It’s Okay to Miss Things: Learning to Rest Inside the Journey

“I’m not missing anything meant for me.”
That thought slipped in quietly as I looked back on my first night in Alaska — the night I didn’t explore, didn’t wander, didn’t savor a single mountain view. The night I, quite literally, collapsed behind blackout curtains like a fainting goat with frequent flyer miles.

At first, I judged myself for it.
Who flies across the continent, drags 100 pounds of luggage uphill like a sherpa with emotional issues, and then… sleeps through their grand arrival?

Apparently, someone human.
Someone tired.
Someone in a process.

And that, as it turns out, is perfectly okay.

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The Myth of Missing Out

There’s this quiet cultural lie humming underneath our lives:
If you don’t squeeze the juice out of every moment, you are wasting your destiny.

But that night — exhausted, overwhelmed, and fighting for breath under the weight of my “necessary” sweaters — I wasn’t wasting my destiny.

I was recovering from it.

I wasn’t missing out on Alaska.
I was meeting a version of myself I had neglected for years:
the one who needed to stop, breathe, and simply exist without performing.

I wasn’t losing time; I was reclaiming humanity.

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You Are Allowed to Arrive Slowly

Some people hit the ground running when they travel.
I hit the ground napping.
And the older I get, the more I realize how sacred that actually is.

We don’t always arrive in our new environments fully open-eyed and ready.
Sometimes we arrive:

– tired
– scared
– overloaded
– grieving
– hopeful but hesitant
– or carrying the kind of metaphorical (and literal) baggage that takes two hands and a prayer to drag behind us.

And yet…
every version of arrival is legitimate.

You are allowed to arrive quietly.
You are allowed to land and lie down.
You are allowed to need a minute — or a month — before you bloom.

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You’re Never Behind in Your Own Life

For years, I worried that slowing down meant falling behind.
But behind what?
Behind who?

Here’s what I’m learning (slowly, gently, imperfectly):

You cannot be behind in a story that is being written for you and through you.

Your timeline is not late.
Your pace is not wrong.
Your process is not a detour — it is the terrain.

Even when it feels like the world is racing ahead, the truth is this:

Nothing meant for you can leave without you.
What is yours will wait.
And what is meant to unfold will unfold — even if you need a nap first.

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Rest Is Not Missing Out — It’s Preparing Room

My first night in Alaska, I missed the first night of seeing the sun refuse to set over mountains.
I missed the chance to taste something new.
I missed the thrill of arrival.

But I also gained something:

I gained a moment of deep rest that made the following morning brighter.
I gained clarity I wouldn’t have found if I forced myself to push through.
I gained compassion for the part of me that still gets overwhelmed by change.

And maybe that’s the real heart of this follow-up lesson:

Rest doesn’t rob your story — it readies it.

Your spirit knows when you need stillness.
Your body knows when you need gentleness.
Your journey knows when you need pause before expansion.

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You Are Not Missing Out. You Are Becoming.

So if you ever find yourself in a new chapter of life — Alaska or otherwise — and you cannot immediately rise to its beauty, please know this:

You’re not broken.
You’re not failing.
You’re not missing out.

You are becoming.
You are adjusting.
You are softening into your next shape.

And all the things that are meant to meet you…
all the beauty, opportunities, connections, and experiences…
will still be there when you’re ready to lift your head and see them.

You don’t have to sprint into your new life.
You can walk.
You can rest.
You can take the long way around.

Because nothing meant for you is ever in a hurry to leave you.