Letter to the Arctic, from the Arctic:

Before seeing sea ice for the first time, the Arctic in my mind was simply an expanse of white. Like you might see it on a globe or map, a flat white, like a sheet of printer paper. In fact, there are infinite textures and shades of white- gray, brown, blue. Subtle, yet distinct. Each day I wake up and look out the window and the landscape is new. Fog hiding and revealing new horizons. Sometimes, shifted slightly like a jigsaw puzzle. Other times, fully transformed by simply the brilliance of a sunny day. 

The Arctic requires taking things one day at a time. On the beautiful days, I am reminded of why I want to be here. On the cold days, the challenging days, the longest days, I remind myself of why we need to be here. What is hard is worth fighting for. In the Arctic I have become myself; a scientist. 

Loving this place is a lesson in impermanence. After months spent exploring the same floe, we get to know each ridge and each melt pond. I’d watched it evolve and change like my own backyard. As our floe disintegrated suddenly and with little warning, I was struck with sadness. I mourned the loss of the places I’d loved, though grateful to have known them. 

My gratitude and guilt are tightly interwoven. I worry that we are not doing enough. That the impact we leave is greater than the strides we make. Each day here is a gift, and an obligation. This is where it all begins, and where it all ends. 

The web of connection to the rest of the globe is large, and yet the strands are thin and delicate. Few are lucky as we are to traverse them. I am grateful to be a small speck on the Arctic’s endless horizon.