After we decide on a destination and make our plans, we start thinking about packing our suitcase. We often ask each other, “What are you taking with you?” But sacred travel expectations can become another kind of luggage—one we may not even realize we’re carrying.
I have traveled all over the world with my 50-pound suitcase—hoisting it onto trains in Europe, stuffing it into small car trunks and tuk-tuks, and wrestling it through airports. I’ve even declared to a personal trainer that being able to do this for the next 10–15 years is the primary reason I need to exercise!
Whew, it’s a lot. And when you add the backpack, the purse, and the bags for meals, sometimes it weighs me down and keeps me from enjoying the process.
When we choose a sacred journey because we hope it will be transformational, something paradoxical can happen. The moment we expect transformation, we begin imagining what it is supposed to look like.
Perhaps we picture ourselves standing in a sacred place and suddenly understanding something we have been struggling with. We imagine feeling deeply connected, spiritually awakened, moved to tears, or somehow changed.
Before long, those images can become expectations that weigh us down, much like our luggage.
The Luggage We Can’t See
Once we’re on the actual journey, the temple may leave us strangely unmoved or even repulsed. We may be tired when everyone else seems exhilarated. Another traveler may have the profound experience we thought we were supposed to have.
Suddenly, the journey we imagined isn’t happening.
Sacred travel invites us to consciously prepare our intentions as well as our suitcases. Yet intention and expectation are not the same thing.
An intention helps us enter a journey consciously and openly. An expectation can begin prescribing what the experience is supposed to look like.
Perhaps one of the most important forms of preparation, then, is making room for the journey to be different from the one we imagined.
I started thinking about this while looking at my American-sized suitcase compared to those of my European cousins. They normally traveled with what I would call a carry-on bag.
How do they do that? How do they travel light and ready for anything without preparing for every possible type of weather? Maybe there is a different way to prepare.
A lovely plaque in a little seaside hotel once offered some “Travel Rules” that spoke to me:
Be a traveler
Not a tourist
Discover what matters
Lay out all your clothes
And all your money
Leave half your clothes
And take twice as much money
MAKE NEW FRIENDS
PACK LIGHT
Explore
Roam
Discover
If you never get lost
You’ll never get found
I’ve started practicing taking “half as many clothes,” trusting that I’ll have enough and can always get something if I really need it.
That open space in my suitcase reminds me how often I haven’t even worn all the clothes I’ve schlepped around. And when I did need something I hadn’t brought, I’ve always ended up with something I love. Now those clothes remind me of an amazing place every time I wear them.
Who knew I would need something I hadn’t packed—and that the need would be so surprisingly and wonderfully fulfilled?
Perhaps we can approach our internal luggage the same way.
What Are You Packing?
What if we laid our expectations on the bed alongside our clothes and decided which ones really needed to come with us?
We might begin by noticing everything we’re considering packing:
- Expectations about what the journey is supposed to give me
- Assumptions about the destination, people, or culture
- Curiosity and openness
- My desire to have a “transformational experience”
- Fears about fitting in, keeping up, or traveling alone
- My habit of controlling, rebelling, or complaining
- My personal spiritual beliefs and practices
- An expectation that things will be just like they are at home
- An unwillingness to be uncomfortable
- Questions I hope the journey will answer
- Unresolved experiences or transitions in my life
- A willingness to be surprised
Now that we’ve laid them all on the bed, which ones will we consciously pack?
None of these things necessarily needs to be left behind. Our beliefs, experiences, questions, fears, hopes, and histories are part of who we are. But we don’t need to pack the whole closet.
Some of our most comfortable, well-worn outfits might not serve the intentions we’ve chosen for this particular journey. The invitation isn’t to pretend we can leave parts of ourselves at home. Rather, it’s to become more conscious about what we are taking with us.
I learned that lesson in Egypt.
Subscribe to our newsletter for twice-monthly reflections, spiritual travel insights, and first looks at new tours.
The Egypt I Thought I Knew
Many Spirit Tours travelers feel called to Egypt—for the mystery, the history, and the way others speak about their amazing and transformative experiences there.
Well, I’d been to Egypt before, and it did not call to me to go again.
I remembered the sand and stones, the heat and dryness, none of which particularly appeal to me. I also remembered how uncomfortable I had felt amid the intensity of Cairo—the crowds and commerce, the visible poverty, and the realities of daily life that were so different from my own.
But then I developed a serious case of FOMO and decided I would just have to go. So I went expecting a deep, powerful experience because that’s what others seemed to be having. At the same time, I packed my memories of everything I had disliked before, along with many other items I habitually carry with me.
The first day or two traveling through Cairo and other parts of Egypt pushed nearly every one of those old buttons. At times, I felt overwhelmed. Others were having an amazing time, while I was wallowing in my discomfort and rejection of the experience.
But I had signed up for a sacred journey where every aspect of travel—not just the obviously sacred moments—could be grist for my spiritual mill and an opportunity to learn and grow. So by God, I wasn’t going to miss it!
I checked out the luggage I was carrying and found myself confronted with enormous resistance. I recognized that resistance from elsewhere in my life, especially when things aren’t up to my personal standards.
I traveled all the way to Egypt only to face this old friend: resentment. I resented that other people were having a great time and I wasn’t. Clearly, I had packed some old, well-worn outfits out of habit, and it was time to stop carrying them around.
Much spiritual practice and personal discipline ensued.
Along the way, I also realized that I had no real expectation that anything would move me on this trip, even though I desperately wanted to be as transformed as everyone else.
When the Journey Surprises Us
Over the course of the journey, three rather amazing moments did, in fact, happen.
One occurred in an ancient temple of sand and stone, with a statue I wouldn’t normally have related to. Another came in a final experience that surprised the heck out of me. Each awakened something I wasn’t expecting.
I’m not sure I felt transformed by these moments so much as something opened that allowed the more authentic me to reveal herself to me.
In retrospect, I realized I hadn’t prepared for this journey internally at all. I hadn’t questioned my assumptions or expectations. Nor had I paid attention to feelings I was dragging along with me from 50 years ago.
Most of all, I hadn’t prepared to be surprised.
And I hadn’t let go of my need to compare my experiences with those of others to see if mine measured up.
That lesson became especially clear at the end of the Egypt tour.
Leaving the King’s Chamber
Our tour ended in the King’s Chamber inside the Great Pyramid of Giza. Many stories had been shared about the deep revelations and powerful mystical experiences people had experienced during the meditation in darkness that would happen there.
I was nervous and uncertain, but I went in anyway.
A few of us took a side trip into the Queen’s Chamber first. Inside this massive block of stone, it felt light and airy. Then we joined the rest of the group in the King’s Chamber and prepared for the meditation.
Every fiber in my being said, “Get out. Get out now!”
So I quietly made sure our leader knew what was happening with me. Then I turned around and left. On my own.
I felt ashamed and mad. Once again, I was comparing my fleeing with the amazing experiences I imagined everyone else would have.
Sacred travel isn’t necessarily a succession of beautiful spiritual moments. Sacred places don’t always produce sacred feelings on demand.
As I left, I found myself asking, “Why isn’t this experience what everyone else is having—and what I imagined I would have?”
Then, as I raced down the steep steps and squeezed around the rock corners, I heard, clear as a bell: “I am not a God of the Dead, but of the Living.” A biblical quote from somewhere—and I don’t usually do biblical quotes.
I made it out to the stone lip of the entrance. Tucking myself into a corner away from the dawn wind, I watched the sun rise. Then I started asking myself, “What is here for me to notice?”
I felt free. I felt myself—the nature girl, born of the water and wind and the greenness of living things. This just isn’t a place for me. I do actually know what places are for me.
And I realized that it is okay. I was having my moment, and others were having theirs. There really is nothing to compare.
Making Room for the Journey That Finds You
Perhaps the moment that stays with us happens over breakfast. On a bus. During an unexpected conversation. In a temple where we weren’t expecting anything at all.
Or perhaps it happens when something we experience on the journey reveals us to ourselves.
Preparing for sacred travel means leaving a little room for that possibility. We bring our intentions, our questions, our spiritual practices, and our whole selves. At the same time, we loosen our grip on what the experience is supposed to look like.
Transformation isn’t something we can schedule into an itinerary.
Spirit Tours can’t promise that a particular transformation will occur. What we can do is create conditions for reflection, connection, presence, and discovery—and support you in being open to whatever the journey brings.
That is the difference between the journey we imagine and the journey that finds us.
Ultimately, your journey will be uniquely yours.
And whatever it becomes, we will celebrate it together.
About the Author
Rev Dr Petra Weldes is the Co-Owner of Spirit Tours. Dr Petra recently retired as the Spiritual Leader of CSLDallas a role she held since 1998. She is a gifted speaker, teacher, and interfaith leader who brings heart, humor, and insight to everything she does. Over more than four decades, her work has inspired thousands to live with greater joy and spiritual awareness.
An award-winning minister and author, Dr Petra has led workshops and retreats around the world, helping people connect with their purpose and inner wisdom. She has also created courses on practical spirituality and co-authored three journals on living with joy. Through her teaching and storytelling, she creates welcoming spaces where people can explore, grow, and truly feel at home on their spiritual journey.
Who Else Might This Journey Find?
If Petra’s reflection brought someone to mind, share the journey with them. Invite friends to subscribe to Journeys of the Soul for stories and reflections on sacred travel, and you’ll earn thank-you rewards through our newsletter referral program.