I associate going to an airport with work because I travel so

The words of Evelyn Glennie — “I associate going to an airport with work because I travel so much with my job. So when I have a few days free from work, I tend to stay at home.” — reveal a truth both simple and profound. In them we hear not just the weariness of constant journeys, but also the eternal longing of the soul for balance. To move endlessly outward, across nations and skies, is to carry a heavy burden. To return inward, to the quiet of one’s dwelling, is to restore strength and remember the heart’s true resting place.

An airport, for many, is a gate to adventure, a threshold to new horizons. Yet for Glennie, the great percussionist, it became a symbol of duty, a place tied not to leisure but to labor. Such is the paradox of life: what to some is a dream, to others is toil. Her confession reminds us that even in the noblest of callings, the spirit must seek refuge. Home becomes more than four walls — it is the sanctuary where the self is renewed, where one is not defined by performance, obligation, or the expectations of the world, but simply by being.

History shows us countless lives who bore the same burden. Consider the journeys of the Apostle Paul, who traveled across seas and continents to spread his message. His letters often speak of longing for rest, for the fellowship of familiar faces, for the embrace of a community he could call his own. Though his work was sacred, it also drained him, and he yearned for moments of stillness. His story, like Glennie’s, reminds us that no matter how great the mission, the heart must retreat at times into the peace of home to endure.

There is wisdom here: the constant pursuit of duty without rest leads not to glory but to exhaustion. The ancients knew this well. Even the greatest warriors laid down their arms after battle, even kings retreated into gardens and temples. The ceaseless motion of travel must be balanced by the rootedness of dwelling. To ignore this rhythm is to break the harmony of the soul, for without rest, the song of life grows harsh and dissonant.

Glennie’s words are also heroic in their honesty. She does not cloak her weariness in pride, nor does she deny her need for solitude. Instead, she speaks as one who has learned the discipline of retreat. To “stay at home” is not weakness; it is strength. It is the courage to say no to the world’s demands for endless productivity, and yes to the deeper call of restoration. Her wisdom teaches us that work and rest are not enemies, but partners in the dance of life.

The lesson is clear: each of us must honor both movement and stillness. When called to labor, give your whole heart. When called to travel, go with vigor and purpose. But when the moment of rest arrives, embrace it without guilt. Let home be your sanctuary. Let silence, simplicity, and stillness become your nourishment. Only in this rhythm will you be able to serve the world without losing yourself to it.

Practical steps are simple yet profound: protect your time of rest as fiercely as you give yourself to work. Create spaces in your home that restore your spirit — a corner for reflection, a place for music, a table for shared meals. When you find yourself constantly in motion, pause and ask: when shall I return inward? For the one who knows how to rest wisely will find that their labors become richer, their journeys more meaningful, their music more alive.

So remember, child of tomorrow: an airport may lead you across the skies, but it is the hearth of home that keeps the flame of your spirit burning. Do not forsake one for the other. For in the balance between work and rest, between travel and homecoming, lies the harmony of a life well lived — a rhythm as steady and eternal as the beating of the drum.