In the 28th letter to Lucilius, Seneca tells him that travel won’t solve anything because you take yourself with you: what you need is “a change of soul rather than a change of climate.” He further admonishes him that Socrates already noted this centuries earlier. Individuals may grow a little wiser over the course of a lifetime, but humanity in the aggregate never learns anything. I suppose a modern twist is that we’ve converted our perennial ignorance into a fuel to pour into our economic motor — there will always be someone there to sell you a new experience or location that will supposedly make you into a different person. But there is nowhere else to go. You are already here, in an eternal moment with Lucilius, facing the same choice that will wait forever for you to stop fidgeting and look it in the eye. You can be “enchanted” almost anywhere, given the basics — shelter, supplies, security. You can feel “completely alive sitting on an iron seat under an ugly lamp-post at a third-rate watering place.” Conversely, someone may discover that even the ancient stone church, misty field, beeswax candles, and handmade oak table have become the irritating background against which he checks his phone.