We just spent 8 amazing days exploring the Land of Fire and Ice, and normally one begins a story at the beginning: the first glimpse of Reykjavik, the first waterfall, the first time I said, “Pull over,” because Iceland had once again placed something ridiculously magnificent beside the road.

But that’s not where this story begins.

This one begins at the end. On the flight home. At 34,000 feet. Somewhere over the southern tip of Greenland.

Our flight started under a blanket of clouds, but fortunately for us, they quickly broke apart to reveal blue sky and sunshine. Not long after we reached cruising altitude, I shot a quick glance out the window and what I saw took my breath away. And I wasn’t alone. Gasps of astonishment echoed throughout the cabin as other passengers leaned toward their windows.

We witnessed a world covered in ice and snow. Dramatically beautiful beyond all belief. Pictures don’t do it justice. Ocean blue, deep fjords, jagged mountain peaks towering above glaciers, and the sun highlighting stark contrasts of ice and shadow, even from five miles high.

During the entire passage across Greenland, I could not stop staring out that window. And it taught me something.

Soaring over that incredible icy expanse, I felt true awe. Humility.

You know the usual internal noise we all carry? The running list of doubts, questions, reminders, worries, and wildly unhelpful what-ifs? For a few moments, it went quiet. The overwhelming power of nature seemed to rearrange my place in the world.

That sounds huge, doesn’t it?

It totally was. Somehow, that brief glimpse calmed those inner voices of doubt that have been raging over the life change I’ve chosen. Not going to lie, leaving behind a lucrative day job to pursue a life-long wish to travel and write about the adventure, well, let’s just say I’ve questioned my sanity more than once.

Some would claim it absurd to leave a reliable accounting paycheck for a freelance profession, one that appears to pay mostly in wonder, photographs, and suspiciously high coffee consumption. Maybe they are right. At least in the beginning.

Still, there’s bigger reward in following your heart and I found my courage again at 34,000 feet. Not where I expected to relocate my sanity, but travel is full of surprises.

True, I’ve no idea what writing a travel blog means and only possess a loose idea of where this new path will take me. But that’s not important. I don’t need a highly detailed structure, a mapped direction, deadlines or spreadsheets. My old life and this new one briefly met in that airplane window and somehow that felt reassuring.

Maybe all this season of discovery requires of me is a general direction, a love of travel and nature, a notebook, camera, and the willingness to keep looking out the window.

For a lifelong planner, that feels both terrifying and wildly impractical.

But somewhere over Greenland, it also felt like peace.