This article is about my internal struggle to find balance between a baseline need for stability, an addiction to the thrill of adventure, and the feeling that nothing is ever quite enough. It was written while sailing away from Greenland after a month-long adventure that pushed the bounds of my comfort zone in a new direction.
I hitchhiked Albania. I cycled Tajikistan. I ski toured the Caucasus. I drove across Siberia. I kite surfed in Oman, scuba dived in Egypt, got stranded in Mongolia, squatted an 1100-year-old fortress in Uzbekistan, drank vodka with a corrupt governor in Kyrgyzstan, roasted marshmallows on a volcano in Iceland, and the list goes on. Finally, at the ripe age of 29, I felt ready to retire from this lifestyle and settle down, start thinking about buying land and having my own garden and livestock, eventually raising a family, building a career, and saving money. Then, a new travel opportunity came up: Greenland.
Photo by Magda Nykiel.
Why am I here?
I never desired to go to Greenland. I never even considered going there. That part of the world was so far off my radar that it never even made my endless bucket list. Why, then, do I find myself inside a tiny floating steel box, crashing through waves and dodging icebergs, subject to a constant flow of strong emotions in myself and the three companions with whom I share an inescapable space? The inexplicable thirst for adventure is what got me here; it is the reason I rejected the comfortable San Francisco lifestyle of my peers, the reason I blazed my own path through life to this point without succumbing to the pressure to conform that my $200,000 university education instilled, the reason I don’t own a house or have a 401k.
While contemplating the relative insignificance of my subjectively overwhelming existence in this vast universe, one of the musings I jotted in my journal was is it dissatisfaction in life that leads me to constantly seek something new? I’m not dissatisfied with my past. Looking back, I’ve achieved almost everything I ever wanted to achieve. Yet, I don’t feel good in every moment. I often feel uncomfortable, anxious, or unsatisfied with the present. In memories of the past, those emotions have faded out, leaving behind only the big picture glow of “wow, I did some cool shit.” In the present moment, on the other hand, emotions are in the foreground, often unrelated to the perceived awesomeness of the current project or lifestyle which will later be inscribed in memory. As we’ve all experienced, emotions are often neither positive nor rational.
Sometimes people work through their negative emotions with therapy, others sit with them and watch them pass in meditation, some succumb to them and experience panic attacks or reactive behaviors, and yet others run away from them and attempt to cover their tracks with material purchases or new experiences. As a traveler, I often find myself in the latter category, seeking somewhere new at the first hint of dissatisfaction with where I am, seeking new company at the first sign of intolerance of my companions. It’s an endless chase of the greener grass on the other side, the grass which wilts as quickly as I approach it, only to reveal a greener patch just a bit further. Redirecting this tendency has been a major focus of my Greenland experience—a trip that turned out to be more of a meditation retreat than an outward adventure for me.
Insatiable wanderlust isn’t only an escape from uncomfortable emotions, though. That’s just one piece of the cake. It’s an addiction. Even when I feel great and everything seems wonderful, there’s always a little devil on my shoulder saying “well, here is nice, but maybe around the corner is even more exciting!” There’s an adrenaline rush in discovering something new for yourself. Additionally—less relevant on expeditions into the wilderness, but in general—there’s a massively liberating feeling in the act of meeting new people, making new impressions, and showing up in a place as an anonymous figure with a history built of “cool” experiences and no apparent faults. As I gain experience with different types of adventures, my comfort zone expands, forcing me further and further in order to experience the high which exists only on the edge of the comfort zone. Sailing…the Arctic…polar bears…icebergs…these are all things unknown to me, and there lies a huge thrill in discovering the unknown. That’s why I’m here, writing this article from a sailboat in the Arctic Ocean.
Photo by Magda Nykiel.
How do I feel in the moment?
Before the trip, I made an active effort to do no research. I didn’t learn about sailing, I didn’t read about Greenland, I didn’t search for photos of Scoresby Sound or look at the topography on Google Earth, as I would typically do before a trip. I wanted to go into it with an open and impressionable mind. In the end, navigating ice-infested waters for my first time sailing turned out to be relatively mundane. The emotions and interpersonal relations are what have made the trip extreme.
“Here I am in Greenland. I’m literally watching an iceberg flip over 100m away from me as I write this. Before this trip I had never been on a sailboat. Yet it doesn’t feel so extreme. How could I top this?“
The majority of the trip was characterized by calm waters, low wind, bright clear skies with 20+ hours of sun per day, and lots of icebergs. Icebergs are easy to manage when the water is calm, though, you simply steer around them just as you would find it easy to pass a stopped car on a nicely paved road. Upon arrival, the landscape gave me a feeling of overwhelming excitement and awe. I achieved my desired high, gaping at the way the jagged rocky mountains rose 2000m out of the water, topped by the world’s second-largest ice sheet which spills out into the sea as enormous glaciers calving icebergs the size of city blocks, melting into formations of an exquisiteness which could only be shaped by nature.
The excitement of arriving after a rough crossing and seeing the unrivaled natural beauty of this remote stretch of the globe filled my first days with joy. This, I thought, is why I travel. That enthusiasm didn’t last, though. Two weeks and about 10,000 icebergs later, they had become such a regular part of my daily experience that they no longer felt novel or exciting. I longed for the warm beaches of Georgia, the cuisine, and the friends I had left behind. Only this time, there was no option to hop over to the next place. The landscape, wildlife, and remoteness of Greenland certainly never got boring, but as the initial excitement faded, I settled into a new routine of thoughts: how to live with 4 people in a tiny space with no escape.
Inevitably, throughout the month, each of us felt a full range of emotions from very positive to very negative. Under normal circumstances, we would be free to escape the group and deal with those emotions however we’re used to, but here, we were forced to face them both in ourselves and in each other. I had downloaded about 100 guided meditations before the trip and this was my key to sanity. Mindfulness practice was nothing new to me, but being in an inescapable space with no internet connection gave it a whole new meaning. Thanks to a daily meditation practice, I was able to keep myself positive throughout most of the trip and make the most of the last days spent at a beautiful natural hot spring and making a collosal bonfire from drift wood.
When I felt the necessity to pack up, move on, go somewhere new, I had no option but to recognize the feeling, sit with it, and wait for it to disappear. When I felt annoyed with everybody on the boat, I learned to notice my reactions, did my best to embrace the feeling of annoyance, and practiced letting it pass with as little judgment as possible. Given adequate motivation, this type of environment is very conducive to learning tolerance and forgiveness, as without it you would fall into a black hole of frustration and insecurity. Sure, Greenland lies in a remote corner of the globe, but, for me, the greatest adventure was into the depths of my own human consciousness.
Photo by Magda Nykiel.
What’s next?
I perceive an imminent shift arising in my thirst for adventure. The value of community, long-term relationships, and a sense of home are becoming ever more present in my thoughts. Does that mean an end to traveling? Absolutely not, but it may preclude a shift towards more localized travel and more inward adventure. An adventure into the human mind is driven by the same curiosity as an adventure across foreign borders, the same excitement of discovering something new. As you travel the world, you constantly discover how much more there is on this planet than you ever imagined, there’s always another place to go that you never heard of, another unexpected encounter. I’m on the brink of this same realization with the inner world. As I delve deeper, I find out how much more extensive it is than I ever imagined, and a portal to this entirely new realm of travel is beginning to open. Cycling Pakistan’s Karakorum Highway and bikepacking through Mexico are certainly still high on my bucket list, but for now, a deeper look into meditation and human consciousness draws me most. But, that’s just my feeling today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring. If there’s one lesson that the endless hunt for adventure has taught me, it’s the imporance of flexibility. Anything is possible.
Photo by Magda Nykiel.
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