There is a part of me that still wants to go out and grab a

Hear the words of Emilio Estevez, who declared: “There is a part of me that still wants to go out and grab a backpack and unplug—not take a cellphone or even a camera and just get out there and experience the world and travel. I have yet to do that, but someday I hope.” At first, these words seem like the quiet musings of an artist longing for simplicity. Yet within them lies a profound yearning shared by all: the desire to step away from noise, to shed the weight of possessions, to walk freely into the world with nothing but one’s own presence.

The backpack here is more than fabric and straps—it is a symbol of the essential. To carry only what can be borne on one’s shoulders is to return to humility, to let go of the endless accumulation of things. The act of unplugging, of setting aside the cellphone and the camera, is a deeper renunciation still. For in the age of constant connection, silence has become rare, and to live without documenting each step is to reclaim the fullness of experience. It is to say: I do not need to capture this moment for others—I will live it for myself.

The dream of unplugged travel is ancient. Pilgrims once walked the Camino de Santiago, carrying little more than bread and faith, leaving behind all luxuries in search of meaning. The wandering monks of old Japan, the komus?, roamed with only their flutes and robes, seeking enlightenment through solitude and song. Even in modern times, stories abound of men and women who shed their possessions to walk across continents, finding in simplicity what wealth could never offer. Estevez’s longing echoes their spirit: the hunger to meet the world without a barrier, face to face, soul to soul.

Consider the tale of Christopher McCandless, immortalized in Into the Wild. He cast off possessions, wealth, and family ties to wander the wilderness of North America, seeking truth in raw nature. Though his story ended in tragedy, it continues to inspire those who feel the same restless yearning to break free from the machinery of society. McCandless, like Estevez, longed to “just get out there and experience the world.” His journey reminds us of both the glory and the danger of such a path—that freedom requires both courage and wisdom.

The origin of this desire lies in the soul’s recognition that it is stifled by endless distractions. The screens, the notifications, the compulsion to share every experience with others—all of these rob us of presence. When Estevez dreams of no camera, no cellphone, he dreams of presence unmediated, of the kind of wonder a child feels when first seeing the sea or a mountain. It is a cry for authenticity, for life lived not in performance, but in communion.

And yet, Estevez admits, “I have yet to do that, but someday I hope.” In this confession lies another truth: many of us share this longing, but few act upon it. The weight of responsibilities, the pull of comfort, the fear of uncertainty keep us tethered. But hope remains, and hope is the seed of action. Someday is always waiting, yet it is the brave who transform someday into today.

The lesson for us is clear: do not wait forever to live simply, to wander freely, to unplug from noise and plug into life. Practically, this means carving out times of stillness—turning off devices, walking without distraction, traveling without the need to capture and prove. It means daring to carry less, to live more, to trust that the world itself is enough. Even small steps toward this simplicity bring freedom.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, remember the wisdom of Emilio Estevez: the soul longs for a journey unburdened, for the freedom of a backpack, for the peace of a world lived directly. Do not let your life pass in endless screens and performances. Seek the road, seek the silence, seek the wonder of being fully alive in the present. For when you walk into the world with nothing but yourself, you may finally discover that you already carry everything you need.