It is easy, when you are young, to believe that what you desire is no less than what you deserve, to assume that if you want something badly enough, it is your God-given right to have it.
There is nothing glamorous or romantic about war. It's mostly about random pointless death and misery.
When I was 23, I climbed this mountain in Alaska called Devil's Thumb alone. It was incredibly dangerous, and I did it because I thought that if I did something that hard and pulled it off, my life was gonna be transformed. And of course, nothing happened. But I get the search for purpose.
Let's not mince words: Everest doesn't attract a whole lot of well-balanced folks. The self-selection process tends to weed out the cautious and the sensible in favor of those who are single-minded and incredibly driven. Which is a big reason the mountain is so dangerous.
Climbing Mount Everest was the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life. I wish I'd never gone. I suffered for years of PTSD and still suffer from what happened. I'm glad I wrote a book about it. But, you know, if I could go back and relive my life, I would never have climbed Everest.
The way to Everest is not a Yellow Brick Road.
You can get a lawyer with two months off or a New York socialite who wants to play at being Lewis and Clark and put them up there, but Everest is still in charge; it can still kick butt.
Happiness means nothing to me. I just want to have meaning and purpose.
Antarctica has this mythic weight. It resides in the collective unconscious of so many people, and it makes this huge impact, just like outer space. It's like going to the moon.
Almost every magazine piece I've ever written, I felt like I haven't done it justice, like it was just a gloss.
The thing that is most beautiful about Antarctica for me is the light. It's like no other light on Earth, because the air is so free of impurities. You get drugged by it, like when you listen to one of your favorite songs. The light there is a mood-enhancing substance.
Short form media is reductionist by nature.
I think part of the appeal of Antarctica is experiencing some sort of power, the forces of the natural world.
How can you not be a feminist if you have a brain in your head? If you're not a feminist, then you're a problem.
I'm intrigued by fanatics - people who are seduced by the promise, or the illusion, of the absolute.
Military investigations are designed not to find anyone guilty.
Antarctica is a very alien environment, and you can't survive here more than minutes if you're not equipped properly and doing the right thing all the time.
I guess I don't try to justify climbing or defend it, because I can't. I see climbing as a compulsion that, at its best, is no worse than many other compulsions - golf or stamp collecting or growing world-record pumpkins.
I'm not even religious, but I get fanaticism. I get the appeal of it.
Military investigations are designed not to find anyone guilty. And you can't investigate up the chain of command, which is a huge impediment.
