Insignificant

I went to Nepal a few days ago to celebrate the New Year. Our itinerary had us watching the sunrise at Sarangkot, Pokhara, on the morning of the 31st. I was talking to our tour managers late that night, you know, life talks. While we were talking, they joked, “Bhai, time pe aaja kal, jaldi nikalna hai.” I laughed and said, “I’m never late when it matters.”

They didn’t believe me but at 3:51 a.m., my eyes opened without an alarm. I took a bath and got ready. I was the first one. By the time we reached Sarangkot, it was 1°C. Strangely, I didn’t feel cold. I didn’t even wear my jacket.

It was pitch dark when we sat down at the viewpoint. As the sky slowly lightened, the Annapurna range began to reveal itself. Not dramatically. Patiently. When the first ray of sun finally touched those mountains, something unexpected happened.

I didn’t feel inspired. I didn’t feel amazed. I didn’t rush to click pictures or record videos like everyone else.

Instead, I felt insignificant.

Those peaks were standing there long before I was born. They will remain long after my name disappears from every memory that currently holds it.

And in that moment, a thought rose almost on its own.

The world was here before you.
It will be here after you.

My life felt unbelievably small on the canvas of the cosmos. My actions. My decisions. My ambitions. Do they really matter?

Maybe a lot of what we call ambition… is insecurity. The fear that our life won’t amount to anything. That we’ll pass through existence without leaving a dent.

So we chase.
We build.
We perform.
We collect proof.

Trying to convince the world and ourselves, that we are not a waste of space, because something in us cannot handle being insignificant. Our mind may understand it but at the same time, it doesn’t.

And yet… despite all that,

Some people really do leave marks.
Some lives genuinely shift other lives.
Some don’t get credit, headlines, or history chapters, but leave this world smiling, knowing they were part of something larger than their own survival.

Standing there, watching ancient mountains receive new light, I realized something quietly true:

We are small and what we do still matters. Not because the world needs to remember us. But because we were here and we participated.

That morning, the mountains didn’t make me feel powerful. They made me feel humble.