Give a Little, Gain a Lot

Iceland filled my head with inspiration.

Maybe it was standing beside waterfalls that made me feel incredibly small. Maybe it was watching puffins launch themselves rather awkwardly off cliffs before somehow becoming graceful in the air. Maybe it was seeing whales surface beside our little boat in the North Atlantic.

Or maybe it was simply spending a week traveling with five very different people.

When I started thinking about what I wanted to write about this month, I struggled. There were too many moments and too many lessons to choose from. But eventually, I realized that one idea kept showing up throughout our trip:

Give a little, and you might just gain a lot.

Let's Start With Food

Our group should have been a restaurant's worst nightmare.

My sister, Traci, has been a vegetarian for more than 20 years. My brother-in-law, Danny, is a picky eater. Rich and I typically eat Keto. And my 77-year-old mom has been dealing with long COVID, which has dramatically affected her ability to smell and taste. Many foods taste terrible to her now, and certain textures make her nauseated. Eating has become stressful, and she has lost a significant amount of weight.

Finding food that worked for five people with completely different needs sounded like a challenge.

It wasn't.

I had read about Icelandic food before we arrived, so I expected lobster soup, lamb stew, Arctic char and cod everywhere. Those foods were certainly there, but Reykjavík's food scene was far more diverse and modern than I expected. Pizza, burgers, hot dogs, gelato and foods from around the world seemed to be everywhere.

On our first day, we stumbled upon Hlemmur Mathöll, a food hall near our Airbnb with several restaurants under one roof.

Perfect.

We ordered fish and chips, different bao buns and a margherita pizza. My sister loved her tofu bao buns. I temporarily abandoned my low-carb sensibilities for what turned out to be one of the best pizzas I've ever eaten.

But the biggest victory was Mom.

She ordered fish and chips—and she actually enjoyed them.

After months of watching her force herself to eat, seeing her genuinely enjoy a meal felt enormous. Our first Icelandic meal was officially a win.

The next day brought an even bigger surprise.

On our way to an Icelandic folklore tour, Rich and Danny were determined to try one of Reykjavík's famous lamb hot dogs. They ordered theirs with everything: raw onions, fried onions, mustard, remoulade and ketchup.

And then Traci ordered one.

Yes. My vegetarian sister of more than 20 years ordered a lamb hot dog.

Fortunately, I have photographic evidence of the sheer bliss on her face during that first bite.

When she offered me a bite, I took one too. This may sound insignificant until you understand that I hate onions. I normally eat a hot dog completely naked.

But I went for it.

Those onions stayed with me for HOURS.

And you know what?

That hot dog was delicious.

That became our approach to food throughout the trip. We ordered adventurously. We shared. If someone didn't like something, plates moved around the table until everyone was happy.

Nobody demanded that every meal perfectly fit their preferences.

We all gave a little.

And somehow, everyone got more.

Finding Our Pace

Food wasn't our only challenge.

Rich and I like to go fast and hard. My mom is 77, and Traci has been dealing with recurring foot pain.

Those aren't exactly compatible travel styles.

Yet for three consecutive days, we averaged just under eight miles of walking a day.

We hiked to waterfalls, geysers and craters. We explored landscapes unlike anything we'd ever seen. At several stops, there were options for people who wanted to go farther, climb higher or add a little more adventure.

Initially, I worried that Rich and I would feel disappointed if we couldn't do all of those things.

We didn't.

Mom was an absolute trouper. She and Traci told us when they needed a break, and we adjusted. Rich and I occasionally passed on the more aggressive option so we could keep moving together.

Looking back, I don't feel like we missed out.

I think our Golden Circle experience was perfect.

That's an interesting realization for someone like me.

Sometimes we assume that accommodating someone else means giving up part of what we want. But when the experience is over, what we remember isn't necessarily the trail we didn't hike.

We remember who was standing beside us when we saw the waterfall.

Maybe "Chill" Isn't Such a Bad Word

Our biggest difference became obvious on our very first morning.

I woke up ready to GO.

Rich had already been awake for hours.

Meanwhile, Mom and Traci eventually got up, wrapped themselves in blankets, poured coffee and settled in.

They were perfectly content to just…chill.

Anybody who knows Rich and me knows that "just chill" isn't exactly part of our vocabulary.

I remember thinking:

We are in another country! We have to get out there! We need to experience as much as possible!

But watching Mom and Traci, I realized they were experiencing Iceland too.

Their version simply looked different.

They seemed to be saying:

We're in another country. We slept with the windows open. The air is fresh. The morning is glorious. Why would we rush through this?

Neither perspective was wrong.

So on the following mornings, Rich and I got up early and wandered Reykjavík while everyone else eased into the day.

We explored.

They relaxed.

Then we'd return with coffee and pastries for everyone.

Everybody won.

And perhaps that was one of my favorite lessons of the trip: being together doesn't require doing everything together.

And Then There Was "The Dude"

Of course, everyone had something they really wanted from this trip.

For Danny, it was the Lebowski Bar.

Calling Danny a Big Lebowski fan doesn't quite cover it. In his mind, I suspect the perfect Icelandic itinerary would have concluded at the Lebowski Bar every single evening.

We finally made it there on our third night.

Danny walked in wearing an iconic sweater from the movie, carrying himself as though The Dude himself had just arrived in Reykjavík.

Almost immediately, a server noticed the sweater and placed a complimentary signature drink in front of him.

You could not have scripted the moment better.

Danny was in heaven.

Later that night, we watched The Big Lebowski together.

I still don't entirely understand the allure.

But watching it through Danny's eyes made me appreciate it differently.

And maybe that's the point.

Give a Little, Gain a Lot

Iceland gave us whales, puffins, waterfalls, geothermal pools, craters, geysers, incredible food and landscapes that photographs simply cannot capture.

But one of the best things it gave me was perspective.

Five people can stand in exactly the same place and want five completely different things from the experience.

One wants adventure.

One wants rest.

One wants the perfect meal.

One wants to savor a cup of coffee.

And apparently one wants to walk into a bar dressed like The Dude.

The temptation is to decide whose version is right.

Maybe none of them are.

I went to Iceland wanting to experience as much as possible. What I hadn't considered was that sometimes experiencing more requires doing a little less of what I want.

Eat the onions.

Slow down the hike.

Let someone sleep in.

Watch the movie you don't understand.

Stop rushing long enough to see an experience through someone else's eyes.

Give a little.

Because when everyone is willing to do that, something interesting happens.

Nobody gets exactly the trip they would have planned for themselves.

Instead, everyone gets a trip none of them could have created alone.

And that might be the best kind of teamwork there is.