For years, I had no time for exploratory travel.

Hear the reflective words of Renee Fleming, who confessed: “For years, I had no time for exploratory travel.” At first, her statement seems plain, a simple truth about the demands of her life. Yet within it lies a deeper teaching about time, sacrifice, and the human longing to discover. For Fleming, whose voice has carried across the grandest stages, reveals that even those who soar to greatness are not free from limitation. The years she gave to her craft, to discipline and performance, came at the cost of wandering freely into the unknown.

Mark this well, O seeker: exploratory travel is not the same as mere movement from place to place. It is the act of journeying not out of duty, nor for profit, nor for necessity, but for discovery—for the sheer joy of encountering what is beyond the known. To travel in such a way is to open the heart to surprise, to awaken wonder, to allow the world to be teacher. Fleming’s lament reveals a truth familiar to many: that life’s obligations, whether of work, family, or ambition, often crowd out the time for such journeys.

Consider the tale of Charles Darwin, who as a young man embarked on the voyage of the Beagle. That journey was not one of obligation, but of exploration. He was not bound by the calendar of an opera house, nor chained to the duties of performance. Instead, he wandered freely across islands and continents, observing, questioning, and recording. His exploratory travel became the seed of discoveries that reshaped human understanding forever. But how many among us, like Fleming in her early years, lack the freedom to take such a voyage until much later in life?

Think also of the ancient philosophers, many of whom prized travel not as luxury but as necessity for wisdom. Herodotus wandered to learn the stories of nations, Pythagoras journeyed through Egypt to study its mysteries, and the disciples of Socrates were urged to walk beyond Athens to broaden their souls. Each knew that exploration was not leisure—it was education. And yet, as Fleming’s words remind us, such exploration requires time, and time is the most precious gift, often surrendered to other demands.

But let us not hear her words as mere regret. They are also a quiet reminder that every life has its seasons. There are times of building, of sacrifice, of focus so narrow that exploration must be postponed. Fleming’s voice demanded such devotion—long years of practice, rehearsals, and performances, where every moment was given to art. Yet beyond that season lies another, where the heart, having labored, is finally free to wander. The absence of exploration in one chapter only makes its arrival more treasured in the next.

The lesson for us, O listeners, is clear: do not despise the seasons of sacrifice, but also do not forget the call of discovery. There will be years when duty binds you and the road of exploration must wait. Accept this with grace, but do not let the flame of curiosity die. Keep it burning until the time comes when you, too, may set forth. For to live without exploration forever is to live only half a life.

Therefore, let Fleming’s words guide you. Cherish the work that demands your energy, but also make space—when you can—for exploratory travel, whether across oceans, through books, or into new ideas. Seek out wonder not because it is required, but because it awakens the soul. For even if years pass without it, the moment will come when the world opens before you. And in that moment, you will understand: the years of waiting were not wasted, for they made the journey all the more sacred.