What if the way you move through a place mattered just as much as where you're going?

How you travel through a place defines your relationship with it.

We dream of teleportation—but maybe the journey is the point.

And it's not just about getting from point A to point B.

The transition between places—the liminal space of travel—is often where our connection to a place deepens.

That idea hit home for me recently while planning a trip to the Big Island of Hawai'i. I debated how I’d get around—car, Uber, or something else. I ultimately chose to rent a motorcycle. Easily the most rewarding choice of the trip.

Traveling through the island on the bike has made the drive between places its own cherished experience. The motorcycle demands your presence and your attention. When the margin for error is razor-thin, your awareness sharpens.

There's no shielding yourself from the elements. The wind blows intensely as you ride, forcing you to engage your back. You feel the sharpness of rain on your skin like a tiny blade. A bug hitting your visor or neck is a sudden sting and surprise. And yet you still have to keep your focus.

There's nothing quite like it. Unlike seeing the world through a screen when you're in the car, you're a part of the scene. There's nothing that separates you from the world you travel through.

Switching gears—literally and figuratively—this whole experience reminded me of something Marshall McLuhan once said: “The medium is the message." Whatever way you communicate—whether through text, voice, etc.—is key to defining the message itself.

So too does the way we travel through the world define our experience of the world. If we bike from place to place, it feels like biking. If we drive, like driving. If we walk, like walking. Each one brings its own flavor and texture to how we experience the world.

So I invite you to consider how you travel through the world. The starting point and destination are only markers—there's all that space in between. What medium are you choosing for the journey?