People travel because it's a treat. For me, staying at home is a

"People travel because it's a treat. For me, staying at home is a treat." Thus spoke Lloyd Dorfman, and in these words we hear a wisdom both gentle and profound. For while the multitudes rush to distant lands seeking delight, he finds delight in stillness, in the hearth, in the quiet sanctuary of home. It is a reminder that the sweetness of life is not found only in far horizons, but also in the simple and familiar, when the heart is trained to see it.

The ancients knew this paradox well. Odysseus, though he saw the wonders of Troy, of Cyclopes and sirens, longed only for Ithaca. His greatest treasure was not in foreign marvels but in the embrace of Penelope, the sound of his household, the soil beneath his feet. The wanderer returns not because the world is barren, but because home is the truest feast. Dorfman, in his modern tongue, echoes the wisdom of this ancient tale: that the rarest treat is not always abroad, but within one’s own dwelling.

And yet, how often men forget this! They chase novelty as though it were nourishment, flying across oceans in search of meaning, while overlooking the peace that waits at their doorstep. To travel is indeed a gift, but without an inward stillness, it becomes only distraction. One may gather sights like jewels and still remain empty, while another, sitting quietly in his garden, may discover riches of the soul that no voyage could match. The worth lies not in the distance traveled, but in the depth of perception.

History offers us many such lessons. Consider the Roman philosopher Seneca, who warned that traveling would not cure a restless mind, for wherever you go, you carry yourself with you. He taught that the wise man seeks not to flee himself, but to dwell rightly wherever he is placed. Or recall the poet Bash? of Japan, who wandered widely, yet wrote that even the sound of frogs leaping into an old pond held infinite wonder. Whether in motion or at rest, the key was in the eye that truly sees.

Children of tomorrow, hear this truth: do not despise home for its familiarity. Do not imagine that joy must always be elsewhere. Learn to savor the place where you stand. Let the quiet room, the daily meal, the gentle rhythm of routine be to you as much a treat as the mountains and seas. For the man who delights in stillness carries with him a treasure that no loss of wealth or fortune can take away.

Practical action lies within reach. Begin by making your home a place of peace. Order it, beautify it, fill it with warmth so that returning to it is itself a joy. Practice gratitude for the simple comforts: the chair that supports you, the book that awaits you, the cup that quenches your thirst. And when you travel, let it be not as an escape, but as a complement to the peace you already know within your walls. In this way, both journeys and stillness become blessings.

Thus the lesson is plain: travel may dazzle, but the truest treasure is to find contentment wherever you dwell. Dorfman’s words remind us that to delight in home is not dullness, but wisdom. For the man who can see wonder in his own hearth is richer than the man who must cross the world to be entertained. Cultivate such vision, and you will carry peace with you always—whether across the seas, or sitting quietly beneath your own roof.