We are, by nature, creatures of the map. We chart our courses, whether for a weekend road trip or a five-year career plan, with an implicit faith in the straightest line. The itinerary is our scripture, the GPS our oracle. A missed exit, a delayed flight, a road closure—these are not just inconveniences; they feel like failures, frustrating deviations from a perfectly planned narrative. For a long time, I viewed life this way, but travel, as it so often does, taught me a more profound lesson: the detour is not the obstacle; it is the path.
I recall this vividly from my FAM trip to Jamaica. A small group of us, about six or seven travel professionals, were journeying in a comfortable van with a local driver-cum-guide at the helm. We were on a long drive, making our way from the coastal town of Ocho Rios, inland towards Kingston. The official plan had us stopping at the iconic Dunn’s River Falls, but our guide, perhaps sensing our curiosity, decided to take a spontaneous turn up a winding, unmarked road.
My initial reaction, conditioned by years of tight schedules, was a flicker of anxiety. Was this on the itinerary? Would we be late? I watched as the road opened unexpectedly onto a small, flat farmland plateau nestled high in the majestic Blue Mountains.
The air here was different—a crisp, cool mountain breeze carrying the rich, intoxicating aroma of roasting coffee. It was an idyllic place, home to a local family who welcomed our group with wide smiles and the lilting sounds of their Jamaican English accent. They invited us into their home, offering us cups of hot, black coffee that tasted of the earth, the air, and their incredible warmth. It was here we learned that only coffee grown at these high elevations can be called true “Jamaica Blue Mountain” coffee. They had a ramshackle store on their property, a humble setup from which I bought some of the best coffee I have ever tasted.
It was a classic “thought avalanche” moment. The initial anxiety about the schedule gave way to a cascading insight: our guide’s decision to embrace the detour had gifted us the most authentic experience of the entire trip. We had been so focused on the planned destination that we had failed to appreciate the beauty of a path we were never meant to walk.
This lesson extends far beyond travel. We see it in careers that take unexpected turns, in projects that fail only to open a door to a better idea, in relationships that end and force us toward a necessary path of self-discovery. We map our lives with such precision, but the most significant growth rarely happens on the straight, well-trodden road. It happens on the detours, in the moments of being utterly and completely lost. It is in these unmapped territories that we build resilience, discover hidden strengths, and often find a destination far more suited to who we are meant to be.
Perhaps the goal, then, is not to avoid detours, but to learn to recognize them for what they are: not a deviation from the path, but an invitation from life to take the scenic route.