The wisdom of visiting other countries, particularly the more economically developed ones, is both a privilege and an opportunity, but this is not entirely without its complexity. In this increasingly interconnected world of technology and trade, a physical move outside one’s border remains one of the most important ways to broaden your horizon and reflect on the gap and potential at home. To turn one’s back on this opportunity is to willfully close one’s eyes to what could otherwise be a transformative personal and societal awakening.
There’s a truth in the power of seeing something better than what you are used to, which is irrefutable. My daughter, Daisy, remembers the first time she walked down the impeccably organized streets of Singapore, where jaywalking seemed almost a mythical offense. It struck her, not just as a traveler, but also as somebody who came from a place where crossing the road often felt like a game of chicken. The city wasn’t just clean; it was efficient and disciplined, almost as if it had collectively read a manual on how life should work. In those moments, she realized that while patriotism is good, romanticizing mediocrity is not. We can love our country and still admit we have much to learn.
Traveling to more progressive countries, one can equate it to peeping into a neighbor’s backyard—not out of envy but curiosity. You see how they water their plants, manage their garbage, and keep their fences intact. In Japan, for example, their waste segregation system is so well enforced it’s an art form. They do not merely sort out refuse; they humanize it—treating with respect every piece of paper, every can. It made me reconsider how we toss up disposing of garbage as if the earth were a bottomless pit. And there are lessons that no documentary or classroom can teach: standing amidst them, something that goes deeper than words.
Traveling also shines an uncomfortable light on our shortcomings. In Germany, even tiny villages are linked by efficient public transportation. Trains arrive and depart with a precision that borders on obsessive, ensuring people aren’t stranded or late. It makes me wonder why, in our own country, a commute that should take thirty minutes often feels like a battle involving gridlocks, smoke-belching jeepneys, and motorbikes that weave through traffic like mosquitoes dodging swats. It’s humbling, even embarrassing, to see how others have mastered systems that we still fumble with—but it’s also motivating. If they can, why can’t we?
These trips don’t just change your view on governance and infrastructure; they also nudge you to reconsider personal habits. The French, for example, treat mealtime as a sacred ritual—a time to truly relish both food and company. It is an unwritten rule not to be caught scrolling mindlessly through your phone while dining as if each bite deserves your full attention. Contrast that with our fast-food culture, in which meals are inhaled, not enjoyed—you begin to wonder if the lack of mindfulness overflows into other aspects of our lives.
Businesses, too, can gain from benchmarking. Companies readily send employees overseas for conferences, or even on observation tours merely to see how things work in more progressive economies—not on a junket but as an investment in their work. For example, a factory supervisor from the Philippines who has seen how automation works in South Korea will be inspired by ideas on how to streamline work and boost efficiency. Some will lobby their company for upgrade technology. Indeed, the knowledge acquired appears intangible, but it transforms workplaces and industries with ripple effects.
Yet there is always the risk, even with subtlety, of the blind imitation that everything done elsewhere is working right at home. The temptation to copy without understanding the local context is a trap many fall into. The goal should not be to replicate but to adapt—to take what’s applicable and mold it to fit our unique circumstances. Not only is a park in Copenhagen well-designed, but also it is used and respected by people. It would be like planting a tropical tree in the Arctic and expecting it to bloom if the physical park is imported without the cultivation of the mindset that supports it.
The true wisdom of travel—at its very core—was that it could stir up both gratitude and restlessness. Gratitude for all we already have: the warmth of home, the quirks of our culture, the resilience of our people; and restlessness for what we could become. It is that gentle but insistent nudge to aim higher, dream bigger, and demand better not only from our leaders but from ourselves. Travel reminds us that though the grass may look greener elsewhere, our own can flourish, too, if we tend to it with care and intention.
Perhaps the best way to handle this would be for us to travel not as tourists but as students—eager to learn, not consume. We should approach each visit with a disposition of humility, knowing that it is not about seeing but, rather, understanding—and later on, acting. The ultimate goal, after all, is not so much about admiring other countries but making ours the kind of place that others would love to visit and learn from someday.
