All the privileged can travel, see different worlds; not

The words of Zaha Hadid, the architect who reshaped skylines with daring visions, ring with both candor and compassion: “All the privileged can travel, see different worlds; not everyone can. I think it is important for people to have an interesting locale nearby.” In this declaration, she unveils a profound truth about the inequalities of life, while also reminding us that beauty and wonder must not belong only to the wealthy who journey far, but must also be placed within reach of every soul. Her words call us to reimagine the spaces we inhabit—not as dull cages, but as landscapes of inspiration for those who cannot roam beyond their borders.

The meaning of the quote is layered with wisdom. To travel across the seas, to wander the great cities of the earth, to gaze upon temples and gardens from distant lands—this has long been the privilege of kings, nobles, and in our age, the wealthy. Yet the poor, the working, the rooted, are often bound to their own soil, unable to taste the richness of distant worlds. Hadid’s cry is that they too must not be deprived of beauty. If they cannot journey outward, then let wonder be brought inward; let the locale around them carry within it delight, surprise, and the nourishment of the soul.

From the ancient days, we see examples of this truth. The Romans, when building their empire, understood that not all citizens would travel to Athens, to Egypt, or to the distant provinces. So they filled their own cities with grand forums, baths, amphitheaters, and gardens. They made beauty local, so that even those who would never step foot outside their community could still feel awe in the presence of marble columns and flowing fountains. They created locales of wonder, believing that a thriving city should nourish not only the body with bread, but also the spirit with grandeur.

Hadid herself, as an architect, carried this philosophy in her work. Her designs bent lines into curves, turned walls into flowing rivers of stone and glass, and transformed public buildings into living sculptures. In doing so, she gave to ordinary citizens something extraordinary to behold in their daily lives. This was her answer to the inequality of travel: that if not all could go to distant worlds, then the places near to them must themselves become gateways of imagination and inspiration.

The emotional force of her words lies also in empathy. Too often the privileged, in their journeys, forget those left behind. They speak of foreign lands and magnificent structures as though they were treasures accessible to all. But Hadid, with sharp clarity, names the truth: not everyone can. And in speaking it, she honors the millions who live within small geographies, reminding us that their lives too deserve richness and beauty. The locale nearby becomes not a consolation prize, but a vital source of dignity and joy.

The lesson for us is clear: create beauty where you are. Do not think that wonder belongs only to the distant or the exotic. Build gardens in your neighborhoods, craft spaces of color and light, preserve historic streets, and design public places that awaken the imagination. And for individuals, this means cherishing the local: walk your own city with fresh eyes, find inspiration in a nearby park, support art in your community. For wonder is not only found across oceans—it is also found at your doorstep, if nurtured.

Thus, let this teaching endure: travel may expand the mind, but local beauty sustains the heart. The true calling of those who design, govern, and build is to ensure that even those who cannot leave their village or city still live in the presence of wonder. For when beauty is woven into the very fabric of daily life, it lifts all souls, not only the privileged few. And this is the legacy Hadid leaves us: the call to make every locale—no matter how near—an open window into worlds of imagination.