Things to Do, the World to See

I stumbled upon one of my greatest travel discoveries here in my own backyard.

You have a week off from work. Where would you like to travel? Maybe you’d like to sink your toes into the sandy white beaches in Tahiti, immerse yourself in Mayan culture in Mexico, or take in the view from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

How about a trip to Utah? Probably not your first, or even second, choice.

It certainly wasn't mine.

A friend of mine was driving to San Francisco from Boston to explore new career opportunities, and I spontaneously decided to go along for the ride. We took to the road with nothing but a map and a few ideas. We’d stop along some major cities and attractions like Chicago and Mount Rushmore, but mostly, we were winging it.

Somewhere between Denver and San Francisco, we needed to make a rest stop. We figured we might as well check out the local attractions while we were in the area and settled on Zion National Park with the help of Google search.

There in between miles upon miles of mountains and desert was one of the most stunning natural wonders I had ever seen.

Canyons, narrow and wide, deep and shallow, carved out the mountains and cliffs that dominated the sky. A gradient of tan, brown, red, and orange blended together to paint the rocky formations while blue coated the skies and the most beautiful shade of emerald saturated the ravines. The texture of the formations was both rugged and smooth as a result of millions of years of weathering and erosion. Every twist, every turn, every path, and every trail lead to a new picturesque combination of canyons, valleys, and cliffs.

Standing among nature’s breathtaking creation not only gave me outstanding views, but also an incredible sense of self.

The vastness of it all suddenly made me astutely aware of how small I felt. Suddenly, all of my problems seemed so insignificant. Everything that once concerned me didn't seem so important.

We are just one layer of sedimentation among millions that formed Zion National Park.

We are so small.