I know it sounds silly but I’ve always considered Antarctica as the pinnacle of bravery – you have to commit to a week-long cruise, fight seasickness, endure the freezing temperatures, get along with old people… and for what? To say that you went?
Humanity always pulls this kind of “we go to space because we can” b.s. Did y’all not watch 2001: A Space Odyssey? I hope I never meet someone who’s climbed Mount Everest because I just know they’ll be insufferable. Like I bet they’ll find a way to reference Mount Everest with everything: “Oh, you went to Canada this summer? Oh, well, nothing beats the peak of Mount Everest. You should make it out there sometime. You can totally use my tent-share at base camp. Oh, that’s a cool North Face puffer. Kind of reminds me of this jacket I have from a guy on my expedition who ended up getting buried in an avalanche. It’s not stealing if he’s already dead!”
And yet, there is part of me that wants it. Wants it real bad. A part of me wants to see the hunks of ice and run my fingers through a penguin’s fur, and go on guided tours with scientists. A part of me wants to take a boat ride and then steal a snowmobile and stow away on a passing steamer and then make it to the top secret international base camp, but, wait, isn’t this the plot of Where’d You Go, Bernadette?
Fuck! This makes me think I’m easily impressionable. When I was a kid, I’d watch movies and add on new personalities like beads on a string. Big Hero 6 made me want to code, Dr. Doolittle made me want to talk to animals and Molly’s Game made me want to be a Russian mobster with a crippling poker addiction. So I’m definitely easily impressionable and probably wouldn’t even have this strange urge to go to Antarctica if it weren’t introduced to me by a Hollywood nepo baby (Maria Semple).
There’s another thing, actually. I’m incredibly obsessive. I don’t even think it’s an ADHD thing. I just dislike having unfinished business. I dislike unfinished business so much that if I have ten tabs open on my laptop, at the end of my day, I sit down and comb through each and every one before I let myself sleep. Yeah. That’s right. I John Wick my Google Chrome experience.
The truth is, I think that my obsession with things comes from a deep-rooted fear of being bad at them. I can’t stand the idea of being mediocre at something. Yes, I’ve gone to therapy. Yes, I’ve done the DBT workbooks and the little coloring sheets… Your therapist didn’t give those to you? You didn’t get little coloring sheets with Dora on them? That’s so weird. I’ll forward them to you.
Anyway, I know what you’re thinking. How can you be bad at going to Antarctica? It’s a vacation! But that’s where you’re wrong. Because there are many ways you can be bad at going on vacation. You can get food poisoning, be scammed, or choose the hotel room next to the elevator.
So many things can and will go wrong. Things always do. You know how many people die on Everest every year? I don’t ask that because I want to be insensitive. I just mean it seems crazy that we ignore statistics and science to go do stupid things. Actually, I guess it’s not that crazy given our public education system. I bet the most people who die on Everest are Americans. You can connect the dots there.
I heard once about this phenomenon where Chinese tourists who travel to Paris vomit because Paris is nothing like what they built up in their heads. It’s called Paris Syndrome. I guess what I’m really afraid of is that I’ll get to Antarctica, skip out onto the ice, then slip on a banana peel, break my hip, cry, piss my pants, and maybe the air will actually smell awful because penguins fart. That’s the root of the fear. What if there’s such a thing as Antarctica Syndrome and no one talks about it because everyone who goes to Antarctica tends to be super old and they’re not going to live that much longer anyway, so why does it matter that it was disappointing?
Because what happens after you conquer your fears? Is there anything after? Or do you just become Buddha and then reincarnate? I don’t know. I don’t particularly want to be a Buddha. I’d rather die and become worm food and be done with it all.
But it does make me wonder. Maybe there’s a reason that people keep going to Antarctica and Paris. Maybe there’s a reason people have kids and eat spicy ants and watch horror movies. Maybe there’s a reason people climb Mount Everest. Maybe if everything will Murphy’s Law, then it’s actually quite straightforward – the only thing that makes sense is to go to Antarctica and take some anti-nausea pills with you. You get up on your feet, throw away the banana peel, change your pants and breathe because if you don’t breathe you’ll die. You’re not Buddha. You’re human.
2025