Immanuel Kant–the man whose “Copernican turn”  revolutionized the way that Western philosophy understood theoretical knowledge, the man who more than held his own against some of the best minds in Western history, the man who has constructed some of the longest and most intelligent-sounding sentences I have reckoned with–he is said to have never left his hometown of Konigsberg.

How did such an isolated life produce such innovative and insightful understandings about how all people work?  I imagine he’d remind me that reason is accessible to anyone, anywhere, at anytime, regardless of how traveled or untraveled one may be.  Nevertheless, this surprising fact has got me thinking about the purpose of travel, as so many people attest to its educational power. If some of the deepest truths about humanity can be garnered from an armchair and a few good books, as Kant’s life demonstrates, then why should one travel?

Don’t worry: I am not going suggest that we put our suitcases in storage and surrender our frequent flyer miles. What I mean to say is, by pondering all that we can know and experience without travel, perhaps we can gain more accurate insight into exactly what travel can provide that other things simply cannot.  And once we realize the truly unique quality of travel, we can approach it with the right intentions–with intentions of getting out of it the precious things it has to offer that we can not find any other way.

What can encounters with other places offer that Immanuel Kant simply could not have known or experienced from his Prussian hometown?  Surely, he could read about other lives, but could he experience the profound sense of empathy that comes with witnessing people’s lives up-close? Could the greatest prose and poetry capture the beauty of a meal that tastes truly innovative to one’s naive taste-buds, or a landscape one could not have dreamed up on one’s own?

I am not advising that one leave reason at home entirely, only that, when we travel we should search for and relish in these sorts of Truths because we can’t find them in the same way in the comfortable mundane.  When we travel there can be moments when even reason bows to kiss the new earth.

Image from http://osopher.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/kant.jpg

Well, after a week and a half without ice cream, I decided to treat myself to a cone last Thursday. It was a blazing hot day, I was hungry, and in desperate need of some time to myself. “I will get a cone and sit in the park!” I concluded after carefully considering whether this would be an appropriate occasion to reintegrate ice cream into my diet. The week and a half away from the dessert had made me more mindful of my cravings, and how unthinkingly I had indulged them. Lesson learned: I would be much more considerate about this indulgence, and more reverent of its pleasure.I took my salted caramel single scoop sugar cone to the park where I planned to sit and write until my salsa dance class began in an hour or so. I savored each lick of the cool treat as I watched dogs play in the fountain, children roll around in the grass, adoring couples cuddle on park benches. Then, with the last gooey bite, melted ice cream splattered onto the white cotton collar of my dress. Little beige ice cream stains all over me just in time for a night of salsa dancing…

If I didn’t know any better, I might call this a sign from God: a reminder, perhaps, about taking simplicity—and my delicious indulgences—seriously, considerately, cautiously. But that unfortunate bite was probably just a coincidence of my own making. A coincidence, like the fact that I haven’t eaten any ice cream since then…

“Ice cream is the original soul food.”

–Lexie Saige

“Live simply that others might simply live.”

–Elizabeth Seaton

I’ve been in a slump lately. Due to various circumstances, I’ve been wrestling with uncertainty, disappointment, and a bit of loneliness in life. Unfortunately, these sections of sadness sometimes cloud a lot of the good things in life too–the good opportunities, the good people, the good changes.

Consequently, I’ve been trying to battle negativity with my prayer life by affirming the consolation of God in the life-giving aspects of my world. This has been a real struggle.

But this evening I cooked for the first time in a long time, in months really. While living in LA the past 5 months, I didn’t have a kitchen so I simply couldn’t indulge this favorite past time. As I took in the biting scent of the onion I chopped, listened to the song of the simmering rice and beans, and smelled the overwhelming spices and Salsa Lizano, I was overwhelmed by Beauty. There has always been something sacramental about cooking for me: simple, earthy things like tomato, grains of rice, salt and pepper, and tiny black beans are consecrated in a warm pot and transformed into something else…something beautiful and satisfying.

I didn’t realize how much I missed cooking until I stood over the steaming pot of beans and rice. I need to keep cooking. I need to keep doing things that pull me to God. Things that remind me that the ordinary does become extraordinary all the time, with a little work. A little patience. A little wonder. I need to remember to live like I cook. With gratitude.