Most visitors to Iceland tend to spend just a few hours in

Hear now the words of the traveler, Fiona Bruce, who, beholding the land of fire and ice, declared: “Most visitors to Iceland tend to spend just a few hours in Reykjavik before moving on to the geological wonders beyond. I think they are missing out.” These words, though they seem to speak merely of a city, conceal within them a wisdom far greater than geography. They remind us of the folly of haste, of the blindness that comes when the heart yearns only for grandeur while overlooking the beauty that dwells quietly nearby.

For is it not so in life? Many rush toward distant horizons, chasing marvels and wonders beyond, yet fail to pause and see the treasures in front of them. The city of Reykjavik, humble compared to Iceland’s volcanoes and glaciers, is itself a hearth of culture, history, and soul. In overlooking it, travelers mirror the restless heart of humanity—ever reaching for what lies far away, rarely cherishing what lies close at hand. Bruce’s lament is not only about a city, but about the condition of our spirit: we too often miss the quiet marvels because our eyes are fixed on distant peaks.

The ancients taught that wisdom comes not merely from the heights of mountains but from the hearths of men. Consider the story of Odysseus, who longed for home through endless trials. Many of his companions yearned only for the spectacle of adventure, the glory of conquest, the wonders that dazzled the eyes. But Odysseus knew that true treasure lay not always in the faraway, but in the nearness of hearth, family, and homeland. In forgetting the value of the simple and the near, men bring upon themselves sorrow and emptiness. To overlook Reykjavik is to overlook home itself.

So too does history remind us. In the grandeur of the Roman Empire, senators and nobles would travel across provinces to marvel at aqueducts, arenas, and temples. Yet the philosopher Seneca warned that greatness is not only in vast structures, but in the small, daily moments of wisdom, kindness, and reflection. Those who sought only spectacle often returned empty-hearted. Those who cherished the simple hearth-fire carried wealth of spirit greater than gold.

The teaching is clear: do not despise the small, the humble, or the near. Do not think that only the grand landscapes, the towering achievements, or the dramatic scenes hold value. For often, the essence of a people, the heart of a land, and the soul of a journey lies not in the thunder of waterfalls or the fire of volcanoes, but in the quiet streets, the stories of its folk, and the spirit that dwells unseen. To miss Reykjavik is to miss the pulse that gives life to the wonders beyond.

Thus, children of tomorrow, when you journey through life, let not your steps be driven only by spectacle. Pause in the marketplaces, linger in the songs of the people, sit where the elders speak their tales. The mighty wonders will always stand, but the hidden soul of a place—or a moment—may pass you by forever if you do not stop to see it. Do not miss out.

Practical wisdom must then follow: when you travel, whether through lands or through life, slow your pace. Walk not only to conquer the heights, but also to dwell in the low places where quiet beauty hides. Ask yourself each day: what treasure is near me that I have not yet honored? Speak to strangers, taste the food of the locals, learn the songs of the streets. In this way, the world will reveal to you not only its grandeur, but also its soul.

For remember this: a city overlooked is a heart unheard. A moment rushed is a gift unopened. Just as Reykjavik is the gateway to Iceland’s wonders, so too are the small things in life the gateways to its greatest truths. Cherish them, lest in chasing the grand, you lose the essence of all. The wonders beyond will wait—but the beauty near you must be seized before it fades.