I come from a small town and I come from a background where we

Hear the heartfelt words of Chris Isaak, who declared: “I come from a small town and I come from a background where we didn’t have money to travel. I thought I’d have to join the military to get to Europe. So I’m thrilled to travel.” This is not the boast of a man of privilege, but the cry of gratitude from one who has walked the narrow road of limitation and has tasted the sweetness of possibility. For in these words resounds the eternal truth: that those who have lived with little often cherish most deeply the gifts that others take for granted.

Mark this, O seeker: Isaak speaks of a small town, a place bounded by familiar streets, where horizons are near and opportunities scarce. From such beginnings, the dream of distant lands seems unreachable, the thought of travel as impossible as touching the stars. For the poor, even the idea of crossing oceans feels like a privilege reserved for the rich or the powerful. Yet the soul, though bound by circumstance, yearns to see beyond. Isaak’s words reveal that yearning—the hope that only by extraordinary sacrifice, even by donning the uniform of the military, could he earn passage to foreign shores.

History offers us many who shared such longing. Consider the tale of Jack London, born into poverty, who to escape his narrow beginnings became a sailor, a laborer, an adventurer. He braved storms and wanderings, and from those journeys he carved stories that shaped generations. Like Isaak, London’s desire to see the world burned so fiercely that he risked hardship and danger to taste it. Their lives remind us that travel is more than leisure; it is freedom, a breaking of chains, a widening of the soul beyond the confines of birthplace.

Yet Isaak’s words do not end with longing—they speak of joy fulfilled. “I am thrilled to travel,” he says, as though every step on foreign soil, every glimpse of distant culture, is a miracle to him. This joy is born not of wealth, nor of entitlement, but of contrast—knowing what it is to be without, he knows how to treasure abundance. The one who has been hungry savors every meal; the one who has been bound delights in every open road. Thus, the thrill of Isaak’s travels is not simply the pleasure of movement, but the triumph of a dream once thought unreachable.

But, O listeners, there is wisdom deeper still. Isaak teaches us that no beginning is too humble for greatness. The small town does not define the size of one’s vision; poverty does not imprison the soul forever. Through persistence, through talent, through patience, doors can open. What once seemed attainable only through sacrifice in war can, by destiny’s unfolding, be gained through the work of peace. His gratitude is a lesson to us all: never despise humble beginnings, for they may become the foundation of extraordinary journeys.

The lesson for our own lives is this: do not measure your future by the boundaries of your present. If you live in narrow streets, lift your eyes to wide horizons. If poverty binds you, let it sharpen your hunger for more, not for riches alone, but for experience, for wisdom, for life beyond what you know. And when the day comes that your dreams are fulfilled, rejoice with humility, as Isaak does, remembering always the days when such things seemed impossible.

Therefore, O children of time, let Isaak’s words guide you: be thrilled by what you once thought unattainable. Do not take your blessings for granted. Travel not only across the earth, but across the boundaries of your own limitations. And when you stand upon distant shores—whether literal or symbolic—let gratitude be your song. For the true beauty of the journey lies not only in where you go, but in remembering where you began.