One of my most profound moments while traveling, and one I love sharing with fellow travelers who ask, was also a moment that redefined my perspective on the abundant beauty in the world—a moment that shifted my sense of adventure and opened up the possibilities.

When I was about eight years old, my brother and I would spend many evenings playing video games. As adventure is often confined to the vicinity of the home for most eight-year-olds, we would imagine ourselves going on great adventures that we found in our games. One particular evening, we were completely transfixed and lost in a world where we were guiding Mickey Mouse through all parts of the world to rescue his dog Pluto. After a few hours, we had gone far enough that we made to the “ice’ level” (as many video games of the era were known to have). While playing the game, I became less focused on what I was doing in the game and more fixated on what was happening in the environment on screen. I remember the background on this level had what looked to me at the time like green glowing curtains floating in the sky. I asked my brother about it, and he explained it was the Northern Lights and that it was a real phenomenon that actually existed at some far-off corner of the world. I was practically in shock that this existed in real life. There couldn’t be any possible way that something this beautiful and impressive actually existed outside of a video game. I thought that only great adventurers and explorers would ever be so lucky to see something so beautiful in reality.

As the years went on, I played less and less video games, and developed more and more interest in the wonders of the world. I became enamored with the Northern Lights, the Aurora Borealis. I would spend countless hours gazing pictures in books and learning about the science, causes, and legends of the lights. I grew increasingly more inspired and anxious to hopefully see them myself someday. One of the Norse myths I read about said that the Northern Lights were believed to be reflections from armor and spears of warriors coming to battle. As a kid, this kind of legend only filled me with even more romance and adventure. Over the years, I learned more about the actual science behind the cause of the Aurora Borealis—solar winds interacting with the Earth’s magnetosphere—and rather than demystify nature’s greatest show, it only interested me even more. As I grew older, I decided that I needed to stop just dreaming about seeing them and, when I created my bucket list in my early twenties, I wrote “Finally see the Northern Lights” in the number one spot.

As I went through my twenties, I was fortunate enough to have crossed a lot of items off my list, but “Finally see the Northern Lights” always seemed to remain unchecked. I kept ultimately talking myself out of it every time I reviewed my list, because the Lights are known to be elusive and it can’t ever be guaranteed you will see them even if you do make the trip. It tends to come with a lot of luck or even more persistence for most of those that do see them, and it would take a large investment on my part just to try even once. It wasn’t until I was coming on my 30th birthday that I decided that I could keep dreaming about it or finally just go for it and try my luck to finally give it a shot. Much like booking my trip to Japan, I booked a flight to Iceland in a time of year when the Auroras are most prevalent to finally try to check off my number one bucket list item.

I arrived in Reykjavik, Iceland, a name that roughly translates to Bay of Smoke or Smoke Cove, on a cold December day, or at least the clock said it was day. As I landed, I noticed that the entire sky was painted pitch black, as it would remain for 20 hours a day at that time of year. From what I could see through the darkness, the landscape was completely covered in ice and snow, wrapping over beautiful, untouched landscapes. Once I exited the airport and stepped foot in this new country, I felt the cold biting in a way I had never felt before. This was a long way from my sunny Southern California home—or any place I’d ever traveled to before, for that matter. One thing you notice as soon as you take a stroll in this city, besides the incredible natural beauty, is the people’s love of art and, even more so, their heritage and history. I decided instantly as I arrived in my hotel room that I would do nothing in Iceland until I found the Northern Lights. I was on a mission. After a quick power nap to take care of a small amount of jet lag, on my first night, I headed out into the dark, howling winds of the land of fire and ice to a bitterly cold, barren, and snowy beach.

It was the middle of the night in a country far from home, and there I was, standing on desolate beach, with my eyes planted to the sky, searching for the Northern Lights. I waited, gazing skyward for close to three hours, and there was absolutely nothing. The waves were crashing on the beach, the winds were utterly howling, and while I was wearing no less than three layers of jackets and thick thermal shirts, I was practically frozen. I was about ready to give up for the night, even thinking about how it “just wouldn’t be right” if I had seen them my first night. Maybe the challenge will make it all sweeter when I finally do see it, I reasoned. During this thinking, suddenly, a bright green light streaked across the sky directly over my head. At first, I thought I was seeing things, after all it was bitterly cold and I was still partially jet-lagged, but then, in the span of about 30 seconds, the entire sky lit up in bright neon green and started dancing like a Norse god’s curtains over the ocean in the night. Breathtaking, vivid, surreal, and illuminating are the best words I could use to describe this experience, but words ultimately cannot convey what I saw or felt. This show lasted for a full hour. The Auroras were beautifully framed by a massive lighthouse on my left, and an almost full moon out into the sea, like something out of a painting. No—better than a painting. It was the most breathtaking thing I have ever seen. When it all started, I couldn’t speak, nor did I even try. I just stood there, dumbfounded and astonished, feeling as if I was in a dream. I thought I’d seen the beauty of the lights in books and videos, but nothing came close to actually experiencing it. Not only could I believe how incredibly gorgeous they were, but also how alive they made me feel. I had seen hundreds of videos and pictures, but to actually be there in the Arctic snow, freezing cold, on my own personal quest in an opposite corner of the world, was nothing short of life changing. Even the locals described the Lights that night as “epic.” I took no pictures—I wanted to just be there, completely alive and in the moment, appreciating nature’s incredible beauty right in front of me. I knew the memory would provide itself.

After an hour, the lights began to fade and ultimately disappear into the night sky. On the way back to my hotel, I reflected over the whole experience. After only five minutes heading back to my hotel bed, it all had already felt like some sort of vague dream that was difficult to fully grasp. As a child, I had mused that I would have to become a great explorer or adventurer to ever be “lucky” enough to see one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, especially something as breathtaking as the Aurora Borealis, but here I was, only 20 years later, finally fulfilling that dream. I smiled, thinking that my eight-year-old self would have been proud of the adventure I had lived and the man that I had become. On the bus back to the hotel, I wrote a small poem in my journal.

“Swim amongst celestial curtains,

Hidden beyond the edge of the world.

The Earth has wisdom for those that seek it.

From wonder to wander, it speaks to the soul.”

I closed my journal, smiled, and decided to celebrate in town with a beer… 

My bartender’s name was Aurora.

Next Chapter: Chapter 7.2: The Discovery of Self