I travel all over the world, but I'm never happier than when I'm

Bettany Hughes once spoke these humble yet radiant words: “I travel all over the world, but I’m never happier than when I’m walking up the hill to pick up my children from school.” In this, we hear the eternal paradox of the human heart: that though the wonders of the earth may dazzle us, the truest treasure lies close to home. Her voice reminds us that the soul’s deepest joy is not always found in distant temples, crowded markets, or ancient ruins, but in the simple act of returning to those we love. The hill she climbs is no mere hill; it is a sacred ascent, where the world’s marvels are gathered into the warm embrace of family.

The ancients themselves sang this truth. Odysseus, who journeyed across seas and faced monsters, who spoke with kings and queens, who wandered through lands both wondrous and perilous—did he not at last find his greatest joy not in the treasures of Troy or the palaces of foreign shores, but in walking back to Ithaca, to sit once more at his hearth with Penelope and Telemachus? His story, like Hughes’s confession, whispers to us: the journeys of the world are grand, but the return to family is divine.

Consider, too, the story of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. He commanded armies across vast frontiers, saw lands that stretched from Britain to the Euphrates, and yet in his meditations he spoke often of the love of his children and the sanctity of the household. He knew that triumphs on the battlefield could never equal the quiet victory of guiding one’s children with wisdom. The emperor’s scroll and Hughes’s hill proclaim the same truth: the heart is most exalted not in conquest or acclaim, but in the tenderness of kinship.

In her words, Hughes reveals the balance of the soul: one may wander the earth and gather its treasures, but one must return home to be truly whole. The world nourishes the mind with knowledge and wonder, but the family nourishes the heart with love and belonging. Without travel, one may wither into narrowness; without family, one may wither into emptiness. Together, they make life complete: the outward journey for discovery, and the inward return for fulfillment.

The wisdom here is not to scorn travel, but to remember its place. To stand in the shadow of the pyramids, to walk through the ruins of Athens, to marvel at the temples of Angkor—these fill the mind with awe. But none of these can replace the smile of a child waiting at the school gate, or the laughter shared as one walks home together. The greatest happiness is not in marveling at the distant, but in recognizing the sacredness of the near.

The lesson, then, is simple yet profound: treasure the hill as much as the horizon. Seek knowledge, wander boldly, fill your heart with the wonders of earth—but never forget that your highest joy may be found in the smallest acts of love. Do not sacrifice the warmth of those you cherish for the endless pursuit of distant glories. For in the end, it is the faces of your loved ones that will remain etched in your heart, long after the monuments of the world fade.

Practically, let each of us create space for both journey and return. Travel, if you can, to learn, to grow, to witness the vastness of creation. But also walk—walk the simple paths to your children, your parents, your friends. Be present when you are with them, and let these moments shine brighter than the marvels of foreign lands. For every road leads somewhere, but the road home is the one that gives all other roads their meaning.

Thus, Hughes’s words echo through the ages: the world is wide and wondrous, yet the truest joy lies in the climb up the familiar hill, in the waiting arms of family. Wander, yes—but always return. For it is in that return that life’s greatest happiness is revealed.