Felicity Aston Quotes

Over the last decade my life has been almost exclusively pre-occupied by the desire for adventure, my mind relentlessly buzzing with plans for future journeys. And yet, as soon as my wish to disappear over the horizon into some remote corner of the planet is granted, my mind clings onto all the sentimental details of home and I find that my daydreams of escaping across wide open spaces are replaced not just by precious recollections of moments of affection with a loved one but by fond memories of family gatherings, jokes shared with siblings and time with friends. Expeditions temporarily empty my life of all but the basic concerns of eating, sleeping, travel and staying safe. Like clearing undergrowth from a garden to discover the outline of borders and flowerbeds underneath, reducing life to just the essentials reveals the fundamental structure that underpins the whole. I found that, with life at its most basic and my spirit stretched, what was most dear to me was memories of time spent with those I love. I take this as a clear indication that, above all else, this is what is important in my life. It was a lesson I had been taught before, but a lesson I needed to learn again. It was a lesson I needed to remember.

Antarctica. It was clear to me that the success of my expedition had not depended on physical strength or dramatic acts of bravery but on the fact that at least some progress – however small – had been made every single day. It had not been about glorious heroism but the humblest of qualities, a quality that perhaps we all too often fail to appreciate for its worth – that of perseverance.

Looking back on my expedition I can see that the most valuable lessons and insight resulted from experiences which, at the time, felt like the most miserable lows. I found that the clearest and most poignant recollections were those that had been the most challenging. These were the ‘best’ moments because I saw the ‘best’ of me in them.

I would never have recognised them. I felt a swelling of overwhelming happiness building in my chest. It was a contented, uncomplicated happiness – that particular kind of straightforward pleasure that comes with a blissful stretch, or sinking deliciously into a freshly made bed – and it was a glee that couldn’t be contained. ‘I’m happy,’ I called aloud to the sky. ‘I’m so very, very happy!

On a personal level, one of the main reasons I had wanted to cross Antarctica alone was to find out where my limits lay. If I failed because I had found those limits by being unable to continue for mental or physical reasons I would, at least, be returning home with some kind of answer. To fail because I had run out of time was a failure by logistics and as such, answered nothing. I would be left with the same question I had arrived with and that would be the bitter pill, the true failure. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to repeat this journey and so the question would likely always remain unanswered. This was my one and only opportunity and it would be wasted.

I had seen for myself that it is human relationships that bind us to place, time and purpose, human relationships that make us who we are as individuals and that our contentment, and our happiness, depend on those precious human connections.

I had been afraid to a greater or lesser extent every single day but looking back I understood that fear is not a weakness. It is how we deal with that fear that determines our strength. The knowledge that I was capable of persevering brought with it a gentle self-assurance.

It hadn’t seemed so clear and ordered at the time. In hindsight, I had spent much of my twenties floundering in uncertainty and timidity, not being able to see a way forward and held back by the suspicion that I was making terrible mistakes. If only I could speak to myself back then and give reassurance that I was on the right track, that the decisions I was making would lead me to good places. But no one can tell you the way, you have to find it yourself – and the way is never clear until you step forward.

I believe the two halves of my life can complement each other and work in harmony; expeditions teach me to appreciate the blessings of home; and home reinforces the value of adventures.

It is this curiosity that motivates me to explore where my personal capabilities and limits lie, and which draws me to ever more challenging expeditions. I want to know who I am. Not that I am driven to prove myself a hero. It is in fact the exact opposite. I am driven by the fear that I will find myself lacking, and this fear pushes me to search for reassurance.

Hurt so often stays with us longer and more vividly than praise.

What control do we have if we cannot rely on our own mind?

Fear is not a weakness. It is how we deal with that fear that determines our strength.

It is as vital to celebrate daily successes - even those as marginal as getting out of the tent - as it is to analyse failures; that one small success every day will eventually add up to a greater achievement; that looking back to fully appreciate how far we have come is as essential as looking forward to where we want to be.

It's not that I seek the approval of those who have underestimated me. It is entirely for my own benefit that I want to have tangible proof of what I already know: that they were wrong about me; that I have the potential to be more.