I just flew in from Hawaii and, boy, are my arms tired.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist. It’s an old joke, but a classic. I, like the good dad that I am, have to make that joke every time I take a trip that involves flying (which has been a grand total of three times now in my life).

I really did just get back from Hawaii. It was an incredible, once-in-a-lifetime experience. And in this post, I’d like to share some of the things I learned—and thought about—while I was there.

1. Things look different from above.

Before this trip, I had only flown twice, and the last time was back in 2010. So, it had been a while. But it didn’t bother me or worry me as much as it had back then.

What I had forgotten, though, was just how different the world looks when you’re flying above it. From the air, it becomes incredibly clear which parts of the world are man-made and which are natural. It’s always fascinated me how many different shapes our society is built from. Circles and squares are everywhere.

But the moment that really struck me was as we were flying into San Francisco. We’d been in the air for about five hours. The sky was bright, the sun was shining, and then, as the plane began its descent and we passed through the clouds, everything suddenly looked gloomy and dark.

It reminded me how much darker our problems seem when we’re inside them, compared to how they look once we’ve moved past them. It was a great reminder to try and look at my problems from a bit of a distance. Maybe they won’t seem so overwhelming that way.

2. A dark and gloomy day is often something we travel to, rather than something that travels with us

We stayed on the island of Oahu (where Honolulu is), and that island has some of the most interesting weather I’ve ever seen. In Honolulu, it seems like it’s always sunny and pleasant. But from our hotel room, we could look east and see a mountain range that always looked like it had a rain cloud hovering over it. And when you drive directly toward it, there’s a rainbow.

Near the end of our trip, I looked up the reason and found out it’s due to how wind carries moisture from the ocean. As the air rises in the mountains, it cools and creates a constant mist. And of course, because it’s raining there and sunny in Honolulu, if the sun is at your back and you’re facing the rain, you’ll always see a rainbow.

One morning, we visited the botanical gardens near that mountain range. As we got closer, we entered the cloudy zone and spent the morning in a rainy, misty climate. I remember thinking that because it was raining here, it must be raining everywhere.

Which obviously wasn’t true. The minute we left that part of the island, we returned to the same pleasant, sunny day we had left behind. It made me reflect on how often the gloomy moments in our lives feel all-encompassing. Sure, sometimes the rain comes to us and there’s nothing we can do.

But how often do we walk into the rain ourselves? How often do we choose to revisit gloom, not because we have to, but because we’re stuck in a mental loop? In those moments, it feels like the rain will never end. But if we choose to step away from the thing that brings sadness, we might realize that we can move beyond it and find sunshine again.

3. A prediction of tragedy is often worse than the real thing.

Most of our vacation was amazing, truly a once-in-a-lifetime memory that I’ll cherish forever. Except for one evening.

That day Russia experienced one of the worst earthquakes ever recorded, and the resulting tsunami warnings were sent in our direction.

We were hiking the Diamond Head Crater when we got the alert and immediately freaked out. Our only reference for tsunamis was what we’d seen on TV: towering waves wiping out cities.

Needless to say, I learned a lot about tsunamis that night. I also learned that the news tends to make things sound like the worst is definitely going to happen. We watched as the entire city of Honolulu went into full-blown panic mode, fleeing to higher ground. And then… nothing happened. By 10 PM, we were cleared to return to our hotel.

Yes, it was smart to be cautious, but the panic taught me something: sometimes the fear of what might happen is far worse than what actually does. We spend so much of life worrying about future disasters, most of which never come.

It’s good to plan and prepare, but not good to panic ourselves into misery. Sometimes the prediction is more damaging than the event itself.

4. There’s no place like home.

This is something my mother used to say all the time. When I was younger, I scoffed at it.

You see, I live in a small, dying town in one of the more poverty-stricken areas of the country. That’s a nice way of saying it’s not exactly thriving. OK, maybe not a total dump, but not a booming place, either.

As I’ve gotten older, though, I’ve come to appreciate the slowness of life here, especially after a trip to a bigger city. The low-stress environment is a blessing I often overlook until I’ve been away.

But when I say “there’s no place like home” in this context, I mean something different. While I was in Hawaii, I spent a lot of time just marveling at the beauty—the mountains, the beaches, the shifting climate. And then, as we were driving home from the airport, something strange happened.

I looked at my little “shitty” corner of the world through tourist eyes, and I realized someone from Hawaii might be just as fascinated by my home as I was by theirs.

Yes, the industry here is dying. Yes, the economy’s not great. But the landscape? It’s stunning. The mountains here are breathtaking, and I hadn’t really appreciated them until I came back.

5. All good (and bad) things must come to an end.

Above all else, this trip taught me patience.

Getting to Hawaii from where I live meant nearly eleven hours of flying (split into two five-hour flights). And I’m not great at being cooped up. On road trips, I’m ready to stop after two hours. So five hours stuck in an economy seat? Brutal.

And then there was tsunami night—displaced from our hotel, sitting in the parking lot of a community college with no chargers and a phone battery at 30%. I couldn’t even distract myself.

Lots of sitting. Lots of discomfort. I’m not exactly young, so sitting on concrete or folding chairs isn’t fun anymore.

But you know what? It ended. The long flight ended. The night in the parking lot ended. The trip, sadly, ended too.

And that’s the point. Everything ends.

One thing I kept telling my kids during all of it was: “Before you know it, it’ll be six weeks from now.” Because time passes fast. It may not feel that way in the moment, but it always moves.

And that fleeting nature is what makes it all so meaningful. The beautiful hike through a crater? Temporary. The stressful night under tsunami warnings? Also temporary.

As Ferris Bueller once said: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”