Since traveling is such a big part of my life when I am working

The words of Hilary Rhoda — “Since traveling is such a big part of my life when I am working, I like to vacation relatively close to home. Florida is a great place for me to go and relax. It's so close, which is perfect because it's the minimal travel time.” — reveal a paradox of the human condition: that even those who roam far and wide in their labors often long, in their rest, for nearness, for simplicity, for the comfort of familiar soil. Her words remind us that life must be held in balance, that the pendulum of effort and rest swings between the faraway and the close at hand.

To live a life of constant travel is to be ever moving, always between airports, cities, and nations. Such a life, though rich in opportunity, can weigh heavily upon the spirit, for the soul is not made only for motion but also for stillness. Thus, when the time comes for vacation, Rhoda turns not to distant adventures but to places near her home, where rest is not burdened by endless journeys. There, in the sunshine and quiet of Florida, she rediscovers the simple joy of peace. The lesson here is clear: restoration does not always lie in the exotic; sometimes it is found in what is near, familiar, and easy to reach.

The ancients also knew this wisdom. The Roman philosopher Seneca spoke often of the dangers of constant wandering. “Nowhere you travel will give you peace,” he wrote, “for peace is found in the self, not in distant lands.” Yet even Seneca recognized the value of retreat, of stepping away from the bustle of Rome into the calm of a countryside villa, where the spirit could recover its strength. In the same way, Rhoda reminds us that the true essence of vacation is not how far one goes, but how deeply one rests.

History offers us vivid examples of this truth. Consider George Washington, who, after years of war and presidency, retired to Mount Vernon. Though he could have traveled widely as a figure of global renown, he chose instead to return to the nearness of home, tending his fields, walking among familiar gardens, resting in the place where his heart was rooted. His peace did not come from distant voyages, but from the closeness of soil he had always known. Just as Rhoda chooses Florida for its proximity and calm, so too did Washington find renewal not in motion, but in return.

There is also a deeper teaching in Rhoda’s words: that the soul’s rest requires contrast. For one who rarely leaves their hometown, adventure might restore the spirit. But for one whose work already demands constant travel, rest is found in simplicity, in cutting away distance, in choosing nearness over novelty. This balance is the key: what restores one person may not restore another. The wise learn to listen to the needs of their own hearts, to seek vacations that truly bring healing rather than further exhaustion.

The lesson for the generations is this: do not mistake rest for escape. True rest is not measured by how far you wander, but by how well your spirit is nourished. Sometimes the world teaches us to chase distant paradises, promising that happiness lies across oceans. But often the truest paradise lies close by, in the embrace of family, in the nearness of home, in the simplicity of places where the body may exhale and the mind may grow still.

In practice, let each listener choose rest wisely. Ask yourself: “What do I truly need to feel restored?” If your life is rooted in sameness, perhaps adventure will refresh you. But if your life is filled with constant movement, then seek peace in what is close, in minimal travel time, in spaces where you may arrive quickly and surrender to rest. Do not measure your vacation by distance, but by the depth of peace it grants you.

Thus Hilary Rhoda’s words, born of her own life of ceaseless travel, rise into universal counsel: that balance is the secret of renewal. The faraway may thrill the spirit, but the near at hand may heal it. Choose wisely, and you will discover that rest is not about where you go, but about how you allow yourself to simply be. In this way, both work and rest, distance and closeness, will weave together into a life of harmony.