I find a quiet sense of peace in the realization of humankind’s insignificance in the vastness of the cosmos. When I contemplate the unimaginable scale of the universe—billions of galaxies, each containing billions of stars—it becomes clear how small and fleeting our individual lives truly are. And yet, this realization doesn’t fill me with despair. Instead, it releases me from the pressures of perfection, of legacy, of needing everything to make sense.
Our struggles, our triumphs, our anxieties—they are transient, momentary sparks in an unfathomably large and ancient expanse. Recognizing this doesn’t diminish the value of life; it reframes it. It frees me from the illusion of control, reminding me that it’s okay not to have all the answers. In the face of such enormity, I find solace in simplicity: in kindness, in curiosity, in the present moment.
The stars don’t judge, the galaxies don’t care, and that, strangely, is comforting. It makes space for humility and for wonder. It invites me to live not for some grand cosmic purpose, but because existence itself is rare, improbable, and beautiful.