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| A stunning church door I found in Germany |
For me, 2010 was an enlightening year. I didn't do even half of the globetrotting that I would have liked to, but I did indulge in some pretty stellar escapes, and along the way, I stumbled on the reaffirmation of a concept I don't touch on nearly enough.
It all came reeling back toward me when I was breezing through a magazine this past weekend, spending the New Year weekend in northern Michigan, tucked snugly into a blanketed ball on the couch at our family cottage. Flicking through pages, I came across this compilation of
world marvels, that left me equally ravenous for a visit to Croatia's Dinaric Mountains or Scotland's siren-esque Isle of Eigg. The article, short in length but mated with stunning visuals, highlighted the intense ability some of Earth's spaces have to instantly humble us as humans. Fill us, consume us, with awe.
It's a rarity, really. The kind of out-of-body experience that is so grand it takes your breath away and causes you to contemplate the smallness of your being. This past July, I experienced it; not for the first time, but in a way that stands out in my mind. It was late at night, and me and my companions were strolling the deserted streets of a small village in Germany, Schwabisch Gmund, after the bar had closed. The air was warm, and we had no reason to rush back to our hotel, a few blocks away. In the city's center, a few of us stopped with our off-duty, unofficial tour guide to stare wide-eyed at the massive cathedral that anchored the marketplace, which would surely be abuzz come dawn.
There was something about seeing that large, looming church in the moonlight, pressing my hand against the solid stone walls, and peering through the stained glass windows, dimly lit from inside.
What I would have paid to have someone unlock the doors in that moment. I learned, that night, that the church, the Holy Cross Cathedral, was financed--and built--by the village residents in the 14th Century. Here, now, there is no way that I can attach to these words the emotion that I felt that evening. But that's the best part. That moment in time will never be recreated, but it will forever be holed up inside that part of me that houses the simple, but life-changing, experiences that shape the person I am.
Travel changes us. That's all there is to it. And so, in 2011, I wish you the most awe-inducing experiences that life can throw at you. Soak it up. Relish in it. And then, try your best to share it with the people you love.