The Grass is Never Greener: How Travel Shows You Our Shared Humanity

Posted: 12/09/2013 | December 9th, 2013

As I lay on a beach on the island of Ko Lipe, my Kiwi friend Paul turned to me and asked, “Backgammon?”

“Of course,” I said. “What else is there to do.”

We’d play for hours before heading to our favorite restaurant in the “town center.” The owner would teach us Thai and the local Chao Lay language while laughing at our inability to handle spicy food. We’d laugh along with him, share some jokes, and head back to the beach.

At night, we’d walk barefoot to the island’s main beach, and, with the generators buzzing in the background, drink and smoke with our other friends into the wee hours of the morning.

Then when the generators turned off and we only had starlight to light our way, we would bid each other good night until morning, when we would do it all over again.

When I first began traveling, I imagined myself as Indiana Jones on the quest for the Holy Grail (definitely not some weird crystal-skull space aliens). My Holy Grail was that perfect travel moment in some off-the-beaten-path city no one had ever visited before. I’d have a chance encounter with a local that would give me a window into the local culture, change my life, and open my eyes to the beauty of humanity.

In short, I was looking for my version of The Beach.

The Beach was a book published in the 1990s about backpackers in Thailand who, fed up with the commercialization of the backpacker trail in Asia, sought out a more authentic, pristine paradise.

Ko Lipe was an island filled with banana pancakes, Wi-Fi, and tourists. It wasn’t paradise, but it was my paradise.

The Beach exists, but it’s not a particular place or destination; it’s a moment in time when complete strangers from opposite ends of the world come together, share memories, and create bonds that last forever.

You find those moments constantly, and when you do, you begin to realize what travel has been trying to teach you from the beginning:

No matter where you are in the world, we’re exactly the same.

And that simple realization is the most exciting “Aha!” moment you can ever experience.

Before I started traveling, I dreamt that elsewhere in the world the grass was greener. That while I was stuck in my boring office job, people in destinations I only dreamed of were doing wonderful and exciting things.

If only I was there, my life would be better and more exciting.

But traveling around the world has taught me that the grass on your neighbor’s lawn is the exact same shade of green as your own.

The more you travel, the more you realize that daily life and people around the world are exactly the same.

And, in doing so, you come to understand the beauty of our shared humanity.

Everyone wakes up, worries about their kids, their weight, their friends, and their job. They commute. They relax on the weekend. They listen to music and love movies. They laugh, they cry, the worry just like you.

But local culture is simply how different people do things. I love how the French obsess over wine, the Japanese are so polite, Scandinavians love their rules, Thais seem to have a clock that is forever 20 minutes late, and Latin cultures are passionate and fiery.

That is culture. That variety is why I travel.

I want to see how people live life around the world, from the farmers on the Mongolian steppe to the office workers in fast-paced Tokyo to the tribes of the Amazon. What’s the local take on the mundane stuff that I do back home?

We may want to believe that the world is nonstop excitement everywhere but where we are — but it’s not. It’s the same.

I used to live in Bangkok teaching English. While I had flexible hours, I still dealt with commutes, bills, landlords, wearing suits to work, and everything else that comes with an office job. I got together with friends after work for dinner and drinks and did it all over again the next day.

There I was, continents away from home, and it was like I was back in that cubicle in Boston all over again.

The day-to-day life of people halfway across the world is no different than yours.

On Ko Lipe, the locals would take their kids to school before opening their shops. They’d talk to us about their hopes and dreams, and they’d complain when not enough tourists got off the boat. We’d attend birthday parties, trade language lessons, and head out fishing with them. There was a routine to their lives.

You’ll find people doing things differently wherever you are. Sure, it’s fun eating on the Seine, sailing the Greek islands, or racing a motorcycle around Hanoi. But locals aren’t doing that every day. They’re simply living their lives, just like you are right now.

As tourists, we often gaze upon other cultures as if looking at a museum exhibit, gawking at people and how they do things. “Isn’t that funny,” we might say. “How weird they eat so late.” “It makes no sense to do it that way.”

But to me, those cultural differences are simply like the little quirks of a friend, no more or less exciting than your own (but sometimes much more interesting).

When you realize how alike our lives are, you realize we’re all in this together. You no longer see people as some “other,” but instead recognize yourself in them — the same struggles, hopes, dreams, and desires you have, they have for themselves.

And so, when an interviewer asked me last week about the greatest thing traveling the world has taught me, my mind instantly raced through all those moments on Ko Lipe, and without hesitation, I replied:

“We’re all the same.”

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Travel and the Art of Losing Friends

After months on the road, you find yourself back home and excited to resume old friendships. You plan dinners, get-togethers, and nights out. And, as some people fail to respond or show up, you begin realize an awful truth — while you were out exploring the world, your friends crept out the back door of your life.

And, unlike you, they aren’t coming back.

They ghosted.

After being away for over six months, I came back to New York eager to reconnect with my friends. I missed their faces, stories, and presence. But, as most New Yorkers will tell you, friendships are often hard to maintain under the crushing pace of life even when you’re in the same city. Everyone moves a million miles a minute, there’s always an event to attend, and making time for each other is a constant battle of highly conflicting schedules.

“What are you doing two weeks from now?” is a common question in the city that never sleeps.

I expected it but, after many weeks of missed connections and noticed absences from events, I realized that while I was away, I too had been ghosted on. Many had taken my absence as an excuse to finally exit stage left.

At first, I was sad. People I cared about left my life for seemingly no reason. “What did I do wrong? How can I change to get them back?” I wondered.

Then I was mad. “Screw those jerks! They weren’t fun anyway,” I said in an attempt to mask the hurt.

But as I calmed down and thought about it more, I realized I was looking at this situation the wrong way. Going away didn’t lose me friends; it had shown me who my true friends were.

Most people maintain a wide social network, and when you are in touch with that network it’s easy to think relationships are deeper than they are. Traveling showed me which connections were actually deep and which ones were only deep in my mind.

It’s true that friends move in and out of your life regardless of whether you travel or not. It’s life — people change and grow apart. I have many friends I no longer talk to. We moved to different cities, our interests changed, and the ties that bound us grew weaker over time.

But that is a gradual uncoupling and one less emotionally blunt. We know and understand why it’s happening.

But imagine throwing a party, having a great time, going to grab a drink, and turning around to see everyone is suddenly gone.

It’s sudden, shocking, and very depressing.

Part of me thinks “Well, this is just New York. This city is just hard.” But then I remember the tales of other travelers who’ve experienced the same thing and realize it’s not just me and it’s not just this city.

Travel expedites the process of separation and exposes the quality of your friendships. Being away frays the weak bonds you attempt to maintain while strengthening the ones that will withstand the distance of time and space.

My lifestyle doesn’t make maintaining friendships easier, but it doesn’t make it impossible either. I have friends around the world I only see every few years but we make the effort to stay in touch. When we are together, our bond is still strong. I know my friends wonder if I’m actually back or passing through and thus often leave it to me to text them. However, after establishing that I am really back and I do want to hang out, you begin to wonder how strong the bond is when you’re doing all the work. When your texts go unanswered and plans constantly get cancelled, you see the writing on the wall.

Maybe they want a friend who isn’t a nomad. Maybe we grew apart and I just didn’t realize it.

But, as I said last week, I need to find balance in my life again – and that includes coming to terms with this.

Maybe one day the people who’ve left will wonder how I am and what I’m doing. Maybe a part of them will be sad that they don’t know.

But what I do know is that while they were ghosting, those that stayed and I became closer.

And, for that, I am truly grateful.