Eliot captures something peculiar about wisdom: it's not the destination we reach, but the *changed eyes* we bring home. Most of us assume understanding means discovering something entirely new, but he suggests the profoundest knowledge comes from returning to the familiar—your hometown, a childhood memory, even your spouse after decades—and recognizing depths you'd overlooked all along. A parent returning to their childhood bedroom after years away suddenly understands their own mother's choices in a way nostalgia alone could never teach them. The real journey, then, isn't away from home but inward, where repetition becomes revelation.