The search for Northern Lights taught me a life lesson!
A Journey Beyond the Aurora and Into Life’s Greatest Lessons!
Six years ago, I found myself on the ultimate bachelorhood adventure with a couple of close friends: a trip to Longyearbyen in Svalbard, the northernmost settlement in the world where you can find yourself sipping coffee while contemplating the very real possibility of a polar bear crashing the party. It was deep winter, with endless nights, and we were on a mission: to witness the elusive northern lights, or as I like to call it, Mother Nature’s way of saying, “Who needs fireworks when you’ve got the cosmos?”
For context, Longyearbyen is one of those places where the “end of the road” isn’t just a metaphor. It’s a town where reindeer roam the streets like they own the place, polar bears outnumber people, and it’s illegal to die (seriously, look it up). The town is isolated, cold, and eerily beautiful — a perfect setting for our five-day expedition. Armed with enthusiasm, way too many layers of clothing, and a questionable amount of Arctic knowledge, we arrived ready to chase the auroras and maybe, just maybe, survive without frostbite.
Day One: Beginner’s Luck?
Our northern lights quest got off to a ridiculously smooth start. Our first night searching for aurora borealis, with a guide leading the way, the skies erupted into a spectacular dance of green lights. We just stood there, jaws dropped, and couldn’t react for the first few seconds. Eventually, cameras came out, and the only thing louder than the shutter clicks were our excited whistles and dance moves, knee deep in snow. It felt like winning the lottery on the first attempt.
After basking in the glory of the northern lights, we retreated to our cozy coal miner’s cabin — a place that feels like you’ve stepped back in time, with creaky wooden floors and the lingering scent of burnt coffee. We celebrated our success, feeling like we’d conquered the Arctic. Little did we know, our next adventure was brewing in the most unexpected of places: the cabin’s communal kitchen.
Day Two: Going Rogue (Not Recommended)
The next evening, high on our success from the previous night and low on common sense, we decided to go aurora hunting on our own. Because clearly, one night of guided experience qualified us as seasoned Arctic explorers. As we were huddled in the kitchen discussing our plans, we were overheard by a few fellow adventurers, including an interesting duo — a mother and daughter who had been coming to Svalbard for five years in search of the perfect aurora. They were clearly much more serious about this than us, but we were thrilled to have them join our ragtag crew.
At 2 a.m., armed with snacks, headlamps, and a sprinkle of misplaced confidence, we ventured beyond the settlement’s end into the darkness. It was the kind of darkness that swallows you whole — where even your own breath seems loud and intrusive. The moon hung low, casting a silvery glow over the snow-covered mountains. It was breathtakingly beautiful, but all I could think about was the tiny chance (okay, maybe not that tiny) of a polar bear ambushing us. But hey, every great adventure comes with a little danger, right?
The Arctic Wake-Up Call
We waited and waited. It seemed like hours had passed. The lights didn’t show, and the freezing cold started getting to us. A few people in our group grumbled in frustration and decided to head back. Even I started to complain, feeling the sting of unmet expectations. Why were we standing here, freezing our toes off, for something we’d already seen the night before?
That’s when the mother, who had been unusually quiet until then, turned to me with the kind of look that only someone who’s been chasing northern lights for years could muster. She said,
Be quiet and look around you. How many people have witnessed what you’re witnessing right now? Appreciate the beauty around you and stop complaining about something you already saw yesterday.
It hit me like a snowball to the face. I paused and actually looked around. The Arctic landscape was glowing under the moonlight. The mountains were wrapped in a ghostly white, the snow glittering as if dusted with diamonds. It was the kind of beauty that makes you feel small, humbled, and in awe of the world. Here we were, in one of the most remote places on Earth, surrounded by untouched wilderness. No Instagram filter could ever do it justice.
In that quiet, cold moment, it dawned on me: I was so busy chasing after something I’d already experienced that I was missing the magic unfolding right before my eyes. It wasn’t just about seeing the northern lights; it was about being fully present in the moment, appreciating the stark, silent beauty around us — polar bear threats and all.
The Lesson: Stop Chasing, Start Living
That night, I learned a life lesson that’s stuck with me ever since. It’s easy to get caught up in chasing moments, achievements, and experiences, always looking for the next big thing. But sometimes, the real magic is in the quiet moments — the ones we overlook because we’re too busy searching for something else. Svalbard taught me to pause, look around, and appreciate the beauty of the here and now. And honestly, that’s a lesson worth traveling to the ends of the Earth for.