I glance through the window, and take in a picture of lights after lights illuminating a black canvas. Each glow I only see for a few moments before I hover over it and take in a completely new picture, more lights, but still a new frame. For every light there is a building or a home and with every structure is tens of people, tens of different lives. And those lives involve tens of different other people and tens of different experiences and hardships and beauty and joy. And here I am, gliding over them as the airplane shines its own blinking lights. I wonder if the people below me think of the hundreds of people just on this one plane and the beauty and joy and tens of other experiences that each passenger encompasses. Probably not. It’s easy to think when you’re not soaring over the world that your light is the brightest. All the others are just a mere dim compared to your hardships and joys and experiences and you truly believe that your light is the only one recognizable in the pitch black. But then, it is when you can see an entire city lit up through a small airplane window when you realize, maybe I’m not as significant as I thought. Maybe, just maybe, my life with all my hardships and heartbreaks isn’t the only one in the world.