I'd love to go to Easter Island, Hawaii, Iceland and Antarctica.

When KT Tunstall spoke the simple words, “I’d love to go to Easter Island, Hawaii, Iceland and Antarctica,” she revealed not merely a list of destinations, but a longing older than time — the yearning for discovery, for communion with the mysterious edges of the world. Her desire reaches beyond geography; it is the echo of humanity’s eternal call to wander, to seek meaning in the vast and silent places of the earth. Beneath her words lies the spirit of the ancient traveler, who leaves the known not to escape, but to remember what it means to be alive.

Easter Island, with its monumental statues staring into the sea, speaks of civilizations lost yet whispering through stone. Hawaii, lush and volcanic, sings of rebirth and creation, where fire meets ocean and life is born anew. Iceland, the land of ice and fire, reminds us that opposites coexist in harmony — that beauty and danger are one. And Antarctica, the last wilderness, teaches humility before nature’s might, where silence becomes the teacher and solitude the guide. To wish to go to these places is to long for encounters not only with the earth’s edges, but with the soul’s frontier — where wonder, fear, and reverence dwell together.

Throughout history, the wise have known that travel is not a movement of feet, but of spirit. When Marco Polo crossed deserts and seas, he did not merely chart trade routes — he expanded the imagination of a continent. When Captain Cook sailed into the unknown, he carried within him the restless question that drives all explorers: What lies beyond? And when Ernest Shackleton braved the frozen heart of Antarctica, he proved that endurance is not the absence of hardship, but the triumph of purpose over despair. Each of these travelers sought what Tunstall’s yearning suggests — the revelation that comes only to those who step beyond comfort into the raw grandeur of the unknown.

In the style of the ancients, let us understand: to wish to visit such sacred corners of the earth is to answer the call of the elements. Fire, water, wind, and ice — each land she names holds dominion over one. Together they symbolize the balance of creation itself. The journey she imagines is not leisure, but initiation — a pilgrimage through the four faces of nature, leading the seeker toward wisdom. For the world, when seen in its vastness, strips away the illusions of pride and teaches humility, awe, and gratitude.

This desire to see the farthest lands is also a reflection of the human thirst for meaning. Many live surrounded by walls, repeating days until the soul grows quiet and numb. But those who dream of distant shores keep their spirits awake. They remember that life is not a cage, but a horizon. Such longing renews the imagination and reminds us that the earth was never meant to be owned, only beheld. To travel is to return to oneself, for in meeting new landscapes, we meet forgotten parts of our own being.

There is, too, a deeper wisdom in her simplicity. To say, “I’d love to go,” is to acknowledge that yearning itself is sacred — that even unfulfilled dreams can nourish the heart. For not all journeys are taken with the body; some are made with the soul. Even the act of imagining Easter Island’s silence, or Iceland’s northern lights, awakens reverence. The ancients taught that thought precedes creation — that by desiring the beauty of the world, one becomes more beautiful within.

Thus, let the lesson be this: never silence the longing to explore. Whether through travel, study, or contemplation, seek always to expand the borders of your understanding. Visit new lands if you can — but if not, visit new ideas, new emotions, new ways of seeing. Keep the traveler’s fire alive. For as KT Tunstall’s simple wish reminds us, the world is vast, and the soul was made to match its size. To wander is not to escape — it is to remember that we belong not to one place, but to all creation.