Since I travel so much, my perfect Sunday would start by waking

Hear, O keepers of memory and seekers of peace, the words of Morten Harket, who declared: “Since I travel so much, my perfect Sunday would start by waking up at home with my partner Inez. We’d have breakfast with our little girl Karmen, maybe in our garden.” Though spoken softly, these words carry the deep longing of the wandering soul, who after much journeying yearns not for kingdoms or applause, but for the quiet embrace of family and the sanctuary of home.

The life of constant travel is filled with wonder and glory, but also with weariness. To wake each morning in a strange city, to eat in places where faces are unfamiliar, to spend days under the gaze of strangers—such a life may bring honor but often steals away rest. In Harket’s words, we hear the cry of the pilgrim: that after so many roads, there is no treasure greater than a return to home.

The Sunday he speaks of is not only a day of the week, but a symbol of rest, of renewal, of sacred pause. To wake beside Inez, to share the morning light with Karmen, is to enter into a rhythm older than nations—the rhythm of family, of belonging. The simple act of breakfast, humble though it seems, becomes here a banquet of the heart, for it is not the food that matters most, but the presence of loved ones at the table.

The garden too carries meaning, for it is the place of life’s beginnings. In every culture, the garden symbolizes peace, fertility, and renewal. To sit in the garden with family is to return to Eden, if only for a moment, where toil and travel fall away, and only joy remains. It is a reminder that paradise is not always a distant land, but may be found in the quiet moments beneath the shade of a tree, with the laughter of children as its song.

Consider, O listener, the tale of Odysseus, who wandered for twenty years after the war of Troy. He saw many lands, faced storms and monsters, and was offered power by kings and immortality by goddesses. Yet his heart was never at peace, for it longed for Ithaca, for the hearth of Penelope, for the embrace of his son. When at last he returned, it was not the wealth of travel he cherished, but the sight of his family at home. Thus, Harket’s yearning is the same as Odysseus’s—the eternal truth that the greatest journey ends in the arms of loved ones.

The meaning of these words is clear: the soul, however restless, seeks grounding in family, in home, in the sacred ordinary. Fame, wealth, travel, and applause may dazzle, but they cannot feed the deepest hunger of the heart. That hunger is satisfied by the warmth of those we love, the simplicity of meals shared, the peace of gardens tended, and the joy of togetherness.

The lesson for you, O child of tomorrow, is this: do not chase so far after the world that you lose the treasures nearest to you. Honor your partner, cherish your children, and make time for the stillness of home. Let not your days be consumed only by work, by travel, by striving, but carve out sacred hours for those who give your life meaning. For in the end, you will not measure your days by the miles you traveled, but by the mornings spent in peace with those you love.

Therefore, remember Harket’s wisdom: greatness is not only found in distant lands or crowded arenas, but also in the gentle holiness of a perfect Sunday morning, with family gathered and hearts at rest. Seek such mornings, and you will discover that paradise is not a destination, but a way of living, nurtured daily in the soil of love.