And, obviously as a, as one who likes to travel around myself a

Hear the words of Duane G. Carey, astronaut and wanderer of the heavens, who spoke thus: “And, obviously as one who likes to travel around myself a lot, I think the Earth is a beautiful place. And, I’m looking forward to some new perspectives.” Though spoken with simplicity, these words shine with the light of both wonder and humility. They remind us that the journey of man is not only across the continents, but also beyond them, and that even when we reach the stars, our gaze returns to the Earth, that radiant jewel, cradle of all life.

The heart of this saying is the recognition of the beauty of Earth. For those who wander often—by road, by sea, by air—the planet reveals itself in layers: forests rising like green cathedrals, mountains standing as stone titans, oceans breathing with eternal rhythm. Yet Carey, as one who prepared to leave the planet’s surface itself, understood that from the vantage of space this beauty would shine with even greater majesty. His words testify to the longing not only to travel outward, but to look back, and in looking back, to see more deeply than before.

His reflection also carries the deeper truth of perspective. Travel, whether across countries or into orbit, changes the eyes of the traveler. What once seemed ordinary becomes wondrous, and what once seemed vast becomes fragile. Astronauts often speak of the “Overview Effect,” the profound shift in awareness when seeing Earth as a small, glowing sphere in the dark sea of space. Borders vanish, divisions dissolve, and the planet appears as one—delicate, precious, and alive. Carey’s words foreshadow this awakening, this hunger for “new perspectives” that only such a journey can bring.

The ancients knew, in their way, the same truth. When Herodotus traveled through Egypt, Persia, and beyond, he returned to Greece with new visions of what humanity could be. When Marco Polo rode eastward into China, he brought back not only stories of strange wonders, but a broader sense of the world’s immensity. So too Carey, though his path led not over deserts but into the heavens, speaks the same wisdom: that travel grants new eyes, and those new eyes reveal both the greatness and the fragility of our world.

Consider, too, the paradox at the heart of Carey’s words: by leaving Earth, he sought to better appreciate it. This is the secret of distance. The lover who steps away from his beloved sees her more clearly; the exile who dreams of home values it more deeply; the astronaut, gazing upon the planet from orbit, sees in its wholeness what cannot be seen from the ground. Thus Carey reminds us that sometimes we must journey outward to rediscover inward truth, and that separation can deepen love.

There is also a tone of gratitude in his words. He speaks not as one jaded or arrogant, but as one humbled by the chance to see, to learn, to gain new wisdom. His joy is not only in the thrill of space travel, but in the gift of perception it brings—the ability to cherish what others may overlook. In this, Carey stands not only as astronaut but as teacher, reminding us that the ultimate purpose of travel is not movement, but transformation of the soul.

The lesson, then, is clear: seek new perspectives, so that you may cherish what is already yours. You need not ascend to orbit to follow Carey’s wisdom. Step outside your familiar world—journey to other lands, listen to other voices, learn from other cultures. Even in the smallest journeys, the seed of the Overview Effect can be planted, teaching you to see your own life and your own world with renewed wonder.

Thus, let his words echo within you: the Earth is a beautiful place, but beauty is revealed most fully to those who dare to seek new eyes. Travel, then, not only with your feet but with your heart. Go outward, so that you may return inward with greater vision. For in the end, as Carey teaches, the true gift of the journey is not merely distance traveled, but the new perspective that forever changes the way you behold the world.