A special call-out to my newsletter subscribers and blog readers: I’d love to meet up with you in person at the Walk This Way Women’s Conference on October 17, if you’re anywhere near Lancaster! Registration closes on October 8; don’t miss it! Use code LAST10 and save $10!
Now back to our regularly scheduled programming blog post:
I love to travel. I dream of travel.
I’m not much of a present-wanting person (except books; always books).
What I crave are experiences: Breathing in the air of that cathedral.
Running my hand across the bark of the monster tree in that forest.
Wandering the streets of Colonial Williamsburg, or Old Town Alexandria, or Oxford, or Cambridge.
Visiting the pub where C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien read their nascent works to their critique groups.
Watching hundreds of balloons ascend at the Albuquerque Ballon Fiesta—
or soaring in one above the Pennsylvania treetops.
Holding a dead mouse so a hawk will land on my arm.
I’m always on the hunt for a bargain trip. I’m always planning our next adventure. (As my Aunt Esther used to say, “Half the fun is in planning.”)
So why in the world would I unsubscribe from the 30+ travel newsletters I received and the deal-offering sites?
Because of the 10 commandments. Number 10 to be exact:
“You shall not covet your neighbor’s house. You shall not covet your neighbor’s wife, or his male or female servant, his ox or donkey, or anything that belongs to your neighbor.”
I increasingly found my thoughts as I perused the e-mails turning to covetousness and envy. “Who are these people who can take a month-long trip across Europe and Russia by train?” “Why are some people actually able to hop on a flight last minute to start an African safari tomorrow?” “Why don’t I have enough money to visit England again?”
Basically, it had become a chorus of variations on a theme:
“Life’s not fair.”
It was a chorus that was not good for my soul.
I have a great life. I’ve had lots of adventures, as the pictures above and thousands of others attest. I’m sure I will have many more. But whining about not having access to unlimited adventures was eating away at my trust in the sufficiency and goodness of God.
So I pulled the plug. I unsubscribed from every one of them. It hurt. But it has freed me. (mostly. Sometimes friends’ travel photos on Facebook bring a similar reaction). And the next time we have money for an adventure, I’m confident a few web searches can land us a great deal.
Adventure might not be your thing. Maybe it’s a beautiful home and furnishings. Perhaps its clothes and shoes from amazing designers. Do the e-mails you receive or the catalogs that arrive in your mailbox cause envy or dissatisfaction in you? If so you might want to consider the unsubscribe button. It can help. Trust me.
Which reminds me, I probably need to contact Viking River Cruises and ask them to stop sending catalogs. (Darn you, Downton Abbey.)