Driving in Antarctica reminded me a lot of driving through the Sahara Desert in Chad. The terrain may be antithetical, but the similarities are nevertheless abundant. Both are so inconceivably immeasurable that all perspective is lost to the point that nothing seems far or large. There’s just no way to calculate size or distance because everything is enormous and small at the same time. There are no signs of life in either location, save for the occasional tin drum, or other odd object, which would be mistaken for rubbish anywhere else on earth, which seem to be erratically strewn, but instead serve to mark a path you can’t see. Both rides are bumpy in the same way. The rocky oases are rocky in the same way. Mountains jut from the ground in the same random way, as if thrown from an airplane with no thought as to where they might land. And the land’s utter sameness changes every minute. It’s the ultimate paradox. But more than anything, in both places, you are overcome by the understanding that you live not in a town, or a city, or a state, or even a country, but on a planet. It’s the most incredibly humbling, and surprisingly freeing feeling to at last understand your place in the universe.