Safe Enough? A Reflection on Risk and Travel

Are we ever really safe? It’s the question that always comes up when families set out to travel: “But is it safe?” I understand that question deeply, because I’m not naturally a risk-taker myself.

I’ve always been cautious. Conscious of everything, wary of what could go wrong. It’s part of who I am, and honestly, I think it’s also what’s made me a good educator. Years of holding responsibility for children meant being alert, being aware, making sure they were safe even when the unexpected happened. That sense of vigilance is second nature to me. As a family, we travel, we explore, we take our children into jungles, markets, and beaches. But we do it carefully. We weigh things up. And still, no matter how careful you are, life finds ways to remind you that risk is everywhere.

In Lisbon, just weeks after we left, a tram we had taken previously, crashed and killed 18 people. Here in Sri Lanka, a bus in Ella went off a 400-foot cliff, with devastating loss of life. And only days ago, in the U.S., there was yet another school shooting, this time at a Catholic school in Minneapolis, where two children died in what should have been one of the safest places imaginable. And then there are the risks that aren’t splashed across the headlines. Illness doesn’t respect borders. Cancer doesn’t care where you are, at home, abroad, in your comfort zone, or on the road.

We often comfort ourselves with the idea that home is safe and travel is risky. But that’s not really true. Safety is never guaranteed, not on a tram, not in a classroom, not in a hospital. The real question isn’t “Is it safe?” Because the answer is always going to be not completely. The better question is: How do we choose to live, knowing that nothing is ever fully safe?

For me, the answer isn’t to hide away. It’s to live carefully, thoughtfully, and with open eyes, but to live. To let my children see monkeys swinging through mangroves, taste jackfruit fresh from a tree, and stand in awe in front of an elephant in the forest. To let them learn that the world is fragile, unpredictable, and yet still full of wonder. I’m cautious, yes. I probably always will be. But I’ve realised that caution doesn’t have to mean fear. It can mean being aware, being present, and choosing wisely.

And I hold onto something I was once told: “step through the fear.” I’m still working on that. But maybe that’s what all of us are doing, learning how to live fully, even when we’re afraid.