SMALL, IN A GOOD WAY
We arrived midafternoon, turning off the highway and onto Canyonland’s dirt road with our silver, swaying sprinter van. A Winnebago outfitted camper van, dubbed Wine Bag on the back. Someone had carefully etched out a few letters on the van’s label to graciously let the van’s purpose shine through. As we shambled further into the park, the landscape opened up and I took in the full view.
I’d seen photos. The rusty, dusty topography with its monolithic stone structures. None of it had captured the essence of this place. I stared out at the vast, sweeping planes punctuated by lush canyons and monumental stone towers. Some of them looked like temples carved into the soft red rock. So precise and intentional. Others looked like groupings of stone figures, stretched tall and towering so many stories above. I was chill amidst the arid heat. The hairs on my arms stood up and I sat in awe.
With my sister and her husband as our experienced guides, our caravan found just the right camping spot, perched near the edge of a canyon. We set up camp while grooving out to Led Zeppelin. I was itching to explore, and at some point, waved to my family and walked out of camp with a water bottle and some ear buds. My solo walks along the canyon would become my favorite set of experiences there.
It was so still and quiet. I climbed up and down over smooth rocks, every few minutes met with a new view of the canyon below. Small pools of water shimmered over the dips in the plateaus. The sun beat down. I tingled with the vast freedom and the calm energy of the place.
Growing up in the northwest, I’ve been accustomed to hikes through heavily wooded areas. You hike up the mountain fairly blind to your surroundings and are met with a single view at the top. Canyonlands was different. You took in your immense surroundings through each step. It was a new perspective.
Later that night, the campfire blazed and the stars came out. I’d forgotten what stars really looked like. They fanned out around me as though they had been carefully arrayed with me as the center point. So many, it was hard to see the gaps in between them. My son sat next to me, looking up. “It’s so big out here, it’s kindof scary,” he said. “Scary and exciting,” I replied. “It makes you feel small, in such a good way.”
That was it, really. In it’s vast and epic beauty, Moab made me feel like small speck. Small, but part of something gloriously limitless. Feeling small out there also made me feel big. Look at this amazing thing that I’m part of. I’m amazing too. This perspective fuels me and gives me energy to live big. As powerful as it is, this insight also tends to wear off with time, and then I have to go look for the reminder. Find the recharge.
I think we all need to feel open and expansive. We need a reminder of the amazing thing we are part of. We don’t have to travel to Moab, UT to feel it. Although I highly recommend it! Some of us find it through movement, connection with others, artistic expression, or nature. However we get to it, the reminder is important. It’s what re-energizes and recharges us, and moves us to experience our full expression of life.
When’s the last time you felt connected to something bigger than yourself? Maybe it’s time for a reminder.
