The Paradox of Travel and the Environment

Carla and I almost always fly when we travel - whether to Europe, as we’ve done for years, or, like our upcoming journey, to Asia. We love these adventures, but we’re painfully aware of the environmental cost. Flying is one of the biggest contributors to carbon emissions, and every long-haul flight leaves a heavy footprint. That’s not something we ignore or dismiss. We’ve had many honest conversations about it, and we take steps - like carbon offsetting and minimizing the number of flights we take - to help balance our impact. We don’t take the privilege of travel lightly; we know it comes with responsibility.

Still, I don’t believe the solution is to stop traveling altogether. Because while staying put might lower emissions, it would also lower something just as important: our tolerance for people who don’t look like us, think like us, or believe like us. Imagine a world where we all stayed within our own borders. Our only exposure to other cultures would come through screens, secondhand stories, or worse - through the stereotypes and misinformation that thrive when genuine connection is missing. In a time when racism, xenophobia, and intolerance are once again on the rise, that kind of isolation would be devastating.

To me, hatred is every bit as real a pollutant as chemicals in our rivers or CO₂ in our skies. When we treat people with suspicion or hostility because of differences in race, religion, or culture, we poison the very fabric of human connection. That kind of toxicity corrodes empathy, fuels division, and makes cruelty easier to justify. Left unchecked, it spreads silently across generations. And unlike environmental damage, there’s no technology on the horizon that can scrub bigotry out of our airwaves or reverse centuries of prejudice. Human connection - face-to-face, heart-to-heart - is one of the few things that can.

Travel, especially international travel, is one of the best antidotes to that poison. It’s hard to cling to caricatures when you’ve walked someone’s streets, shared a meal, listened to their music, and caught a glimpse of daily life through their eyes. The stranger becomes less of an abstraction and more of a neighbor. You begin to see that while traditions and languages may differ, the human core is the same: love of family, pride in community, hope for a better tomorrow. Travel doesn’t just broaden perspective; it softens it. It challenges stereotypes, disrupts misinformation, and builds bridges where ignorance once built walls.

That’s why I see travel as more than personal enrichment. It’s a form of cultural stewardship. To travel with respect is to carry more than luggage - you carry the stories, impressions, and connections that remind us of our shared humanity. By showing up in other countries as curious, respectful guests, by listening more than we talk, and by bringing those stories home to counter fear and prejudice, we help push back against what I call “cultural pollution.” In today’s America - where hostility toward immigrants, attacks on LGBTQ+ rights, and a smug revival of “American exceptionalism” are gaining traction - this kind of stewardship matters more than ever.

Of course, not everyone has the chance to travel abroad. Carla and I know how fortunate we are. But there are still ways to broaden perspective without boarding a plane. Hosting an international student, for example, can be life-changing. You learn about their culture firsthand while sharing your own, becoming both student and ambassador in the process. Even at home, we can seek out opportunities - attending cultural festivals, supporting immigrant-owned businesses, or simply striking up conversations that cross the usual boundaries of comfort. These small steps open doors, and they matter.

As for us, we’ll keep traveling as long as our health allows. But we try to do so with intention - planning trips carefully, staying longer in each place, and relying on Europe’s excellent train and bus systems instead of flying around once we’re there. Slow travel not only reduces our footprint but deepens our experience of a place. There’s a big difference between racing through three cities in a week and settling into one for a month, getting to know the rhythm of daily life, the shopkeepers, the local park, the small cafes tucked down side streets. The longer we stay, the more we learn - and the fewer flights we take.

We also do our part to offset the carbon we can’t avoid. We support projects that reduce emissions and promote sustainable practices: renewable energy, reforestation, methane capture, and sustainable agriculture. In particular, we direct funds to organizations working with farmers in developing countries - communities that bear the heaviest burden of climate change despite contributing the least. Supporting their resilience feels both like a moral responsibility and an acknowledgment of their extraordinary commitment to adaptation. Climate justice isn’t just about reducing emissions in wealthy countries; it’s about lifting up the people most vulnerable to a crisis they didn’t create.

This is the conundrum we face every time we plan a trip: balancing care for the environment with care for humanity. These two goals aren’t opposed, but they do require thoughtful choices. Humanity is at a crossroads. We need the planet to survive, but we also need one another to thrive. What good is a cooler, cleaner Earth if we live on it divided, suspicious, and fearful of each other? And what good is cultural empathy if the Earth itself becomes unlivable? We can’t afford to treat these as separate battles.

So yes, international travel has environmental costs. But in times like these, when intolerance is spreading and walls are going up, its human benefits are just as essential. Travel keeps us connected to the Earth’s beauty and diversity, but it also keeps us connected to one another. The challenge - and the opportunity - is to honor both: to care for the Earth while also caring for each other. Until aviation evolves with new technologies, cleaner fuels, and smarter systems, we do the best we can. We travel with respect, curiosity, and an open heart, believing that the connections we build along the way are worth the cost.

Because in the end, it’s not just about where we go, but what we bring back. And if what we bring home is greater empathy, wider perspective, and deeper compassion, then travel becomes not just a personal gift, but a small act of healing for a world that desperately needs it.