I travel with seaweed chips, edamame chips, tea, peanut butter

Hear the words of Cynthia Erivo, who declared: “I travel with seaweed chips, edamame chips, tea, peanut butter, avocados. I always take my supplements with me because they're easy to carry.” At first these words may seem small, the description of a habit, a list of foods carried upon a journey. Yet, when heard with the ear of wisdom, they reveal a truth of ancient weight: that discipline in small things sustains the spirit in great trials, and that the one who guards their body guards also their soul.

The act of travel is not only the movement across lands, but the passage through life itself. Each of us is a traveler, carrying what we deem essential. Some carry wealth, others pride, others distractions that weigh them down. But Erivo’s words remind us that what we carry should nourish us, not burden us. The avocados, the tea, the supplements—these are not luxuries, but symbols of foresight, of care, of balance. They teach us that on every road, from the simplest journey to the longest odyssey, preparation is the companion of endurance.

The wisdom here is older than we think. Recall the story of Xenophon and the Ten Thousand, the Greek mercenaries stranded in Persia after their leader fell. They marched home across deserts and mountains, not merely with swords, but with careful rationing, discipline, and forethought. Their survival was not in brute force alone, but in the wisdom of sustaining themselves step by step. So too does Erivo’s practice echo this truth: strength in the long journey comes not from grand feasts, but from simple provisions well chosen.

The supplements she carries are more than vitamins; they are symbols of the unseen preparations that strengthen a soul. A warrior sharpens his blade before battle, a singer warms her voice before the stage, a philosopher trains his mind before the argument. The unprepared may set out boldly, but they soon falter. The prepared, though quiet in their habits, endure. Erivo’s small acts of nourishment whisper of a greater law: greatness is built not in the spotlight, but in the hidden choices that sustain you when no one sees.

Consider also the tea she carries. Tea, in many traditions, is not merely drink but ritual—a moment of calm, a pause that gathers strength. In Japan, the tea ceremony was a discipline of the spirit, a reminder that every act, however small, could be an art of harmony. In carrying her tea, Erivo carries with her not just sustenance, but serenity. She teaches that even amidst the storms of travel, the soul must find its stillness.

Thus, the meaning of her words is heroic in its simplicity: prepare yourself for the road, for the road is long and uncertain. Do not wait for the world to feed you, for it may not. Carry with you what sustains your body, your mind, and your heart. Whether it is food, wisdom, or memory, bring with you those things that will keep you steady when the way is hard.

The lesson, then, is clear. Take charge of your provisions. Be mindful of what you put into your body, into your mind, into your spirit. Travel light, but travel prepared. Cultivate small habits that give you strength, for they are the foundation upon which endurance is built. As the ancients would say: “He who has control over himself is greater than he who conquers a city.”

Therefore, children of tomorrow, follow the teaching of Cynthia Erivo. Choose your provisions with care. Nourish yourself with what sustains, not with what weakens. Guard your strength not only on the day of battle, but in the quiet days of preparation. For life is a journey, and only those who carry wisely will endure to see its far horizons.