What I learned from a $25, 16-hour failed trip to the Arctic Circle

Original Medium Post HERE

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When accepting failure is the path to purpose

A picture of my picture of the midnight sun(set) near Lulea, Sweden. Like many such photos, it doesn’t do justice to the beauty of that evening.

Everything was expensive in Scandinavia. Particularly for a 20-year-old stretching work-study earnings and money my father had secretly given me (correctly worried I’d otherwise run out) over 99 days in Europe.

I was shocked and excited to see a billboard advertising flights anywhere in Sweden for $25 roundtrip. This meant in Stockholm, I could fulfill a dream: going to an airport without knowing my destination, and taking a random flight.

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It was a few days after the summer solstice. A week before, several northern Norwegian girls had described the magic of riding bikes, swimming, running after midnight: enjoying summer when the sun never set.

They reinforced a desire I had had since our sixth grade yearlong science project on the sun and seasons: to cross the Arctic Circle and experience 24-hour sunlight. The country I had focused on as part of that project: Sweden.

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I looked at an airport wall map featuring Swedish destinations. I preferred Lulea, the southern of the two most northern options, over Kiruna; Lulea was on the water.

The map didn’t show the Arctic Circle, but the woman at the airline desk responded affirmatively: Lulea was north of it. I booked a ticket to take off a few hours later.

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I enjoyed my hour and fifteen-minute flight. I couldn’t believe my luck when they served an in-flight lunch far better than the loaves of bread, yogurt and oranges I had been eating to save money.

We arrived around 4 PM. I was excited to have achieved my goal so easily.

As I walked out into the small terminal, I glanced at the wall. There was a map of Sweden — this time with the Arctic Circle included.

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I looked about three times, but the fact didn’t change . . .

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Lulea was unmistakably south of the Arctic Circle. I had not achieved my goal.

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Nevertheless, I was in Lulea for at least this night.

The weather was cool, and I was afraid of Arctic bugs, so I went into the airport bathroom, unrolled my khakis and my green Gap sweatshirt, and changed.

I walked in a direction I thought would lead to town, carrying my big green backpack.

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As I walked, I pondered: should I go to Kiruna and cross the circle? I didn’t know if there was a direct flight or other easy way there. Would I have to return to Stockholm and fly back north?

What about my plans to meet a new European friend in Denmark? Visiting family in Italy before attending my International Conflict Mediation conference in the Netherlands?

But then, what about really seeing the Midnight Sun? I had come so close.

As I walked and thought, my shoulders became increasingly sore from carrying my backpack. I wasn’t seeing many people, and wasn’t sure I was actually walking toward town.

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I reached a bridge overlooking an inlet. I decided to sit down on my backpack and watch the sun’s next act.

The sun was still over the horizon as midnight approached. It seemed to settle more slowly than usual. The sun traveled through a small fan of thin cloud on the horizon on the mostly clear night, and finally set.

Pink, gold, and orange fingers radiated through the thin cloud, all reflected in the water. The colorful display seemed to stretch more widely across the horizon than it does at southern latitudes.

The sky remained light blue. The air was cool and refreshing. It was almost meditative, so peaceful. And . . .

What was pinching my ankles? I realized the ferocious mosquitoes had found their way under my khakis to bite through my tube socks. I had to swat an occasional swarm away from my face.

It never became any darker. Just over an hour later, the sun rose.

As the sun climbed, I was tired and ready to nap.

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I didn’t need to see anything else in Lulea (though I’m sure it’s lovely). I returned to the airport to rest in a chair for free while awaiting the 8 AM return flight to Stockholm.

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I remained disappointed when I looked again at the wall map, but my decision was made. On this summer adventure, crossing the Arctic Circle would have been a great bucket list item, but my purpose: to see as much as possible and connect with people, would be better served by returning south.

I hadn’t reached the land of the Midnight Sun, but I had seen the land of the Midnight Sunset.

When the time is right, I will cross the Arctic Circle.

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When to hold them, when to fold them

This experience, and other times I quit (or postponed), and other times I persisted, taught me about pursuing purpose:

· To answer the question “Should I stay or should I go?” ask which choice furthers your purpose. The difficulty of the task should not be the deciding factor.

· It’s easier to choose your next step when you know the destination. (“When you don’t know where you’re going, any road will take you there.”)

· If you’re unsure of your destination:

o Think about the set of options for your purpose. If you persist or if you quit, what doors will open? What doors will close?

o Look at your track record. Do you persist often? If not, build that skill. If you have persisted too long in the past, practice learning to quit.

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The path to purpose can be winding and indirect. Enjoy the fun, beautiful, winding journey — even if a few mosquitoes nip at your ankles.

Stay joyful, East Boston.

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