For the last year, we’ve been on pause. Our cares and concerns in the outside world have been muted, been rendered distant physically and emotionally. The day to day consists of staid routine and simple plans, of familiar people and few responsibilities.

Expectation followed us here, built up over the beginning, and played out calmly or not at all. The future happened to other people, was worried over by those long away from here. We just kept existing, continuing along at a pace unaccustomed to change.

It was simple, it was comfortable, it was here.

And then the sun started to rise.

Suddenly we find ourselves thrust into the undetermined future, into planning vacations and the next job, into wondering about friends and family soon to be seen again. Our expectations for the season are now measured in progress versus the time left. The great unknown has moved from a vague fog of dream and wonder to storm clouds brewing on the horizon.

It is said that the last couple of months of winter are among the most difficult and trying, that the drama and conflict are knocked up a few notches. I had always assumed that this was due to the effects of the long dark. The suspicion is growing that it is instead to do with our rebirth into the world at large.

To waver too long is to become lost. Now is to relearn decision-making, to plan again after a year-long break and to face our actions over the past year. The waves are rising, the wind is building, and the time to pick a direction and run strong is nigh.

___________

In other words - Heidi has some great bits on the close of the season, and Calee has some shots of the working world outside.

Posted by noblehobo at 02:35 PM | Permalink

Buried somewhere in the recesses, in the dark corners of history past they lay, treasures shrouded in the heavy folds of dark velvet, entwined in scents we both fear and hope for. We savor the edges of the music surrounding them but cannot hold the tune, cannot unwind the wrappings…

The mysteries of the paths we walked before now, the moments of a crossing with another soul, the uncertainty of a parting. Why, always asking why, always wanting the certainty of truth, the view through other eyes, the story as told to us not by us. The deep unknown unfolding to bring us to who we are, to rest at the edges of our souls. Always to taste the myriad mysteries that shape us but never to hold the answer…

We find life in the struggle of ambiguity, in the greys, in the fledgling moments before the clear light of day.

_________

As for the English translation of the above esoteric rant? A random memory of an ex-girlfriend, a bad breakup, and her apology a year later. The apology was bittersweet, though. It offered an acceptance of her actions and confirmation of mine but didn’t reveal the the background behind why she had acted the way she did, only the regret.

The memory is a long time gone but all of us are built in part on stories similar. The acts of another person might define our lives and yet our knowledge of the logic and history behind the actions may never be complete. Unless another is offered to us and we choose to listen, we see the world only through our own perspective.

Posted by noblehobo at 02:26 PM | Permalink

Call me of being a hopeless sentimentalist, a romantic from some other time, and you’ll be in chorus with many others. Read into my writing below as always finding a bright spot and you may not be too far off. Accuse my idealism of being useless, of pandering to a non-existent reality? You’ll find me shaking my head at your point of view. Life, simply, is too short.

There is a benefit to our isolation here. As much we may be frustrated by routine, by the same surroundings and people day after day, we are free of a great many things we are not back home. The media does not relentlessly drone on, circulating its limited voice. The advents of consumerism, torrents of messages promoting materialism, vice, and escape aren’t pounding daily past our ears.

In seeing such familiar surroundings over and over, in building habits of schedule by way of work as much as by nature, in caring for our home as part of our livelihood we escape a great many concerns. We play the game on a level field - all of us necessary in some way for the well-being and smooth running of our community.

So here we sit, isolated and frustrated, bored and steady. That which doesn’t matter doesn’t press us here. That which does, be it good or bad, has the luxury of our full attention.

And in that, our full attention, I find idealism. Our emotions and reactions can come to fruition without worrying about the next meal, a broken car, rent…we are free to understand them, to embrace them without a great deal of the concerns of the real world. We suffer our limits - just ask any one here with a family member back home struggling with a problem or a disease, with anyone back home who has passed away. We suffer our limits but we have great freedom to learn, to understand, to explore. We have incredible opportunities to be open to small changes as events to be noticed, for the rarified aspects of life and memory to be celebrated.

Maybe all we offer in return is a smile or a nod but life here resets the filters, realigns the perspective. I imagine, returning to the world at large, ignoring a great deal of the unnecessary. I imagine noticing a great deal more of what matters.

On the geologic time scale, all of recorded history is no more than the blink of an eye. No sense wasting what little we have to share.

Posted by noblehobo at 07:49 PM | Permalink

Ever fight that late night brain fire? That rant and rumble, idea stumble that can boil out and prevent sleep? My mind won’t stop burning the midnight oil this eve and here I am, an insomniac typing.

Normally (in the real world) I’d haul myself out of bed and get outside. Go for a barefoot walk through the downtown Duluth streets. Feel the warmth of the concrete ebbing from the summer day, the grass struggling to survive in patches between the road and the sidewalk.

My mind would wander through paths and twists and turns I may not have expected while my bike and I fly down the hillsides toward the Lift Bridge, kick as much speed as possible forward on to the end of Park Point. Admire the full moon rising over the lake and crest the sand dunes, smiling as the waves drown out all other sound.

I might write, later, when it’s done. Might write when my mind has paced itself enough to collate thought more carefully. Might just crawl back in to bed and sleep the sleep of ages.

Stir-crazy and cabin-fever are not words that I use to describe life here often. Mostly, when others ask me about them (a favorite question from off-ice folk) I scoff and say we know damn well how to entertain ourselves. Tonight? I’m stir-crazy. Cabin fever is raging some. I’d like to go for that barefoot walk. The scenery, though, just isn’t doing it and, funny thing, it’s cold outside!

I’ve two hallways and two sets of stairs to cycle through, a few rooms to poke my head in to, and that’s it. The same two hallways I’ve walked through for the last ten months. The same two sets of stairs that I’ve climbed. The same covered windows (no light leaks for science projects). The same lockers lining the halls. The same checkerboard patterns, scientifically configured to appeal to the various aspects of the psyche, all appealing to me to tear their appalling colors down.

The station, large as it is for sixty people, is old hat. It’s getting hard to find new nooks and crannies, hard to not want to throw some color on the walls (not without the appropriate CCR and approval, you don’t). Hard not to seek an escape.

_________

They’re there, though. The escapes. The alternative angles. Get done with a rant, stand there huffing and puffing, catching your breath, and you can see them. You can find that spot of comfort. Maybe in the green house, buried in the smell of plants and the dense humidity. Maybe in the high ceiling and cavernous feeling of the dark gym. Maybe in the galley, empty and quiet for a change.

Maybe, just maybe, you find it by bundling up and hauling yourself outside. In staring at the moon, admiring the brightness of it, the length of your shadow, the play of the drifts that have recently formed. In the horizon, lit up like daylight in the moonlight. In the stars and the hint of aurora.

Maybe, just maybe, what you need is always there, waiting. Change your perspective, you just might find it.

Posted by noblehobo at 08:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

You wish there were words to capture it - the fleeting feeling that lay on the edge of love and knowing, that holds for moments in the uncertain, before a leap into the dark. That stirring of life in skin that finds itself near another, the taste of wonder and hope. A lifetime wrapped into a smile. The quickly passing ease of laughter.

You would like to sum it up into a single word, even a simple phrase, but get the idea that it can’t be done. An untranslatable feeling, a German word with no English equivalent; a human emotion that precedes language. Endless hours writing might be spent in an attempt to describe it. You would only be dancing loosely around the truth.

Instead then, of translating, you go back to your room and find music that carries memory. Similar moments from your past rise up in the ebb and flow of the songs you hear. With a knowing and slightly heavy sigh, you lean back and savor what you can. Patience and time, confidence hold you in knowledge of tasting it another day.

Posted by noblehobo at 02:02 PM | Permalink

Fundamentally, I am lazy. I enjoy few things better than a slow, languid morning. Rising to the sun, lounging in bed in the tail of dreams, a slow path to mindfulness with tea and bare feet - the day not beginning so much as sliding very slowly toward the evening. I can take that steaming tea, find a porch, and read for hours, only remembering to be active (like a nocturnal creature) as the sun begins to set.

Two day weekends (or longer) are perfect in this regard. I can have a day of productivity (hiking, biking, building, scheming, socializing, etc.) and a day or more where I take life at the pace I enjoy - slowly and openly. Here, encased in a schedule that offers us one-day weekends, the mix of productivity and laziness get crammed. Neither feels fully completed and the work week starts up with a muddled mind.

Still, I try to find what I can - seek my rest where I need it and my activity where I can find it. I may not be able to find easy mornings in the sun with tea and a book here, but the lights of the greenhouse run a close second.

Posted by noblehobo at 02:28 PM | Permalink

Regarding the previous entry, I had a suggestion show up from a friend today. I’ve been looking at “IT Boot Camps” to gain some of the basic certifications that I need to back up the experiences in IT that I currently have and to gain new knowledge. All told, having the certs would allow me an easier path to job hunting than trying to simply prove my experience on my resume. It would also allow me a way to step back into trailwork and then return to a contract IT position. In some fashion I consider the pursuit of IT certifications such as an MCSA or MCSE* as a career and travel maneuverability option.

Unfortunately, most of the boot camps are quite expensive. IT certifications can set one up for a well-paying career. As a result most of the boot camps are on par with a semester or two at a state college for cost. The suggestion that came in from my friend today was to look outside of the US.

As it turns out there are courses available in India for about half of the price stateside that offer the same certifications. I’m hopelessly intrigued by the idea as it would let me combine the reality of supporting my travel and dreams while expanding them. No sense, if I were to fly to New Delhi, to only spend the class time there when Nepal, China, Mongolia, Southeast Asia, and the stopover in London (or elsewhere in Europe) are nearby.

I’ve no idea yet if I’ll pull it off but a first glance at the program and ticket prices from Minneapolis to India leave me strongly considering it. I compared the cost of trying to get there from New Zealand post-ice and from getting there after Christmas from the states. Turns out it’s actually less expensive to fly out of Minneapolis in January or February than it would be to catch the Asian subcontinent in November or December from New Zealand.

My plans - in other words, for post-ice travel are to stick to New Zealand and Hawaii, focusing on beaches and a slow transition back to the real world from the isolation of my current life. No sense trying to cram in a trip to and through one of the worlds largest, dirtiest, craziest cities after having just spent the last ten months with only sixty people. I like culture shock but I also like my sanity.

Still, it’s fun to dream and the reality of leaving here debt free is becoming very, very empowering.

• MCSA and MCSE stand for Microsoft Certified Systems Administrator and Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer, respectively. One of those and an additional certification focus in security and/or Linux System Administration should leave me a far more marketable IT geek.

Posted by noblehobo at 02:31 PM | Permalink

It’s not uncommon, in my life, to find myself at the beginnings of a career field. I’ve tried a number on for size already, each time moving on after a taste. An expert I’m not but well-rounded? Drop me into something new and I’ll find my pace quickly.

My current gig, as the Systems Administrator for the South Pole Station’s IT network leaves me a bit stymied, however. I’ve a good base for IT work, with a history of computer geeking and Graphic Design under my belt. Our environment here is unique though. With our time zone differences, lack of consistent internet, and limited resources (human and other) I find myself working in an isolated environment on a regular basis.

All of us provide help to each other when we can and there are folks off-continent that we can turn to when it seems the planets align correctly. I’m working without a consistent mentor this time around and doing so has been a learning experience. The breadth and depth of knowledge required to be an expert in the IT field amazes me. There is a constant need for training, experimentation, and active practice to be able to resolve issues in a timely manner. Rare is the day that goes by in which I do not encounter something new needing to be solved and researched, or in which something I only recently taught myself becomes necessary.

In the past, working other technology related positions, I’ve quickly realized that though I pick up on it readily, I don’t always enjoy it. Here, I’ve found a good deal more satisfaction. I credit that, however, on the Pole, on working with such wide variety of (generally) good people under the auspices of supporting scientific research.

So I wonder, lately, if IT will be something that I pursue when I leave here or if for me it is a career anchored to the seasonal work of Antarctica. It matches up to all of the “adult” considerations in my life but can I still feel passionate toward my existence if I pursue it? Can I find that away from here?

Satisfaction in work can come from so many different possibilities be they co-workers, missions and statements, love of the thing that one is actually doing, or a place. It’s hard to tell for me why I’ve moved from career to career so many different times, why I’ve side-slipped from idea to idea. That’s the kick though - it’s the idea that drives me, experimenting with something new.

Here it is the idea of the people I work for and with at the South Pole - the “family” I’m isolated with. In trail work it’s the power of nature and the simple pleasure of solid physical labor. In teaching? The awkward moments of uncertainty - wondering if you’re making any sort of impression or difference, finding out on the rare occasion that you are. In Graphic Design it’s the joy of making art.

All of these ideas still end up balancing with the other parts of life, though. Ideas mix with the reality of making a living and being responsible for self. Dreams mix with the actuality of the market or economic sector you hold in. Trail work and Antarctica offer only contract positions - a constantly changing flux of having to look for the next job. The utter lack of passion I felt for supporting consumerism led me to leave design work and the difficulties of maintaining a relationship left me reconsidering seasonal trail work.

All in all, life continues to maneuver and the reality of financial stability doesn’t disappear. So do I complete my contract, grab some certifications, and hang on to the IT world for a punch? Do I meander back to school to focus on something new? Or do I try for a little bit of everything, keep exploring, keep traveling, keep playing and give a shot toward something that might support my life as is?

I’d say the latter. I’d say that I start working at building a writing career in the same way that I once built a freelance Graphic Design business. Slowly, with interest and passion, mistakes and successes, and a willingness to see where it might lead. Who knows? I could just end up on a bike, writing stories as I go.

Regardless, I’m giving the writing vein a shot. I’m learning how to put together query letters, contacting several different sources offering my services as a writer, and working with a couple of friends already in the field to find a start. It could be a nice side income, it could be a career. In the end, that doesn’t necessarily matter. For now, it’s exploring something new that can run concurrent with the rest of my dreams and with the ideas that drive me.

Posted by noblehobo at 02:28 PM | Permalink

I went for a walk the other night, hoping to catch the Southern Lights in the tailing edge of the dark. There was a hint, the barest spot of light against the black - enough for the Aurora to say hello. The brightness of the stars and the Milky Way though? Potent and mystifying. I sat out as long as I could in the winds and the frigid air, watching the sky through the small space left in the neck gators (two), hats (two), and hood protecting my face.

Turning frequently, I tried to scan the horizons for new stars, for meteors, for the Aurora. I took in what I could and at the end, my eyes fully adjusted, caught a hint of light on the far edge of my view - saw the the very beginnings of the rising sun.

Posted by noblehobo at 01:41 PM | Permalink

Last night I started watching the show “Freaks and Geeks”. While it wasn’t my decade (the show takes place in 1980) it did a damn good job of bringing back the awkward moments of high school and junior high with a hint of humor. It amazes me how much some things have changed and how little have others. Time offers testament as to our true personality, differentiating between action brought on by a place and action brought on by the core of self.

I’m definitely more willing to tear up (or try to) a dance floor with a partner but still find myself hesitant to ask for a hand on occasion. I’ve found more lasting friends and far better understand what loyalty means yet I still seek to stay on the good side of as many in my community as possible. And while I’m a far cry from the star of the show or one of the cool kids I am very happily set to be the man that I am. Maturity and age, over ten years out from those days… Funny how they don’t seem all that far back.

There’s a strong bout of nostalgia floating in my head, a feeling I can almost, but not quite, grasp that contains the better memories of that time. Moments of laughter, sitting with a crush in the catwalk of the theater after a rehearsal; of watching the sunrise from the rooftop of a farmhouse after a party; of the school - silent and empty save our sleep-deprived mayhem at three AM returning from a speech meet; of the bus rides and late-fall afternoons of cross country tournaments… A want to return to the choir room, late at night after a musical, to sit and tell stories and dig up old songs; for the walks home with giant mugs of horrible cappuccino and philosophical discussions under the bridge; for rain-walks; for abandoned-barn dreaming time with my first love; for late nights staring at the stars, laid out with friends on the hoods of our beat up cars; getting kicked out of conferences in Minneapolis; the awkward party moments that lead to truth; the hopeless crushes; blundering dates with my first girlfriend; the great unknown innocence we tested daily; the run of the art department; the feeling of invulnerability paired with abject fear. I never did find complete confidence, never did get rid of the wariness of my peers and the cool kids, but I had a damn good time regardless, learned some lessons, walked with my head high, look back with laughter, and would gladly relive it in a moment.

Basking in memories of the easy days of high school, I decided to tear into some more history - digging into a pile of letters I’ve been intending to respond to. Forgotten to me was the depth of history in the box full of letters - not just correspondence but job applications, notes of past-future dreams, small gifts from good friends, a few pictures, and forgotten memories from the last five years of adventure. So much too, of that adventure…

Old letters are a drink, heavy-laden, prone to remembrance, nostalgia, and the good intentions of unwritten missives. I need not drink any red wine to feel that warm buzz-mix of love, regret, and hope. I only need open a box full of rag tag paper and penned scribbles.

The box (a Chaco sandal box - for my like minded friends) holds the story of the major loves of my life - a touch of each, missed in the packaging up of memories at the end of a relationship. It holds the ebb and flow of friendships, the birth, near-death, and healing of several over time. My family, extended and close, is carried as well, a strong note of the letters I’ve yet to write to my grandparents, my parents, my brother, and my sister.

It’s the same feeling (or very similar) to the nostalgia for high school - wonderment at the life I’ve led thus far, at the bizarre, the amazing, and the painful. The urge to not let it go, the understanding that it has passed, and the shit-eating grin for the sheer, maddening joy of it all.

Posted by noblehobo at 01:19 PM | Permalink

I’m not the only one, it seems, who has caught a morning driving toward a Great Lake where the clouds arc high above the horizon in the morning light. All the low-angle sunlight, breaking behind the cloud bank offers a visually stunning feat. Driving toward the water, you see mountains behind.

Those mornings, driving along Lake Superior, cresting a hill to witness this, those mornings were damn fine. I’m a child of flat horizons and I know the comfort of Superior and the hills of the North Shore. The distant flats where Superior’s waters meet the sky bring a peace to my mind like few other landscapes can. Still, when the sky, the sun, and the clouds conspire to add mountains to the horizon, to crest my lake with a visage of ancient rock? I can’t think of a better magic trick.

In talking with a friend the other day who calls Chicago home, it turns out that Lake Michigan knows the trick too.

With a little luck, when the sun finally slips above our Antarctic flats, we’ll see mountains here too.

Posted by noblehobo at 02:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Trust is an interesting bird - too much too quickly and the sun melts the wax. Feathers languishing behind, you spiral toward the ground.

Tarnish it, once earned, and the resentment stays lasting. No chemical bath, no amount of frenzied scrubbing, no mechanism can release the clustered fear and anxiety. Time and aging may fade the surface around the tarnish, may dim its dark brilliance but the moment remains. Scar tissue - resentment, the brutal remnant of a past not so easily forgotten.

___________________

In other news (and certainly of a brighter sort) we passed an official mark on Friday. At 10 AM the circling sun hit eighteen degrees below the horizon. This marks the official designation between complete darkness and astronomical twilight. Not that we can see anything with the blowing snow at the moment (we’ve some quality sustained winds at thirty-five to forty miles per hour drifting in the station) but if we could, there would be the faintest of faint bits of light on the distant edge of our view.

When the winds clear, I’ll be out to look for the signs of the sun’s return, be out to catch the glow of the Southern Lights while I still can, and look forward to consistent daylight in another month or so.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the dark, the stars, and the quiet cocoon-like feeling they can offer. I’d be happy to keep them a while longer too but the physical and mental effects of the lack of light are beginning to take their toll. As a whole, our memories are failing, out tempers rising, and our patience faltering. We’re fortunate to have a very easy-going crew but the dark wears everyone down somewhat.

That, and it’ll be nice to take the coverings off the windows and to be able to see the horizon from inside again.

Posted by noblehobo at 01:11 PM | Permalink