I live in Santa Fe, New Mexico. And I travel a tremendous

Hear now the words of Ali MacGraw, the actress and wanderer of the modern age: “I live in Santa Fe, New Mexico. And I travel a tremendous amount. I'm in New York and California a lot, but then also I like faraway places a lot.” At first glance, these are but the words of one who delights in movement, in shifting landscapes. Yet beneath them lies a truth that the ancients knew well—that man is both rooted and restless, both bound to a place and drawn beyond it. To live is to balance the hearth of home with the fire of the road.

In her mention of Santa Fe, there is the symbol of rootedness. Every soul must have a dwelling place, a ground to which the heart returns for rest. The home is the sacred circle, the place of belonging, the soil in which identity grows. Without such an anchor, man becomes a leaf scattered by every passing wind. Yet MacGraw’s heart does not remain locked to one place—she speaks also of New York, of California, and of faraway places. Here lies the second truth: though we need roots, we also need wings. For without exploration, the soul withers, and without change, the spirit grows dull.

The ancients told of Odysseus, who longed for Ithaca, yet wandered the seas for years. His tale is the story of every human soul: the tension between the call of home and the pull of the horizon. So too, MacGraw honors both forces—the hearth of Santa Fe and the lure of distant lands. To embrace both is not contradiction, but completeness. For the traveler who has no home becomes a ghost, and the dweller who never ventures beyond becomes blind. But the one who holds both hearth and horizon walks the path of wholeness.

Her words remind us also of the diversity of experience. To dwell in Santa Fe is to dwell among deserts, red earth, and quiet skies. To journey to New York is to immerse in the noise of ambition and the towers of men. To cross into California is to walk among oceans, mountains, and dreams gilded by the sun. And to seek faraway places is to step into the vast unknown where wonder reigns. By embracing all, MacGraw embodies the truth that no single place contains the fullness of life—only the weaving together of many worlds grants the heart its true richness.

Let us also recall the explorers of old—Magellan, who circled the globe, yet yearned always for the land he left; Marco Polo, who crossed continents, yet brought back stories to illuminate his homeland. They did not despise their places of origin; instead, their travels made them cherish their roots more deeply. In like manner, MacGraw shows us that to wander does not mean to abandon. The faraway is not the enemy of home, but its companion, deepening its meaning by contrast.

The teaching here is profound: embrace both the nearness and the faraway. Live fully in the place where you are rooted, but do not let it bind you so tightly that you forget the vastness of the world. Let home be your anchor, not your chain. Let travel be your freedom, not your escape. Together, they form the balance that strengthens the soul.

So, O seeker, learn this lesson and carry it within you: tend faithfully to your home, for it is the soil of your being. But also step beyond it, often and with courage, into the unknown lands that broaden your vision and ignite your spirit. Do not fear to love both hearth and horizon. For it is in this union that you will find the fullness of life—rooted and restless, steady and soaring, ever at home, and ever a traveler.

Thus, let MacGraw’s words be your guide: “I live in Santa Fe... but I like faraway places a lot.” May you too live deeply in your dwelling, and yet wander boldly across the earth, for the one who marries home with journey carries eternity within.