The Land of Fire and Ice

I went to a land so desolate, two-thirds of it is uninhabitable.  A place of contraries. Volcanic rumblings and fire below, frigid ice and snow above. I went to Iceland, and I was at peace there.

There's something about being alone, surrounded by strangers you'll never see again that allowed me to let down my walls and be myself in a way I haven't experienced in some time. Evaluating my actions through my own eyes rather than someone else's perception, making none of the small everyday compromises which chip away at you over time, or forgoing my desires for another's timeline.  It was being selfish in the most selfless, nurturing way a person can be. Over the passing weeks, I've come to recognize this feeling as solitude.

Let's make one thing clear, solitude is not the same as isolation. Isolation is when you cut yourself off from the wold; Solitude is when you open yourself up to it completely, but with no distractions from anybody else. And it. is. transformative.

I spent hours in The Blue Lagoon, positively pickling myself, getting lost in the steam and the perpetual sunset. The fire of the volcanically heated water soothing my body, the crispness of the icy, sulfuric air keeping my mind present. I spent Thanksgiving this year in a vinyl igloo surrounded by evergreen trees, feasting on a picnic of charcuterie, chocolate, and Italian wine, reading a book about Vikings, and rarely have I felt so whole, so alive. Iceland cracked me open, and I've been exploring the fissures ever since.

Such is the power of the land of fire and ice.

To those of you for whom this feels a little TL; DR, I'll break it down for you:

Go to Iceland

Get quiet with yourself.

Be prepared for Magic.