Traces of our travels

Somewhere between New York City and Port of Spain, Trinidad—high above the clouds—I found myself reflecting on an exhibition I had seen a week earlier at the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston. It was titled When Home Won’t Let You Stay: Migration through Contemporary Art, and it lingered in my mind like a quiet echo. I began to think about the things people leave behind when they travel long distances, especially across borders. What do these traces represent?

Travel, whether voluntary or forced, leaves behind more than footprints. It leaves stories—fragments of lives, moments of desperation, and glimpses of hope. Photographer Richard Misrach’s contribution to the ICA exhibition was a large grid of images taken between 2013 and 2015, documenting items left behind by migrants crossing from Mexico into the United States. These objects—discarded water bottles, shoes, prayer cards—speak volumes. They are silent witnesses to human struggle, resilience, and the painful choices made in pursuit of safety and dignity.

Another section of the exhibition featured a haunting film by Richard Mosse, immersing viewers in the sights and sounds of migrants crossing the Mediterranean Sea. The agony of those rescued at sea was palpable. Watching it, I was struck by how trivial our everyday travel inconveniences—long lines, removing shoes at security—seem in comparison.

Even voluntary travel leaves its mark. We discard packaging, consume resources, and contribute to a growing carbon footprint. As I gazed out the aircraft window at the serene blue sky, I felt a tinge of guilt. Aviation is one of the most significant contributors to carbon emissions. While few of us have access to zero-emission alternatives, we can all adopt a more sustainable approach to living. It’s the Greta Thunberg effect—a reminder that awareness must lead to action, however small.

Beyond the physical traces, we also leave behind impressions—of who we are, what we value, and how we treat others and the planet. These impressions are formed in fleeting encounters, in how we speak, act, and care. They are often instantaneous, sometimes inaccurate, but always lasting.

I’m reminded of the criticism leveled at migrant caravans traveling from South America to the U.S.–Mexico border. Some observers, sympathetic to their plight, became disillusioned by the trail of debris left in their wake. It’s a sobering reminder that even those fleeing poverty and violence are judged not only by their intentions but by the physical and symbolic traces they leave behind.

On my flight, the man seated next to me shared that he had traveled to Queens, New York, hoping for a white Christmas. He didn’t get one, but his journey—driven by curiosity and wonder—encouraged me to pursue experiences I’ve yet to have. We may not be able to solve the climate crisis or fulfill every longing single-handedly, but we can strive to leave behind impressions and actions that reflect care for humanity and for our shared home, planet Earth. In doing so, we might inspire others to do the same.