“That could have been me.” After I absorbed the horrible news coming out of Paris last week, that’s one thought that came to me. Two years ago, to celebrate my daughter’s college graduation, we hopped over to Paris from Glasgow. We roamed the streets, we talked to locals, we ate in outdoor cafes – we did the very things that people were doing when they were violently struck down. I could picture the places around the city that were attacked because I had been there.
Though we didn’t get outside of the airport in Nairobi, I was horrified to learn of the Kenyan school attack. I could picture the people of Kenya and my heart ached. I read about children dying from air pollution in Beijing and think about the curious children I met and the grit on everything we touched.
Violence and despair happen around the world every day and I am angered and saddened when hearing about each instance. But it is only human nature that those that I have a connection with seem to cause more anguish.
Up until a few years ago, I hadn’t traveled much. But a combination of my daughter going to school overseas and a major international journey for work, allowed me to see places I’d never thought I’d see. Those places, and the people I met there, will stay with me forever.