I grew up in Florida, where the horizon is flat and the air sticks to your skin. Colorado was supposed to be a vacation—mountains, clean air, a break from the swampy sameness. But standing in front of the Rockies, I felt something crack open. Not awe, exactly. More like grief for all the versions of myself that never saw anything bigger than a palm tree. I cried. Not the pretty kind. The kind you hope no one sees, behind your sunglasses, because you realize you’ve spent years thinking small. The mountains didn’t care. They just kept being mountains. I stood there, exposed, and let it happen. #Travel #TravelConfessions #OutOfMyDepth