I realized today that it’s already been nearly a month since I returned from Antarctica. Over a month since I stepped off National Geographic’s Explorer ship and back onto land in Ushuaia, Argentina.

I thought many times about what and how to write, but the experience itself seemed too immense, like seeing something big too close up to gain perspective. So I decided to let it sit, or maybe sink in, a bit. And suddenly it’s already a month in the rearview mirror.

To say it was the trip of a lifetime sounds a bit trite, a bit Hallmark-card-esque. And yet, it was just that. A beautiful and special moment in time, shared with (and made possible by) my dear friend Meghan, in honor of her recently passed and much beloved Aunt Patsy. Meghan brought along a photo of Patsy, so she was with us in our little cabin on board and her smile really did seem to infuse the whole trip. Sharing that with Meghan would itself have been enough, honestly.

I had few expectations, and this was on purpose. I wanted to just take the whole thing as it came, for what it was, without needing or wanting anything. And I’m so glad, because really, what could prepare you for the otherworldliness that is the Antarctic peninsula? It felt like we were visiting a different planet, one whose rhythms and rules stood in such stark contrast to the human-controlled realm where we spend most of our lives. Practically no nighttime, the sun setting around 12am and rising again by 2am. Sudden squalls with 80mph winds. The wild currents and waves of the Drake passage. Colonies of penguins blanketing the shore as far as the eye could see. The unsettling reptilian faces and shark teeth of leopard seals lolling on icebergs. No sustained human habitation of any kind - no docks, no ports, even the trails we walked had to be scouted and forged by an advance party.

I felt a strange combination of possibility and powerlessness. As in, amazing things could happen, but they would have nothing to do with humans, how well we planned or how far in advance we thought. The ship’s crew was constantly (and ingeniously) adapting to the conditions as best they could. Some other passengers groused when - several times - a planned outing to shore or on the water was cancelled due to raging weather, but I kind of loved it. It felt exciting to be at the mercy of the elements, to be reminded of our smallness, to be captive to the wildness of it all.

And the ice! Who knew ice could be so varied, so beguiling? Not just whites but a range of blues and greens, so many different shapes and sizes. Some icebergs dwarfed our ship, some were the size of cars. When we had the chance to kayak around some of them, the naturalists warned us time and time again not to venture too close, because of how unexpectedly (and fatally) they could roll over or break off.

It was the first place I’ve been in a long time that didn’t remind me of somewhere else. There’s nothing I could compare it to, except perhaps the Sahara or Namib, which makes sense since Antarctica is in fact a desert climate. Beautiful and varied because of - not in spite of - its desolate brutality.

We deviated significantly from our original course due to blizzards on the topside of the peninsula, which was both thrilling and heartbreaking. Our ship was the only one able to re-route down through channels and around small islands none of the staff onboard had ever explored - because they should have been iced in. The melt allowed permitted our quiet escape, but was also an undeniable rebuke: it was only possible for us to be there because of the climate change we ourselves are causing.

Which perhaps explains why still I’m a little bit under the Antarctic spell a month later, trying to find ways to incorporate climate into my work. Whereas before I wanted to - but felt somewhat tentative about - joining the fight for the planet, it now feels like an imperative.

I do still feel a bit sheepish, caught somewhere between the naively militant climate activist of my youth and the more circumspect “professional” campaigner. But I suppose that is the case in all aspects of work these days. Trying to hold on to the energy and creativity that passion offers while remaining grounded in the reality of the grind. Balancing boldness with humility. A work in progress, like anything else.

In the meantime, if you’ve made it to the end of this post and all you’re thinking is, “where are the photos!?” - I gotcha.

Here are some links for you.