Real Loneliness (Antarctica)

I am standing on the bow of the ship, alone. Waves crash beneath me as snowflakes tangle in my eyelashes. White is all around in varying densities, a playground of shades. In places like Antarctica where the colors are few, the eye can see things it wouldn’t if it had distractions. The purity of colors are striking. The whites and blues of this continent and surrounding ocean have nuances that train the eye to see in a new way. It is like I am really seeing things for the first time.

I look at the sea of ice, splayed out before me, tinkling and crackling like a chandelier in an earthquake, popping like Rice Crispies with a stream of fresh milk. I hear the water swirling. All I can see for miles is ice, glaciers, cold rock face and snow. Every so often there is a solitary seal laying on an iceberg, maybe a single penguin, porpoising through the water.

This is real loneliness. I think Antarctica must be the loneliest place on earth, forgotten by the world, at the very end of this continent. The loneliness permeates my bones, seeps in through the space in the cells of my body. It is all encompassing and it is wonderful. I embrace loneliness. After all the solo travel I have done, I see loneliness as a friend. But this is a different kind of loneliness. It is so completely full. Complete and utter full loneliness. Beautiful loneliness. The kind that changes you but you have no idea how it changes you. You just know that somehow you will never be the same again.

I breathe in the air and feel it, frigid and full in my lungs. The snowflakes touch me then glisten away, the warmth of my body defeating them. I can’t stop smiling.