You don't go to the ocean to feel small.
You go to the ocean because it's the only thing big enough to hold what's been trying to tear you open from the inside. You don't climb mountains for transcendence. You scale mountains because they're the only things with the nerve to remind you that you're mortal. One wrong move and they will erase you clean. You're not chasing danger. You're chasing perspective. You're chasing something big enough, ancient enough, indifferent enough to dwarf the pressure that lives in your chest. You run to the ocean because it's one of the few things left on this earth that can scream louder than your mind. You flee to the mountain because its spine reaches higher than the panic ever could. You run to power because you need something that can take the weight of your grief without collapsing under it. You seek what can destroy you because they're the only things you don't have to protect.