You Are Pretty Insignificant (And That’s a Good Thing)

Last week, I took a day trip outside of Málaga.

When I planned this seven-week adventure through Spain, I didn’t have a rigid itinerary, but there were two things I knew I had to do:

1. See the Andalusian horse show in Jerez de la Frontera. Check.
2. Walk the Caminito del Rey—a once-infamous cliffside path that’s been called the most dangerous hike in the world. Check.

And let me tell you—it absolutely wrecked my expectations in the best possible way.

The views? Otherworldly. Pictures don’t do it justice because the scale is something you have to feel—the way the cliffs stretch endlessly above and below you, the way the air shifts between the sunlit rock and the cool, shadowy depths of the gorge. It’s humbling in a way that no skyscraper or boardroom ever could be.

I Had to Do Something I Usually Avoid

Now, here’s a not-so-secret thing about me: I’m not great at joining groups. I lean introvert—not dramatically, but enough that my idea of recharging usually involves solitude, not strangers.

But to do this hike, I needed a ride. And more than that, I wanted the full experience—context, history, maybe even a little camaraderie. So, I signed up for a tour.

And in the way the universe loves a little irony, I found myself walking alongside a group of all Danes… and, unexpectedly, one other American from San Diego.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever traveled long enough to feel like a foreigner to your own accent, but it’s weirdly jarring. It had been weeks since I’d heard a voice that sounded like home, and suddenly, in the middle of a Spanish gorge, I did.

It was a small moment, but it reminded me how much of life’s meaning comes from connection—not necessarily deep, life-changing relationships, but the simple human moments where you realize: Oh. I’m not alone.

The Insanity of Human Ingenuity

As we walked, we kept stopping to marvel at the sheer audacity of human determination. If you look closely, you can still see the remnants of old, crumbling wooden walkways—the ones that once lined this thousand-foot-deep gorge, built over a century ago to support a hydroelectric dam project.

Imagine climbing sheer rock faces in the early 1900s, armed with little more than rope and nerve, just to build a fragile wooden bridge so that workers could carry supplies across the canyon.

And yet, they did it. Because someone had a vision. Someone looked at this impossible landscape and thought, We can make this work.

That thought stuck with me—how often do we stare at our own obstacles and assume they’re too big, too daunting, too much? How often do we forget that human beings have been doing the impossible for centuries?

The Perspective Shift I Didn’t See Coming

But the thing that struck me the hardest? How incredibly small and insignificant we truly are in this wide, beautiful world.

And I mean that in the best possible way.

Before this hike, I was tired. Not just physically, but mentally. I’d been grinding—personally, professionally, endlessly—for what felt like months. And yet, as I walked across these death-defying pathways, I wasn’t thinking about my inbox. I wasn’t worrying about Slack messages. I wasn’t feeling like I was letting anyone down.

I was just there.

And in that moment, a realization settled into my bones:

?? No one will put “excellent to-do list checker-offer” on my headstone.

What will people remember?

That I showed up with grace, humility, and gratitude. That I took breaks when I needed them so I could come back better. That I understood the work will always be there—but so will life, if I let it.

Work Isn’t an Obligation—It’s a Privilege

At the end of the hike, our group sat down for a simple picnic—nothing fancy, just fresh bread, olives, cheese. And somehow, the conversation turned to work-life balance.

It was fascinating. The Danish and Spanish perspectives on work were so different from the American mindset. In some rural areas of Spain, unemployment can be as high as 50%. Many people don’t have to work—they want to work.

And suddenly, my inbox, my Slack notifications, my smoldering fires—they all felt different.

I get to work.

I get to return to a job I love, with people I respect, and an endless list of challenges that keep me on my toes. And because of this experience, I’ll go back with a little more gratitude and a lot more calm.

So if you’re feeling overwhelmed, if your to-do list is suffocating you, if you’re waking up dreading what’s waiting for you—take a breath. Step back. Look at the big picture.

Because in the grand scheme of things? You are pretty insignificant.

And that’s what makes life so damn beautiful.