The Gift of Feeling Small in a Big World

When I approach a road trip, I always do it with such enthusiasm and excitement. I have many stops planned with lots to see and do. This trip to the Northwest Territories was no different. I had read many guides and online articles about places to visit and hidden gems worth the detour. I was well prepared for my adventures and ready for the thrill of the holiday. What I was not prepared for was how it would make me feel.

Like most road trips, the first day of this drive was boring. Long, empty roads stretched as far as I could see, and the quiet hum of the tires on pavement lulled me along. It always feels like the journey is less exciting than the destination. This is how I was feeling right up until I hit the 60th parallel. When I hit that border, something inside me changed. My shoulders relaxed with a weight disappearing, and a deep breath of fresh air filled my lungs. "I am home," I thought to myself. I have never been this far North. I have never been to the 60th parallel or the Northwest Territories, and yet somehow I felt like I was home. With the bright air and warm sunshine glowing upon my face, I knew that this adventure was going to be much bigger.

Standing at the top of Alexandra Falls with 350-million-year-old rocks just beneath my feet, I began to realize something. I am small. I am so small, and this world is so big. This waterfall and these rocks are so old. This gorge, carved out over millions of years, is so significant. The intensity at which the water thunders over the falls and crashes into the bottom is so powerful. I am in awe of how such violent waters can create such beauty. As Alexandra Falls makes its way down the gorge, it is met with its counterpart, Louise Falls. An equally stunning masterpiece that nature has carefully painted over millions of years. Those millions of years compared to the 100 that I may live remind me that I am only passing through, a brief visitor in a story far larger than myself.

The waterfalls aren't the only things that shrunk me down to size. When I got to Hay River, nothing could have prepared me for the vast openness of the Great Slave Lake. I have never seen something so incredible, so massive, so stunning. With my feet planted firmly in the sand, I look out to the water, and I feel it again, "I am home". The sheer scale of the Great Slave Lake is something to marvel at. The horizon is endless, stretching further than I can see; it is like an ocean. I feel so small in comparison, so insignificant. I am a grain of sand in this massive body of water. I feel small, but not diminished. I feel grounded, connected, I am one with the earth, the sand, the water. I left a piece of my heart in the lake that day.

When I took a short detour East to the town of Pine Point, I wasn’t sure what to expect, as there is really nothing remaining, or so I thought. What remains aside from the empty roads and blank foundations are the whispers of memories left behind. This once thriving mining town is now a desolate landscape, a blank slate. The wind whistles through the trees and pushes tumbleweeds down the empty streets, dancing with ease over the faint crosswalk painted down the road. Standing there, surrounded by the crumbling traces of a place that once housed thousands, I felt small in the face of all the lives and stories that had come and gone before me.

When I began the long journey of driving around the Great Slave Lake to Yellowknife, again, I was not prepared for the vastness of this territory. From enormous forests to the mighty Mackenzie River, and beyond, the beauty showed itself in everything. The distance between towns became much longer, and the lack of service gave me both a sense of relief and danger. Liberated from constant connection yet acutely aware of how alone I truly was. The more I drove, the more that unease gave way to something deeper. The land itself began to change - rock shelves rose up and frost heaves buckled the road as the geography told stories older than I could comprehend. I was no longer just a traveler passing through, but a small part of this vast, untamed world. My soul is settled. I am at peace with myself and with the world.

Yellowknife is a city that feels worlds away from anything I've known. Even the air feels different, less sticky, and more free. On the other side of the city, the Ingraham Trail stretches a stunning 70km of frost-heaving terrain. The endless lakes, rivers, rock shelves, and breathtaking scenery had my eyes welling with tears. It saddens me that so many people have never, and will never get to experience such a sight. Seeing houses built in what seem to be impossible locations shows the sheer resiliency and determination of the people who live here. I am honoured to have the chance to see their work. When I made it to the end of the Ingraham Trail, I looked out at the shimmering waters and closed my eyes. I imagined what this landscape transforms into in the cold of winter. I imagine the trucks driving on the ice roads, chains clinking together, and snow crunching under massive tires.

The City of Yellowknife is full of so much wonder, so much mystery, and so much peace. When I stood at the top of the Bush Pilot's Monument, I again realized how small I am. This view, this Monument, this place…isn't just big. It is tremendous, incredulous, awe-inspiring. The world spread out below me felt endless, and for a moment, I thought I had reached the peak of what the North could offer. How could anything surpass this?

Then the sky reminded me that wonder has no limits. As evening deepened, I was treated to the poetry of the North - the Northern Lights. While I have seen these lights a dozen times or more back home, this was different; this was bigger. Ribbons of emerald and pink unfurled across the sky, dancing and weaving as if the universe itself was performing. The reflection rippled back on the water, doubling the spectacle, as though the earth and sky were in quiet conversation together. I felt the hum of the world in that moment; an ancient pulse vibrated through the still air. Sitting along the water's edge, I was reminded once more of how fleeting my life is compared to such timeless beauty, and how fortunate I am to bear witness to it all.

The Northwest Territories has a way of shrinking you. Not in a humbling, diminishing way, but in a way that expands your perspective. I have learned to appreciate more of the beauty that surrounds me. To reconnect my soul with nature and ground myself. I often find myself chasing “big” adventures, but rarely do I take the opportunity to reflect on how such experiences shape my sense of self. The Northwest Territories offers a rare chance to experience both grandeur and intimacy - an opportunity to stand before one of the largest lakes in the world, feel dwarfed by plunging waterfalls, and discover the quiet humility that comes with being surrounded by so much beauty. This is the gift of feeling small in a big world.