They call Iceland the Land of Fire and Ice. Volcanoes and glaciers. Lava fields and frozen waterfalls. I had heard people say Iceland reminded them of the moon, and I get it. The volcanic expanse is otherworldly, barren in places, stretching to every horizon. But what the moon doesn't have is the green. The chartreuse. The water pouring out of every opening in the rock. Iceland is alive in a way the moon will never be.
And standing there, I realized: fire and ice isn't just geology. It's life. The most spectacular results, the deepest beauty, come from being forged in the fires of trials and intense pressure, or enduring the coldness you experience while searching for your purpose. Fire and ice. Both shape you. Both are necessary.
And speaking of being shaped... Iceland kept showing me hearts.
The Heart That Says STOP
In Akureyri, a town of about 20,000 near the Arctic Circle, the stoplights don't show circles. They show hearts. It started after the 2008 financial crisis when the town wanted to remind people to stay positive. Now it's famous. Tourists come just to photograph the heart-shaped red light glowing against the Icelandic mountains.
I stood there looking at it, and I thought: that's leadership. When everything is falling apart, you find a way to spread love. You make even the command to STOP feel like an act of care.
The Waterfall Where a Leader Chose
From Akureyri, we visited Godafoss, the Waterfall of the Gods. Our guide told us the story. A thousand years ago, Iceland was tearing itself apart. Half the country wanted to stay Norse pagan. Half wanted Christianity. One man was asked to decide for everyone.
So he wrapped himself in animal hides and lay still for three days. Three days! When he emerged, he declared Iceland Christian and threw his Norse god statues into this very waterfall.
I watched the water thunder over the edge, the mist rising, a rainbow glowing in the spray. There's my Irishman Mike, standing right in front of it with that rainbow arcing behind him. And I thought: that's what real leadership looks like. You don't make the hard calls from a place of noise. You go quiet. You listen. You let something greater than yourself speak. Then you act, even when it costs you everything.
The Heart Carved by Time
On Day One, we explored the Snaefellsnes Peninsula, the setting for Jules Verne's Journey to the Center of the Earth. At Arnarstapi, we climbed over volcanic rock to reach the famous sea arches. Moss-covered formations carved by centuries of wind and waves. And there, in the middle of one arch, I found another heart. This one wasn't designed by anyone. The sea made it. Time made it. Mike and I stood inside it, rain jackets on, the North Atlantic crashing below.
Some love is built on purpose. Some love is shaped by endurance.
Framed in Flowers
At Isafjordur, a tiny town in the Westfjords, we found a flower arch right by the harbor. Orange dahlias, burgundy roses, cream and pink blossoms woven into a perfect circle with "Isafjordur" written at the top. It was raining, of course. We were in our rain gear, of course. But we stepped inside that circle and held each other while someone snapped the photo.
Nature carved the rock arch. The town made the flower arch. Both framed us. Both said: this moment matters. Stop and mark it.
The Heart You Almost Miss
It was barely there. A tiny shimmer on the pavement in Seydisfjordur as we disembarked the ship. I would have walked right past it, except the sun decided to emerge on Day Five. And suddenly, there it was: an iridescent heart, glowing purple and blue in the light.
Nobody put it there. Nobody pointed it out. I just happened to look down at the right moment, in the right light.
Sometimes the most beautiful things are small. Hidden. Easy to miss. You just have to be paying attention and catch them at the right moment.
Water Everywhere
Water pours out of every crack in Iceland. Waterfalls cascade down cliffsides like they're no big deal. In Seydisfjordur, we hiked to yet another one, rain falling on us while the falls roared in front of us. Layers of green moss, black volcanic rock, white rushing water. Mike had his hood up. I was grinning like a kid.
You don't come to Iceland for sunshine. You come for THIS. The raw, unpolished, relentless beauty of a land that doesn't care if you're comfortable.
Soaking in the Earth
We soaked in two geothermal lagoons on this trip. Earth Lagoon near Lake Mývatn sits in the volcanic heart of Iceland, mineral-rich water heated by the earth's core. Vök Baths is something else entirely: pools that float on a lake, infinity edges blending into the cold water beyond. You're soaking in warmth while looking out at wilderness.
Icelanders have been doing this for a thousand years. They understand something we forget: rest isn't laziness. Warmth isn't weakness. Sometimes you have to stop moving, let the heat seep into your bones, and just be still.
Above the Clouds
At Mt. Bjólfur, we drove above the cloud line. The fjord below disappeared into white, and we stood on a platform looking down at a sea of mist with snow-capped peaks rising through it.
We were in villages of several hundred people, places where everyone knows everyone, where life moves slowly, where beauty isn't a luxury. It's the landscape you wake up to every day. I needed that. The chance to slow down and unwind. Beauty is something I value, and the chance to just take in the wonderment of this part of the world so nourished me. I love mountains and lakes, and Iceland truly did it for me.
The Essence of Love
One evening, somewhere between Iceland and Scotland, we dressed up and went out on deck. The sky was pink and purple, the sea was calm, and my Irishman stood next to me with his arm around my waist. The ship's life preserver said "Voyager" behind us, but we weren't just voyaging across the ocean. We were voyaging through life together.
All those hearts Iceland showed me? The stoplight, the rock arch, the flower circle, the shimmer on the pavement? They were all pointing to this. The love you build. The love that endures. The love you almost miss if you're not paying attention. This man, this moment, this life we've made together.
That's the essence of love. Not perfect. Not always sunny. Sometimes you're in rain gear holding onto each other. Sometimes you're dressed up watching the sunset. Either way, you're together.
Hearts Everywhere
Iceland showed me hearts everywhere I looked. The stoplight in Akureyri, designed on purpose, glowing for everyone to see. The rock arch at Arnarstapi, carved by time, requiring a climb to reach. The flower circle at Isafjordur, woven by the town, waiting for us to step inside. The iridescent shimmer in Seydisfjordur, hidden until the light caught it just right.
Sometimes love is obvious. You build it, you display it, you make it impossible to miss. Sometimes love takes time. It's shaped by pressure and persistence, and you have to climb to find it. And sometimes love is barely there, a tiny shimmer that only appears when the light is right and you happen to look down.
But all of them require you to STOP. To pay attention. To let yourself be nourished by what's in front of you.
Farewell, Iceland. From Reykjavik to Seydisfjordur, you gave me hearts I wasn't looking for. In stoplights, on pavement, carved into rock, woven into flowers. You showed me waterfalls where gods were abandoned and lagoons where the earth itself heats the water. You reminded me to stop. To look down. To pay attention.
I can't wait to come back again.
— Tracey
