The Places We Go

Our little family has been in the most extraordinary places the past few weeks. A week in Aspen, hiking in the mountains and whitewater rafting on the Colorado River. A week in Central America, fishing for barracuda and snorkeling with sharks in the Belize Barrier Reef. Our planet is incredible. How lucky are we to live here?

As I shared in an essay late last month, stepping out of our homes and seeing the wonders of our world can be so humbling and awe-inspiring. I love that feeling, of remembering that we’re part of something so much greater than our individual selves. It feels to me to be at the core of what we’re all searching for.

In addition to the two incredible places I mentioned, we also spent a week in a place not nearly as exotic: a campsite near Flint, Michigan. As I’m reflecting on our trip now, I’m realizing that although you’d never see Flint featured in a travel magazine or on a postcard, I had a similar kind of experience during our time there. I found myself feeling humbled and awe-inspired and connected to the world beyond myself.

Let me begin by explaining what we were doing in Michigan. Every year, there are camps around the country where Sikh children gather to learn about their heritage and to meet others who live like them. Growing up in Texas, my brothers and I longed for Sikh friends our age, and these camps helped break the feeling of isolation. We looked forward to making friends from all over, and we went to camps around the country: Houston, Washington, DC, New York, Chicago, and more.

My wife went to camps, too, but different ones, which is probably a good thing, because she never met the adolescent version of me. (I’ve overcome many obstacles in my life, but that may have been insurmountable). One of the many camps she went to was in Michigan, and she’s stayed close with a lot of her friends from there. This year, our girls were finally old enough to attend, and we decided to go as a family.

The campsite was beautiful and serene, set in the woods with a lake at the edge of the classrooms and dining hall. The people were lovely and fun, and the accommodations were comfortable enough. I was in charge of one of the dorms for the teenage boys. Maybe I’ll write about more that later—so many funny stories from our week together. I was also charged with teaching a class on history, which I’ll definitely write about more, because the material we covered provoked some meaningful reflections for me.

All of this was great. It was a great setting and a great community. But what made my time there so spiritually poignant?

The best answer I have for that comes through the theme shabad, which we sang as a sangat at least twice a day, during morning divan and evening divan. Here’s the original rahau line, in Rag Gauri by Guru Arjan Sahib, followed by a translation:

ਧੰਨੁ ਇਹੁ ਥਾਨੁ ਗੋਵਿੰਦ ਗੁਣ ਗਾਏ ॥ ਕੁਸਲ ਖੇਮ ਪ੍ਰਭਿ ਆਪਿ ਬਸਾਏ ॥੧॥ ਰਹਾਉ ॥
That place is blessed where the Creator’s praises are sung.
The Divine has infused peace and happiness there.

When you first sing this line, as I did on the first divan at camp, it can seem anodyne or obvious. Sure, any place that can help us remember Vahiguru is great. I didn’t see a deeper meaning there, so I just glanced over it.

But as the week went on, I felt myself more attuned to the experience at camp and less attached to the whirring of daily life—emails, social media, events, and even political news. I felt more spiritually connected, which, of course, is part of what the organizers intended. This was my personal intention, too; this is a big reason why we set aside time to attend. And yet, it still felt a bit surprising. I had forgotten this was possible.

Each divan—in the morning and evening—as we sang this shabad together, I felt a deeper level of connection to the core message. The places we go can be evocative and inspiring, but we can also have those same experiences anywhere we go.

Places are not special by virtue of the meaning we ascribe to them. There’s nothing inherently special about Washington, DC and New York City; our societies have decided to center power there. Disney World is fun (or so I’ve heard), but human beings created that theme park, too. Even places that take your breath away, like Niagara Falls and the Grand Canyon. They remind us how small we are and how great the creator is. And also, isn’t Vahiguru equally present in the mundane, across our country and around our world?

What made my experience at a campsite in Flint, Michigan so meaningful? It wasn’t the location itself. It was the environment created by fellow travelers, all of whom were committed to finding spiritual connection. This is why I felt so much joy and peace there.

Years ago, at a Sikh camp in Houston, we had a similar theme shabad, this one written by Guru Tegh Bahadur in Raag Dhanasari.

ਕਾਹੇ ਰੇ ਬਨ ਖੋਜਨ ਜਾਈ ॥ ਸਰਬ ਨਿਵਾਸੀ ਸਦਾ ਅਲੇਪਾ ਤੋਹੀ ਸੰਗਿ ਸਮਾਈ ॥੧॥ ਰਹਾਉ ॥
Hey, why do you go searching in the forest? Vahiguru is all-pervading, ever-present, with you at all times.

This line has stuck with me for the past two decades. We look for happiness outside of ourselves, and we even go to the far reaches of our world, looking for beauty. Sure, we can find it all over, and we can enjoy that. What we encounter might jolt us into appreciation, or inspire us, or help us see the world anew.

But as these teachings remind us, it’s also true that beauty is already all around us and divinity is already within us. Our opportunity, and our promise, is to create the conditions to experience this beauty, each and every day.