“I love feeling small. It might be my favorite feeling.”
I said these words (not ironically) to Smitty as we were driving home, stuffed, from our favorite Mexican restaurant. I wasn’t speaking about the physical size of my body. At least not exactly.
We were admiring November’s ginormous super moon and how when it’s that size, it’s so much more real as a giant 3D orb suspended hundreds of thousands of miles away and not just a white hole punch in a dark sky.
The week before, we sat on the edge of the Pacific Ocean and I had the same tiny feeling. I soaked it right up.
Some days I need to hear that I’m amazing and fantastic and strong and capable of anything.
But most days I need the reminder that I’m a tiny speck in an unfathomably expansive universe. And even if I live to be 100, my existence will still not be visible on the timeline of earth’s history.
From dust to dust, and all of that. I love being put in my place.