If someone says they’re “on top of the world” it generally means that everything is going great and they are happy. As it turns out, I found myself contemplating “happiness” as I was, quite literally, on top of the world. 

I had traveled to Scandinavia as part of a work trip which culminated in some vacation time with Glenn in Svalbard, Norway. If you know of Svalbard at all, it is likely because it is the home of the “doomsday vault,” sort of a safety deposit box – buried in the ice of the arctic – of seeds for the world’s crops in case we really F-things up.   

We traveled to the tiny town of Longyearbyen (it sounds kinda like “long-gee-year-ben” with a twangy Norwegian accent when the locals say it), which is the farthest north in the world you can fly on a commercial airline. Temps can drop to -50 °F, the sun doesn’t shine for over 150 days in a row (and in the summer the sun doesn’t set for 130 days in a row). At any moment you could be eaten by a polar bear. It’s quite the place.

I was thinking about happiness in part because I left for my trip while there were several sad and difficult things happening in my work office involving people I care deeply about, and in part because my trip was starting in Finland…the “happiest country on earth” two years running. In fact, all the Scandinavian countries rank at the top of the list of happy places (while the U.S. barely cracks the top twenty and has been getting worse year after year).  

On the surface it seems this shouldn’t be the case. After all, Finland (and the other “happy” Scandinavian countries) pay high taxes, and it is dark and cold much of the year. Yet, after visiting, I’d say I agree that these folks seemed happier than most.

Everywhere I went in both Finland and Norway I experienced a deeper sense of collective comradery, compassion and contentment. I was struck by the seeming comfort with which immigrants and LGBTQ folks navigated public spaces, and the instinctual ease with which complete strangers helped people with baby strollers and disabilities on and off public transit.

Most everyone seemed to be looking out for each other, making space for one another, and treating each other with a heightened level of respect and dignity. There was a visceral focus on quality of life, and not in a materialistic and commercialized way.

So, by the time we got to Svalbard toward the end of our trip I found myself wondering if what I was experiencing in these countries was indeed “happiness” en masse and if so, where did it come from? Socio-economic and political structures aside (which are no doubt a huge factor), I began thinking that maybe it is a bit tied to darkness and cold experienced for much of the year. 

I was particularly intrigued by the guides we met while in Svalbard. They were an interesting blend of typical adventure travel guide (outdoorsy, friendly, well-traveled and well-educated), with a fair bit of ski/surf-bum mixed in (singularly motivated by their quest for living their passion).

Several of the guides live in Svalbard year-round and apparently love surviving (and adventuring) in winter as much as in summer. The extremes seemed to give them a deeper sense of wonder and appreciation for the simple things that give pleasure, such as the return of geese in the spring, or euphoria that follows a proper sauna and a dip in icy waters.  

I began trying to figure out what makes me happy.

I’m one of those people that is always content to some degree. I am flexible, adaptable and typically good with change. My emotions are stable and generally tip toward the happy end of the spectrum. I feel like I have an internal governor that keeps me chugging along at a nice steady emotional state of being without many highs and lows.

I’m not saying this is necessarily a good thing. In fact, I’m certain the reason I don’t experience a lot of “lows” is because I have an unhealthy tendency to avoid conflict and tension, and often repress (by eating) any emotions associated with that. Regardless of the reasons why, I don’t have a lot of “lows,” which in turn means I don’t really experience a lot of “highs.” Or, at least that is my working theory. 

One might imagine it’s like the difference between living in Svalbard and living in San Diego (or any other beach town with year-round perfect weather). The extremes of Svalbard mean that simple pleasures in life become a constant source of awe, while the lack of extremes in San Diego mean those simple pleasures risk becoming an unremarkable part of the everyday fabric of life. The lows might better enable the highs. Conversely, the lack of lows might inhibit the highs – at least, I think that is true for me. 

I had sent a photo of me from our vacation to some friends and almost across the board the response I got back was “you look so happy.” I’m almost always smiling in photos, but in this photo there is an extra gleam in my eye that says there is something more going on. I started to ponder why that was.

A bit of back story…Glenn and I had booked a trip on a three-masted sailing ship for when we’d be in Svalbard. The plan was to set sail on this boat for 5 days, going where the wind would blow us. The boat could only carry a handful of passengers (yay!), and as a passenger you were invited to help hoist the sails and could even climb up the netting into the masts. I was most eager to do that. 

Two days before we arrived in Svalbard, as we were nestled into our room in Oslo (Norway), we got word that there were series of issues with the boat (first engine trouble, then a problem with one of the masts, then bad weather that resulted in the boat having to return to mainland Norway and the captain breaking his arm!) and it wouldn’t be arriving in Longyearbyen in time for us to go on our planned adventure.

The tour company (Basecamp Explorer) offered to refund our money if we decided not to come, or alternatively, to book us a variety of land-based adventures in Svalbard. Although we were quite disappointed, it took no time at all for us to decide any trip to the arctic would prove to be a fun adventure, so we decided to go – boat or no boat.

As luck would have it, the Linden arrived the day before we left for home and we were invited aboard to have dinner with the crew.

After dinner, we set out for a quick tour around the boat. When passing the sail masts on deck the guide asked, “do you want to climb up there?” I think I said “absolutely!!” before he even finished the sentence.

Before you knew it, I was harnessed up and climbing the center mast of the boat in below 30°F weather at 10:30 at night (because the sun is always up!). The most unnerving part was initially climbing up onto the deck railing, above the frigid arctic waters below, without being attached to the rope yet. One wrong step and sploosh!

The photo of me “looking so happy” was taken just as I’d made it back down from the mast and onto the deck again. It was exhilarating and I was filled with such joy.

For those that know me, or read this blog regularly, you’ll know that I often seek out activities that are risky. I do that not because I have some desire to cheat death, but because the adrenaline rush is enough to push my emotions up higher out of my general level of steady-state happy contentment. Essentially, such activities are enough to override that internal emotional cruise-control I always have on.  

Glenn doesn’t seek out adrenaline-laden activities like I do. He too is a happy-go-lucky emotionally steadfast kind of a person. I asked him what makes him happiest. He had an immediate answer. Traveling, and specifically, travel where he gets to know new people and where there is a shared experience. He recalled trips like hiking the Inca Trail or biking through Vietnam as some of his happiest times, not just because of the adventure aspects of the travel (which is what I’m looking for), but because of the group experience with strangers that have the right chemistry to become friends. 

Aside from the dog sledding (Glenn always loves any opportunity to hang out with animals), his favorite part of the Svalbard trip was getting to know Anita (another wayward traveler that was supposed to be on the Linden boat trip with us), and spending the evening chatting up the Linden’s boat crew over coffee and dinner. 

One of the Linden crew members we got to know was Tomas, the boat’s chef. He’s a PhD student in social anthropology and, as it turns out, his dissertation is figuring out what makes people happy! We had a fascinating conversation over dinner on the topic. He was about to head out to do his field research when he got a call asking if he wanted to spend the summer cooking on the Linden. He immediately said yes, in large part because each week he’d have new visitors he could talk to about what makes them happy.

In the end, I think there are different kinds of happiness.

There is the happiness that a country can foster that is tied to the ubiquitous fabric of society such as levels of social support, freedom to make life choices, generosity, health, etc.

There is the happiness that comes from living into your passion, like many of the Svalbard guides and boat captains seemed to be doing.

And there is the heightened level happiness that comes from the unique things that make each of us tick. For me it is a zing of adrenaline that comes from traveling to a far-flung location, or doing an activity that requires a helmet and a liability waiver; For Glenn, it is a good laugh and the chance to tell stories with strangers over a cup of coffee.

Happiness can be elusive for many (especially those battling depression), and it manifests itself in a variety of forms and at multiple levels. I have a new-found appreciation for happiness, including how blessed I am to move through the world with a great deal of easy-to-come-by contentment most days.

I hope that you, too, find yourself “on top of the world” more often than not. It’s a great view!   

Below you’ll find a video and pictures of our adventures in Svalbard’s emergent summer.

Longyearbyen

Isfjord Radio

We took a boat trip to Isfjord Radio which was an important telecommunications station for Svalbard dating back to the 1930s. It was a wind-blown, desolate spot, seemingly on the edge of nowhere.

Barentsburg

We visited Barentsburg, an old Russian coal-mining town of about 450 people that was an interesting contrast of an industrial town (complete with a coal-fired power plant) surrounded by stunning, and fragile, arctic beauty.

Sea Kayaking

Hiking across the tundra

Svalbard Wildlife

Dog Sledding

We spent an afternoon visiting a “trappers cabin” and going dog sledding, which ended up being Glenn’s favorite activity. They had about 100 dogs, all of whom loved attention.

Glaciers and iceburgs

Walruses!!

I fell in love with these curious gentle giants. They were once almost extinct on Svalbard, but now there are between 3,500-4,000 of them because they are protected from hunting. They were all males and seemed desperate to be snuggled up against each other…even though they were often stabbing one another with their tusks. Be sure to watch the video linked above to see these amazing creatures in action.