"Lunchbox"

“Where did you go this summer?” is the most frequently asked question right now. After the pandemic, traveling has once again become second nature for many—preferably for long trips to faraway places. Through social media, we get to witness each other’s adventures. I’ve been on the road, too—with my family. It was wonderful and delightful. In Morocco, we experienced extremes: from staying with a poor Berber family high up in the Atlas Mountains to a luxury resort that, believe it or not, had a swimming pool in the desert.

Our vacation, full of contrasts, certainly had an impact. We had some wonderful and thought-provoking discussions about wealth, well-being, immigration, and money. For my children—some of whom are in school, some of whom are going through puberty—vacation is indeed something they take for granted. For me personally, however, this isn’t the case. I wasn’t taught at home how beautiful, educational, and perspective-broadening it is to discover the world. That’s not a criticism—it simply wasn’t part of my upbringing. But I do think it’s important.

There are more differences like that between the 1970s and today. Largely driven by technology—think of that single landline (bakelite) phone in the hallway, versus a smartphone for everyone today. But just as much driven by money. There was no money for new socks; they were mended with a needle and thread. And so, back then, we used to make a couple of sandwiches every morning to take along in our lunchboxes. These days, it’s more common to buy a fancy sandwich for lunch.

The differences between generations (then and now) and locations (there and here) made us, as a family, realize during this vacation just how good we have it. And that it’s not as obvious as it seems. Things could be different “tomorrow.” Given the many transitions our society is about to face, that’s almost inevitable. After all, “if we want everything to stay the same, everything must ^change*1).” We’re not going to be able to pull that off.

For example, to keep the indoor temperature the same, the air conditioner has to run harder and harder. The energy that this consumes further warms the Earth (even when accounting for alternative energy sources). That’s why we’d actually be better off adapting. We should get used to the heat instead of fighting it—following Darwin’s lead.

Okay, back to our conversations at the dinner table during vacation. Everyone quickly agrees on the limited value of material wealth. You can buy a house, but not a home. And a rich person isn’t someone with a lot of possessions, but someone who doesn’t need much. Yet money is highly valued. As a means to buy freedom, healthcare, etc.—for yourself and others. And as a means to express your value as a professional, a craftsman, an employee, and so on.

This reveals a valuable interplay between freedom and responsibility. So you have to earn freedom—through responsibility—toward yourself and toward others, with money as a medium of exchange. Every day, we face that choice to act responsibly. After all, life is about how you deal with things that happen to you (loosely ^{based on*1)}).

Back to the vacation. Or rather, back to the reality of work. I hope you’re still able to enjoy the summer vibe. I’m proud of the insights we gained during our vacation, but I’m under no illusions. None of us is going to start heading out the door every morning with a lunchbox from now on. It’s important that we tackle our other responsibilities.

*1) ref: Lampedusa, 1958

*2) ref:

– Edith Eger, Holocaust survivor and author of *The Choice*, which explores how everyone can ultimately choose freedom;

– Viktor Frankl, ibid., and author of *Man’s Search for Meaning*, who said, “No one can take away my freedom to choose how I respond to circumstances.”