Rounding the corner, my objective was finally in view.

Giant’s Causeway

For many, many years I’d dreamed of walking along the mammoth basalt columns that jut unevenly into the North Atlantic.

Now my time had come.

It was viciously cold, made worse by the brutal battering of the wayward winter winds.

But neither cold, nor wind, nor the sea spray could keep me from enjoying my time on the rocks.

I’d come too far. Nothing was going to stop me.

Cautiously, I climbed up the first notable gathering of columns. Patiently, I waited my turn for photos, taking photos of others in return.

But here there were too many tourists, so here I would not linger.

I wanted to conquer the longer section of the causeway. I wanted to be by the sea.

I surveyed the expanse of stones before me. It was easy to see how the causeway got its name.

The columns are mostly hexagonal, and so close together that they resemble any of the cobblestone streets so common throughout Europe – but on a much, much larger scale.

Their size gave rise to the belief that only a giant could have built such an enormous walkway. The giant’s name comes down to us through Irish folklore as Finn MacCool, who built it to fight the Scottish giant Benandonner. Some versions of the myth have Finn defeating Benandonner, while others have him deceiving his Scottish foe and causing him to run away in fright.

The truth, of course, is much more astounding.

The columns were formed some 50-60 million years ago as a result of volcanic activity. When the molten lava dried, they cracked, forming the columns. Its geological importance caused it to be named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1986.

As impressive as its credentials are, the real attraction of the causeway is its outstanding beauty. It is the most striking feature of the stunning Antrim coast – wild, untamable, captivatingly beautiful.

People often view me as an adventurous spirit due to my travels, but the truth is I’m rather a cautious soul, prone to pessimism. I looked up at the imposing columns before me, and I wondered if I should turn around and end my visit.

But I hadn’t travelled all this way just to turn around because my visit was “good enough.” I wanted it to be extraordinary. I expected the Giant’s Causeway to be incredible, and even though it already was, I hadn’t quite had enough.

So, plucking up my courage, I carefully picked my way up the columns until the causeway laid out before me.

And then I went further.

The worst was now over and I was more certain of my ability to navigate the uneven, slippery steps, working my way cautiously but confidently towards water’s edge.

Members from the National Trust had warned me to stay away from the completely wet stones at the farthest side of the causeway, so I ventured as closely as I dared, then settled in place.

All I could do was admire the scene before me.

It was cold. It was wet. It was windy.

And it was fantastic.

For once, I was not thinking about anything.

I just sat and existed.

I was simply alive.

And when you take the time to just be, you realize how truly amazing it is to be alive.

Sunset was coming upon us, and it was time to return. The fading light bathed the causeway in a mysterious, golden glow. It also reinforced in me that time is fleeting, and sooner or later we must all be on our way.

As I returned to the bus, I realized I experienced more than I bargained for, even though on the outside it seemed like just another ordinary, uneventful visit.

I’d finally made it to a place I’d imagined all my life.

I’d overcome my trepidations to go as far as I could go.

And I was grateful that, while in this crazy world not all my dreams might come true, in this moment, at the very least, one did.

There are giants here – at the causeway, and in the world beyond.

Giant dreams.

Giant possibilities.

And the most giant of them all – fulfillment.