Seven Degrees Left of Center

I went to Las Vegas!

Saying it out loud still makes me smile.

I stayed at the Flamingo Hotel & Casino, right in the heart of the Strip. Vegas was always right there. Lights, motion, sound, and people moving with purpose at all hours. Yet having a room to return to gave the whole trip a rhythm. Step out into spectacle. Step back into calm. That balance mattered more than I expected.

One of the first experiences was O by Cirque du Soleil at the Bellagio. I knew it was famous, but fame does not explain what happens on that stage. Water becomes solid ground and then disappears again. Performers fall from impossible heights and vanish beneath the surface as if physics had politely stepped aside. It was graceful, controlled, and astonishingly beautiful. The audience sat quiet, not because it was subdued, but because everyone was afraid to break the spell.

The High Roller offered a completely different kind of awe. Rising above the Strip, the noise fell away and the city revealed itself in full. From that height, Las Vegas felt deliberate and almost elegant. A glowing grid in the desert. I found myself lingering, letting the view settle in, knowing I would not see the city quite the same way again.

The Grand Canyon tour was the longest day and the most profound. The bus ride eased the transition from city to desert, but the helicopter changed everything. Dropping below the rim of the Grand Canyon was a moment that reset my sense of scale. The canyon walls surrounded us, vast and ancient. Then came the boat ride along the Colorado River, quiet and steady, the sound of water echoing off stone that has stood for millions of years. It was not loud awe. It was deep awe.

Walking onto the Grand Canyon Skywalk glass bridge demanded trust. There is no distraction there. Just you, the transparent floor, and the immense space below. It was breathtaking and humbling all at once. The stop at the Hoover Dam carried a different weight. Standing beside it, I felt the power of human determination. Concrete shaped by vision and effort, holding back a river in the middle of the desert. It was impossible not to respect what it represents.

I ended the trip inside the Sphere, watching The Wizard of Oz. Calling it a movie does not quite fit. The story surrounded me, filled my entire field of view, and pulled me straight into a familiar world made new again. When Dorothy stepped into Oz, the color and scale were overwhelming in the best way. It felt nostalgic, immersive, and quietly emotional.

When I finally headed home, I realized how rare this felt. I was not rushed. I was not disappointed. I was genuinely moved. I had seen beauty created by human hands, beauty shaped by nature, and moments where imagination and technology met perfectly. This was a successful trip. I truly enjoyed it. And I know it will stay with me for a long time.