfall in Iceland, pierced by a double rainbow.
It’s all of these places, and it’s the people who live in them too. It’s the strangers who gave me directions when I was lost in foreign countries, who open their homes to travelers passing through, who share a meal or a kind word with people they barely know. It’s billions of people we haven’t met yet, just trying to live their lives and in the process, making our planet a slightly better place.
It’s easy to despair about the world, especially in times like this. The world isn’t an easy place to live in. It never has been. But I refuse to give up hope.
I’ll keep traveling, keep exploring, keep trying to learn as much as I can about the people and cultures and countries of the globe. And no matter what may happen in the future, I won’t turn my back on them or let fear keep me away.
Because no matter what, even on its worst days, I still love the world.