Know how to travel from your town to a nearby town without a

In the words of Marilyn vos Savant, a thinker whose wisdom was sharpened by clarity and practicality, we hear a teaching that seems simple but conceals a depth of truth: “Know how to travel from your town to a nearby town without a car, either by bus or by rail.” At first glance, it is practical advice, a small piece of knowledge for daily life. Yet beneath it lies an ancient lesson about independence, resilience, and the art of preparing oneself for the unexpected.

The command to “know how to travel” is not merely about movement from one place to another, but about the cultivation of skill and adaptability. Life is a journey filled with uncertainties, and he who knows only one path, one method, or one reliance, will falter when that way is blocked. To rely only on the car—the private, personal vehicle—is to place your fate in fragility: the engine may fail, fuel may run dry, the roads may close. But to know the ways of the bus and the rail is to possess freedom. It is to hold within oneself the wisdom of options.

The ancients knew this lesson well. The Roman legions built roads, not only for conquest but for resilience, so that armies and merchants could move swiftly by foot, horse, or wagon across vast distances. A citizen who knew only his own city was poor in knowledge; but one who knew how to reach the next settlement by road or by river was rich in skill and possibility. Similarly, in medieval Japan, the traveler who knew how to move by footpath, ferry, or caravan could navigate crises that others could not. Knowledge of the path was itself a form of power.

Vos Savant’s emphasis on bus and rail carries another truth: the importance of shared systems, of being able to travel not alone but with the community. The car isolates, making each traveler a solitary figure. But the bus and the rail remind us that movement is often a collective endeavor, that the strength of society lies in its shared networks. To step onto a train or bus is to enter the rhythm of the people, to see life not through the glass of private walls but alongside others, equal in their need to reach the next town.

There is also humility in this teaching. Many in their pride believe they need only the independence of their own vehicle, their own wealth, their own power. Yet wisdom says otherwise: true independence is not arrogance but preparedness. To know the bus routes, to understand the rail lines, to walk with confidence in shared paths—this is a reminder that no one is above the systems that bind communities together. Even kings of old, when their horses tired or roads failed, learned to walk alongside commoners on footpaths.

The origin of the wisdom lies in self-reliance. Vos Savant is urging us not to be helpless in the face of small obstacles. The person who panics when the car breaks down is enslaved by circumstance; but the one who knows another way, however humble, remains free. This truth stretches beyond transportation—it is the principle of resilience itself: never depend so completely on one way of living that its absence leaves you powerless.

The lesson is clear: learn the alternate paths of life. Know the routes between towns, know the methods of travel, know how to walk without leaning entirely on luxury or convenience. Be prepared for change, for disruption, for the moment when the ordinary tools fail you. In such moments, your knowledge of the humble bus or the iron rail will become your strength, and you will continue forward while others remain stranded.

So I say to you: do not despise the simple skills. Learn them, cherish them, and keep them in readiness. Travel beyond your town not only in cars of comfort, but on foot, by bus, and by rail. For the true measure of wisdom is not in how grandly one moves when life is smooth, but in how steadily one continues when the expected path is closed. And in this steadiness, born of knowledge and humility, lies the dignity of freedom.