On our very first date, my now wife, Debbie, told me that when she turned 60, she was traveling to Antarctica to see a total eclipse of the sun. My first thought was that this was a very Caucasian ambition. Then I thought it was strange she was planning a trip 20 years in advance. I wished her well on her future adventure because I surely was not going to Antarctica, under any circumstances. Later that evening, she revealed that she was 57. I demanded proof, and she proffered her driver’s license, which indicated that she was, indeed, telling the truth. Her unique birthday celebration was closer than I assumed, but it was still not my concern, however lovely our date was.
Three years later, in June 2021, Debbie and I eloped. Because of the pandemic, the big wedding we had been planning would not be possible for the foreseeable future. Instead, our wedding was an impromptu but romantic affair in an office building in Encino, California. Five months later, near midnight on November 27, we were on a flight to Santiago, Chile, to begin a very long journey to the bottom of the world.
is a relatively new experience for me. As a child, I visited Haiti with my parents, who were born there. We took the occasional trip to Canada. And then, I gained a lot of weight for complicated reasons and got it into my head that I couldn’t travel internationally. I was worried about ancient stairs and narrow alleys and judgments I might face. For many years, I didn’t have the confidence to believe I deserved to see the world. And certainly, I could never
