With all the travel we're doing to cold-weather cities, your

Hear, O children of labor and endurance, the words of Stephen Curry, who once spoke of the trials of his journey: “With all the travel we’re doing to cold-weather cities, your mind definitely starts to wander. It gets you away from the game. Even when you arrive in a city, you’re tempted to just sit in your hotel and rest. Sometimes it’s nice to just get out and walk around, to see what’s there.” Though born from the life of sport, these words carry a wisdom far deeper, a lesson about weariness, temptation, and the healing power of exploration.

First, behold the weight of travel. The road, though it brings new places, also brings fatigue. To warriors of the court, as to warriors of old, constant movement steals the stillness of the soul. The cold-weather cities are more than places; they are symbols of trial, of discomfort, of the chill that creeps not only into the body but also into the spirit. In such conditions, even the strongest feel their minds wander, drifting from their purpose, tempted to surrender to idleness.

The game, in Curry’s words, is not merely basketball. It is the calling, the craft, the pursuit of greatness that each of us carries. Yet how often in life do we find ourselves away from our game, our purpose, because of fatigue, distraction, or the weight of constant demands? The hotel, with its soft bed and the temptation of rest, becomes the metaphor for surrender—choosing comfort over growth, stillness over discovery. To stay there is easy, but it leads only to stagnation.

And yet, Curry speaks of a different choice: to rise, to walk, and to see. To leave the safe walls of the hotel is to reclaim wonder. A simple walk through the city, even when weary, becomes a renewal of spirit. New streets, unfamiliar faces, unexpected sights—these stir the imagination and bring the soul back to life. The act of walking, humble though it is, restores focus, reconnects one to the present moment, and opens the mind again to joy.

Consider, O listener, the tale of Herodotus, the father of history, who wandered through lands foreign and vast, recording the wonders of Egypt, Persia, and beyond. He could have stayed in his home, bound by the safety of familiarity. Yet by choosing to walk among strange peoples, to listen, to observe, he gave to humanity one of its earliest treasures of knowledge. Like Curry’s stroll through the unknown city, Herodotus’ journeys remind us that renewal and wisdom often come not from remaining where we are comfortable, but from stepping outside into the wider world.

The meaning of Curry’s words is thus twofold: first, that fatigue and distraction are natural companions of those who labor greatly; second, that the cure is not always in retreat, but in curiosity. To walk, to explore, to see with fresh eyes—even when weary—can restore purpose and clarity. For the soul is nourished not only by rest, but by wonder.

Therefore, the lesson stands: when the burdens of life tempt you to withdraw, when you feel weary of your game, do not surrender wholly to the comfort of rest. Instead, rise. Take small steps into the world around you. Walk new streets, breathe unfamiliar air, look upon faces and sights not yet known. In this way, your spirit will awaken, and your strength for the game of your life will return.

So, O child of tomorrow, heed Curry’s wisdom: do not let your mind wander so far that you forget your purpose, nor let fatigue rob you of discovery. Seek balance. Rest when needed, but also rise and explore. For sometimes the simple act of walking out your door is enough to remind you that life is larger than your weariness, and beauty waits beyond the threshold.