The Geography of the Soul & Sacred Vulnerability
“Attention is the most basic form of love. By paying attention we let ourselves be touched by life, and our hearts naturally become more open and engaged.”
- Tara Brach
Here’s what I’ve discovered:
Sacred spaces aren’t always holy sites.
They’re anywhere we encounter truth, beauty, or profound connection.
Sometimes it’s a 12th-century monastery.
Sometimes it’s a bench in a train station where, for the first time in a long time, you finally understand what you need to do with your life.
Some of my most meaningful travel moments have unfolded in the presence of difference—when cultural, linguistic, or spiritual boundaries softened into something shared. A gesture. A laugh. A story told over a meal. And in those moments, I’ve remembered: the sacred isn’t something we find “out there”—it’s something we recognize in the eyes of another human being.
Travel becomes a kind of pilgrimage when it strips away the illusion of separation.
But here’s the paradox: while travel teaches us to see the sacred everywhere, it also reminds us we don’t have to go far to access it. What makes a place feel holy isn’t the place itself—it’s the attention we bring to it. The sacred lives in the quality of our presence.
And presence is powerful.
In a world that constantly pulls at our time, our attention is our real wealth. Time can be wasted. But attention—real, undivided attention—transforms everything it touches. It’s what allows us to experience depth, connection, insight. It’s what turns everyday moments into turning points.
When we’re traveling—especially somewhere unfamiliar—it’s easy to pay attention. The foreign pulls us in. There’s no autopilot. Our senses heighten because they have to. We notice the smell of the air, the rhythm of conversations, the color of the buildings—everything sharpens because everything is new.
But when we’re at home, accessing that same quality of attention takes effort. It requires intention. There’s no built-in novelty forcing us into awareness—we have to choose it.
Still, attention can be trained. Just like we train our bodies, we can practice noticing. We can learn to experience the world around us with the same presence we bring to a foreign place.
Here are a few ways to begin:
Switch up your environment. Take a different route. Rearrange your space. Novelty sparks awareness.
Do one thing at a time. Let the act of cooking, walking, or washing dishes be complete on its own.
Name five things. Pause. Notice five things you can see, hear, or feel. Ground yourself in the moment.
Speak to someone new. Even a small exchange shifts your energy and wakes up your curiosity.
Create small rituals. Light a candle. Step outside at dusk. Repeat something often enough and it becomes sacred.
Practice micro-awe. Look up. Watch the wind in the trees. Let wonder interrupt your day.
Neuroscientists have found that changing environments—even in subtle ways—can increase mental flexibility and help us shift perspective. Exposure to the unfamiliar stimulates creative thinking and disrupts ingrained patterns. It challenges the brain to adapt, to open, to rewire. Sometimes, without even realizing it, new experiences help to quietly rearrange us. That’s one of the gifts of travel: it doesn’t just change what we see—it changes how we see.
So what if every journey—whether across the world or across town—became a pilgrimage?
What if every encounter with difference became an encounter with the divine?
The sacred doesn’t live in faraway places. It lives in how we show up.
These moments—wherever they find us—are invitations.
To pay attention.
To stay awake.
