PHOTO: Eric Weiner, bestselling author and journalist, known for exploring wisdom, wonder, and the geography of happiness. (Photocredit: Bill O’Leary)
Blending Travel Writing With Philosophy And Personal Reflection
Eric Weiner shares insights on creativity, spirituality, and self-discovery through travel and philosophical inquiry, offering reflections from his bestselling books and experience as a journalist and seeker.
Eric Weiner writes like a man both deeply grounded and joyfully in flight. His prose wanders widely—through cities and centuries, temples and train stations—but never loses its keen focus on the inner life. Whether tracing the coordinates of happiness, charting the topography of human genius, or seeking divine whispers in far-flung rituals, Weiner invites us to think more curiously, and live more deliberately.
A seasoned journalist with the heart of a philosopher, he brings to nonfiction what so many seek and few deliver: wonder, tempered by wit. Books like The Geography of Bliss, Man Seeks God, and The Socrates Express are as much meditations as they are memoirs, shaped by intellect but driven by yearning. He is, above all, a seeker—of meaning, of wisdom, of well-earned joy.
His latest work, Ben & Me, delves into the life and habits of Benjamin Franklin, unearthing the strange alchemy of practicality and playfulness that fuelled the American founder’s long, useful life. It’s a fitting subject for an author who persistently asks: How shall we live well? And just as crucially—where?
In these pages, Weiner reflects on trains as philosophical spaces, cities as crucibles of genius, and spiritual truths discovered through embodied experience. With characteristic honesty and humour, he reminds us that the richest discoveries are rarely confined to maps or shelves—but unfold in motion, and in the mind.
In The Socrates Express, you embark on a philosophical journey by train. How did this mode of travel enhance your exploration of ancient wisdom?
Philosophy and trains pair well. I can think on a train. I cannot think on a bus. Not even a little. I suspect it has something to do with the different sensations, or perhaps it’s associative: buses remind me of childhood trips to school and camp, places I didn’t want to go. Trains take me where I want to go, and do so at the speed of thought. So, in my book I used each train journey I took as a kind of intellectual intermission, a chance to process what I had just learned and anticipate the lessons that lay ahead. In other words, the train supplied an opportunity to think.
Your book The Geography of Genius examines creative hotspots. What role do you believe environment plays in fostering innovation and genius?
Environment plays a huge role, and one that is often overlooked. The myth of the lone genius is persistent and, I think, unhelpful. The truth is that geniuses do not appear randomly. Certain places, at certain times, produced a bumper crop of brilliant minds and good ideas. Nearly all of these places are cities. We may be inspired by nature—a walk in the woods, the sound of a waterfall—but something about an urban setting is especially conducive to creativity. If it takes a village to raise a child, as the African proverb goes, it takes a city to raise a genius.
In Man Seeks God, you delve into various spiritual practices. How did your personal experiences shape your understanding of spirituality?
Spirituality is, by definition, personal. In fact, the notion of an impersonal spiritual experience sounds absurd. It’s like having an impersonal gourmet meal. So, I decided to dive in and make myself a full participant in this book. I meditated with Buddhists in Kathmandu , whirled with Sufi dervishes in Istanbul, and prayed with Franciscan monks in the Bronx. It was through these personal experiences that I was able to truly understand the spiritual principles underlying them.
The Geography of Bliss combines travel with introspection. How do you balance personal narrative with cultural observations in your writing?
All travel, I think, should be introspective. As Henry Miller once said, “One’s destination is never a place but a new way of looking at things.” In this book, I toggle between the observer and participant. I made it a point to “test-drive” new ideas and cultures I encountered on the road. When a Buddhist scholar, for instance, told me to think about death for ten minutes every day, I did just that. Ideas not put into practice may be interesting but they are not useful. They are dead things.
Your background as an NPR foreign correspondent provides a unique perspective. How has journalism influenced your approach to storytelling in your books?
My journalism background made me a better researcher. I know how to ask questions of people who don’t want to answer questions. I know how to probe. When it comes to writing, though, I had to unlearn journalism. By that, I mean reporters are supposed to convey only facts and keep their personal views off the page. Writers do the opposite. We have opinions, and are not afraid to express them. I found this incredibly liberating.
The Socrates Express offers practical life lessons from philosophers. Which philosopher’s teachings do you find most applicable to modern life?
I’d have to say Epictetus, the Stoic philosopher. Much of life lies beyond our control, he said, but we command what matters most: our opinions, impulses, desires, and aversions. Our mental and emotional life. We all possess Herculean strength, superhero powers, but it is the power to master our interior world. Do this, the Stoics say, and you will be “invincible.” I can’t think of a more useful teaching for navigating our chaotic world than that.
In The Geography of Genius, you explore historical periods. How do you research and connect past eras to contemporary creativity?
The past, it’s been said, is a foreign country; they do things differently there. So the travel writer in me approached these historical eras that way: as terra incognita waiting to be explored. I soon discovered, however, the terrain was not as foreign as I thought. Technology may have changed dramatically since, say, ancient Greece but human nature—and creativity—have not. We still seek inspiration from the same sources, and have yet to find a cure for writer’s block. The ancients are closer than we think, and they have much to teach us.
What advice would you offer to aspiring authors looking to blend travel, philosophy, and personal narrative in their writing?
Don’t fall into the genre trap. Don’t fret if your book defies categorization. A book, like a person, contains multitudes. Embrace that. Celebrate it. Let the marketing department worry about the rest.
