I am walking in the open green valley, looking for ways of connecting with this untamed landscape. A hawk flies over, gliding through the warm air all the way to the other side of the mountain. I am tempted to climb to the top of the mountain to see what’s on the other side, to stand tall and to see it all, and most of all, to feel that I am worthy. I stand still with my eyes closed, imagining me flying high and being seen. Isn’t this the meaning of life? To share my gifts and to be seen. I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and continue my way on the narrow trail. Under the sun, tiny orange flowers cluster by the roadside. Something about them slows down my hurried steps—that tiny beauty, so dignified and self-assured. Do they ever agonize over their inadequacy? Do they dream big? Do they still matter if no one notices them? I could’ve easily passed them by. I draw myself closer to them and begin to see the delicate details in each one of them. They are so beautiful! Tears pour into the corners of my eyes as stillness and warmth flow into my chest… That tiny orange color is so vast that it makes the mountain top afar looks small.