Reading the first chapter of The Alchemist made me realize that not all advancements that eliminate inconvenience are necessarily positive. There is truly an art to the things we often label as inconveniences. This becomes especially clear when the father bids his son, the shepherd, farewell as he sets off to travel the world.

It’s mentioned that the shepherd has wandered across the Andalusian terrain for two years. From the writing, I strongly assume that in this era, instant communication did not exist. I can’t begin to imagine how deeply his parents must have missed him—knowing they had said goodbye, unsure if he would ever return. All they could do was pray for his well-being each day, holding on to memories as their only connection to him.

I wonder how many parents and children have experienced this kind of separation—children driven by curiosity to explore the world, while their parents remain rooted in place. It takes great courage to embark on a journey that demands preparation, long travel, and the willingness to face danger. But perhaps it takes even greater courage to let go of someone you love, knowing there’s a chance they may never come back.

What happens to those who are disconnected? How do they hold on to the people they've let go of? And do they ever find their way back to each other?