December 21, 2025
There’s a particular smell that shows up this time of year. It’s not pine or cinnamon or whatever candle marketers are pushing. It’s airports. It’s rest stops. It’s coats that haven’t quite dried. It’s people who have been sitting, waiting, carrying, stressing, and sweating in ways that don’t happen on normal Tuesdays.
It’s travel season. And travel changes people. Sometimes spiritually. Sometimes olfactorily.
Thought of the Day:
“A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.” – John A. Shedd
I’ve always liked this line, mostly because it sounds obvious until you apply it to your own life. Of course ships are safer in the harbor. Calm water. Predictable conditions. No storms. No surprises. No chance of sinking. But also no chance of going anywhere.
Harbors are comfortable. They’re controlled. They smell familiar.
And yet, we don’t admire ships because they sit still. We admire them because they leave. Because they carry people and goods and stories from one place to another. Because they move.
Travel season is when this metaphor gets very real. People leave their routines. They abandon their normal rhythms. They sleep less. They eat worse. They wear shoes they shouldn’t. They stand in lines that test their character. They carry bags that feel heavier than they packed.
All of that costs something.
But staying put costs something too.
There’s a version of life where you never disrupt your schedule, never miss a workout, never sit next to a stranger, never eat airport food, never smell like someone who’s been through it. That version is safe. It’s tidy. It’s controlled.
It’s also smaller.
Leaving the harbor is uncomfortable by design. Growth usually is. So is reunion. So is seeing people you love who live far away. So is remembering who you are outside your normal surroundings.
Ships get barnacles when they’re used. People pick up smells.
That doesn’t mean something’s wrong. It usually means something’s happening.
Question of the Day: Why does travel make people smell extra funky?
This is not a scientific question. It’s an observational one.
Travel funk is a cocktail. Stress sweat hits different. Sitting for hours does weird things to the human body. You’re wearing layers because it’s freezing outside and overheated inside. You’re carrying bags. You’re anxious about time. You’re eating food that never sees a vegetable. You’re sleeping in short bursts. You’re dehydrated.
Your body knows you’re not in the harbor anymore.
And honestly, that smell is kind of the point.
It’s evidence that you moved. That you left something familiar. That you endured mild chaos for the sake of being somewhere else. That you chose inconvenience over isolation.
There’s something almost comforting about walking through an airport and realizing everyone smells a little off. No one is at their best. No one is fully put together. Everyone is mid-journey.
That’s where life happens. In the in-between. In the awkward. In the places that don’t smell great but matter anyway.
We spend so much time trying to optimize ourselves into frictionless existence. Perfect routines. Perfect systems. Perfect environments. But the moments that stick with us usually come with discomfort attached. With mess. With stories that start with, “It was kind of a disaster, but…”
Travel funk is the scent of effort.
It fades. Showers happen. Laundry gets done. You eventually return to the harbor for a bit.
But if you never smelled a little funky, you probably never left.
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