The hardest thing about being at Sony was not the travel; it was

Hear the words of Howard Stringer, who confessed: “The hardest thing about being at Sony was not the travel; it was being divorced from the public and private life I had in New York. Travelling as much as I did, while I didn't lose connection with my friends, I lost a sense of belonging.” These are not the words of complaint, but of revelation. They tell us that even the heights of power, wealth, and achievement carry with them a cost more subtle than fatigue or distance: the loss of rootedness, the severing of one’s place in the fabric of community.

The travel he speaks of is not the adventure of the pilgrim or the delight of the wanderer. It is the endless movement demanded by duty, a motion without rest, a passage through airports and meetings where the soul grows weary though the body is carried onward. For travel itself is not the enemy, but travel without anchorage. A tree may grow tall only because its roots run deep. Without roots, the tallest stalk withers in the storm.

The greater sorrow lies in the loss of belonging. To be among people and yet apart from them, to know friends yet feel the distance of daily life—this is exile of the heart. Belonging is not only companionship; it is the sense of being woven into the daily rhythms of a place, of a community, of a home. Stringer’s words echo the ancient lament of all exiles, from Odysseus wandering far from Ithaca to the prophets who wept by the rivers of Babylon. Power and honor cannot replace the simple peace of being at home among one’s own.

Consider the life of Cicero, the Roman statesman. Exiled from Rome, he lamented not the loss of his titles or his wealth, but the separation from his city, his friends, and the daily life that made him feel whole. Though he still wrote letters, though he still spoke to many from afar, he confessed that absence eroded the sense of belonging that nourished his spirit. Like Stringer, Cicero found that connection from a distance is not the same as the warmth of presence.

Yet this truth is not meant to breed despair, but to teach wisdom. For the lesson of Stringer’s reflection is clear: do not mistake achievement for fulfillment. A man may hold the highest seat of an empire, but if his heart has no home, he is restless. The power of belonging is greater than the applause of strangers. The strength of a rooted life is more enduring than the fleeting crowns of commerce.

This is the meaning: guard your sense of belonging as carefully as you guard your ambition. Strive, yes, but do not neglect the soil in which your roots grow. For friends are not only companions; they are the keepers of your identity, the ones who remind you who you are when the world’s duties scatter you. To be among them, to share in ordinary life, is a wealth greater than titles.

Practical wisdom follows: no matter how far you travel, keep a rhythm of return. Call, visit, write, and remember. Do not allow success to sever you from the community that shaped you. When opportunity tempts you to sacrifice your sense of home, weigh carefully whether the gain is worth the loss. Learn to nurture your belonging even in exile, by creating new roots, by investing in relationships wherever you are, and by honoring the ones left behind.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, heed the counsel of Howard Stringer: the road may give you riches and honor, but only belonging gives you peace. Travel, but do not forget where your heart rests. Work, but do not sacrifice the embrace of those who love you. For the man who loses his sense of belonging may conquer empires, yet still feel like a wanderer without a home. And the one who keeps it, even in exile, walks as a king in his own soul.