“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. The Myth of Missing Out There’s this quiet cultural lie humming underneath…