This year I was offered the opportunity to go to Antarctica, a journey of almost 7,000 miles through the air, on land, and finally on water, to a part of the world that far less than 1 percent of the global population will visit. I marveled at the idea, then immediately started to think of who might be able to go in my place, until my then-girlfriend (now wife) put her hand over my phone to get my attention, looked me in the eye, and said, "You go. Take your sister, and you go." Mind, blown. Me? Resistance thoughts ran wildly through my head and my heart, imagining my family without me, asking my sister to make the same impossible choice: to choose ourselves this time.
If you were to ask me about my career, I'd proudly tell you that I am in service journalism. Being a part of Women's Health means that I am on a team whose goal is to help women see that there are many ways to take care of themselves: through healthy diets; by enjoying the power of their bodies; through restorative practices like rest or creative pursuits; but overall, by refusing to minimize themselves, to take up mental and physical space.
We train our bodies to make them strong and efficient. We pay attention to our mental health to help ourselves feel confident and comfortable and recognize when we are not. So why is it so hard to fit travel into that list, to prioritize experience and perspective over pressing obligations, a fear of the unknown, or expense?
Travel expert Beth Santos defines travel as "challenging your preconceptions, challenging the way you see the world. It is trying something new and getting uncomfortable." This is a form of self-care, explains Santos, who is also the author of Wander Woman and founder of Wanderful, a worldwide network of voices of women in travel. "We learn about ourselves when we are forced to struggle outside of the familiar, and we bring those lessons back home. It makes us better parents, better partners, better people, better leaders."
For me, that struggle is as simple as feeling the physical distance between myself and family grow bigger and bigger. Although my therapist would shudder, it's true that I define myself, in part, by how I provide for and support them emotionally. Needless to say, Antarctica is a very dramatic distance. Forcing myself to be away from them for so long was a big deal.
And then there was fear. For a solid two weeks before booking, my sister and I took very serious, possibly ill-advised, Internet deep dives into what could go wrong. While the ship we were set to sail on, the Viking Polaris, is an expertly staffed, luxurious vessel, we would still be at the mercy of the wind and sea. My sister discovered that the ship had been in a terrible accident in 2022 when a rogue wave hit its side in the Drake Passage (hundreds of miles of tumbling seas and wind); there were injuries, one death, broken windows, and flooded staterooms. It turns out that other Antarctic voyages have had to turn back early for a variety of reasons, and there are social media groups dedicated to tracking the success and drama of it all.
So how, now that we knew more about what could go wrong, did we decide to just go for it anyway? A great deal of credit goes to my sister on that point. Without fail, my big sister will always see the path more clearly than I will. She is the boldest and bravest person, and I didn't want to disappoint her. Plus, accepting the adventure made me feel courageous. We signed the papers.
The first leg of travel was to Buenos Aires, Argentina. On our ride into the city from the airport, we took in facts about the economy and the neighborhoods and were told to expect swarms of mosquitoes appearing in tornado-shaped funnels in the air. We were warned about crime against tourists but also trusted our New Yorker-awareness skills, and we explored until we collapsed into bed and woke to begin the next phase: off to Ushuaia, Patagonia, at the southern tip of South America, to meet the ship.
The landscape was stark and extreme and just the beginning of an experience of a lifetime. The Viking Polaris is beautifully appointed, and we felt both very safe and very fortunate. I made it through the Drake Passage without much trouble, but my sister was laid low by the rocking and the speed. What we found on the other side was a perfect wonderland, a stunning vista of icebergs and blue-black water, clear skies with a horizon punctuated by whale spouts. Incredible.
During our days in Antarctica, we went on every expedition available. We bounced along the surface of the ocean in a Zodiac, far from ship and shore, then drifted silently near an enormous humpback whale that pushed its head above the surface to gaze at us. I went 500 feet under nearly frozen water in a compact submarine to spy rare coral species on the ocean floor (to be clear, I did not feel calm about this at all). We learned that penguins are a much more complex species than you'd believe, and that they smell absolutely horrible (worth it!). I walked among century-old whale bones on a deserted beach, and I've never felt more alive. The experience of coping with and exploring all of this built a new version of strength in me and a renewed sense of how I see myself.
Back at home, there was drama -- anxiety over gymnastic meets and struggles to get people where they needed to go with less of a team in play -- but they made it; it all worked out. Everyone was more than okay, myself included.
For me and my sister, Antarctica was a perspective reset. It is both enormously expansive and entirely delicate. It is also seemingly timeless and exists in a balance that can be easily and unfortunately tipped by visitors.
There are no shopping excursions in Antarctica, there is little to set yourself apart from your fellow explorers, and everyone shares the same general outward appearance behind polarized sunglasses, thermal neck gaiters, and matching expedition coats, pants, and boots.
The seventh continent is sometimes terrible, always honest, often breathtaking in its complexity. You can borrow some of the glory in a photo, but you must leave it behind. Trust me, you'll long for that clean slate, the sights and smells that exist nowhere else, the silence.
I learned to put the camera down on this adventure. I was never going to truly capture any of it anyway, and it was much better to be present. To look at the horizon. To take in how awe-inspiring this planet is. To be in daily conversation with my sister. To pay attention, to notice that there are over 40 nationalities represented in the ship's crew, that the expedition guides and scientists have vast and varied experiences that they are inviting you to share in, that they are born storytellers and the tales they spin are incredible.
For the first time, maybe ever, I allowed myself to be present and to connect with my fellow travelers, who were so very joyous and excited to be there, in that rare and magical place. Because getting there was incredibly intentional for everyone, and they'd worked so very hard for it, in a multitude of ways. Just like me.
The Beauty Of Travel At Any Level
Whether from the discomfort, the experience, or the pure joy, personal growth is the ultimate reward of travel. But you can get it in little bits; it doesn't have to be Antarctica. In fact, travel expert Beth Santos asserts that our travel muscle is a very real thing, and focusing solely on a bucket-list trip can actually work against you, because you aren't familiar with the challenges you might face. It's somewhat like "signing up for a marathon having never practiced or run before," she says. The message: Get out there, begin small, and just start training (er, traveling).