I had the most defining night of my life. I traveled from Sarasota to watch the sunset on Pine Island and then ventured into the Everglades to watch a rising Milky Way before heading to chase it over the Sanibel Island lighthouse. It was the first time in my life being able to see the Milky Way with the naked eye. The surrounding darkness amplified the stars and the milky appearance. I stood and stared at the sky with more wonder than all the words in the world could describe. I thought about how we live our lives on this planet. We think we matter. We think we are special. We have likes and dislikes and passions and dreams and beliefs yet above all of this, above everything that we think is important, our galaxy rises as we spin around, and overshadows our problems. I was reminded of my pending doom, my incredible insignificance in a sea of dust and water. This didn't scare me. It didn't discourage me. In fact, it changed my life. The day will come when all that will ever be left of me is blowing dust in the wind but the Milky Way will be around for billions of years and somewhere within it, my memory from last night will linger on. No one will know I ever existed, which made last night even more intriguing. My flesh and my bones and three pounds of brain had a chance to stare back at my origin. This galaxy is my home. I'm made from it. It's a photo of just one of 100 billion others. Perhaps someone stared back at me last night. A boy or a girl with a camera, maybe somewhere above the chimney on the right within the milky specks of light, set their camera on a tripod and captured me, buried in a whirlpool of twinkling lights. We would all be better off if we realized that life is just a series of insignificant events made greater only if we choose to stop and appreciate the details, good or bad. The beauty of anything is immensely amplified by distance. A million light years from now, a million years away, your life, though lost in the air, will shine on for all the distant inhabitants to see. The art of insignificance, of a seemingly lonely planet, an unrecognizable heart beat; it's all just a poem written by our galaxy in the night.