A few years ago, through my friend Jen Hegarty, my radio show on SiriusXM got to be part of a Nekton mission. My team travelled to join Olly Steeds and crew for a record-setting radio broadcast at the bottom of the Bermuda Triangle.    

The intention was simple: a comedic live show with celebrity guests that would draw attention to urgent environmental concerns – from trawling to acidification. Mark Hamill, Lewis Black, Rod Roddenberry and the late, great David Crosby all pitched in, their voices travelling 1,000 feet below sea level, to our two-man Triton submersible.

We’d planned the show meticulously, with a focus on the science, but nothing could have prepared me for the spiritual experience of seeing this planet in a way I had never imagined. As we descended from the Baseline Explorer, I witnessed the deepest of blues and beheld such beauty – a part of the creation that a kid from New York City is generally not meant to see.   

When we settled on the ocean floor, the darkness, silence and peace were almost overwhelming. As the live show began, I cited many facts, performed our pre-written comedy bits and interviewed our guests as planned, all in the deeply ethereal glow of another submersible’s headlights.

But I hadn’t prepared for the very real cognitive shift of the Innerview. I realised that I was breathing, working, and cracking jokes in the presence of something that has been here for billions of years – and will still be here long after us.

I could barely concentrate on my job, distracted by this humbling awe that also felt like joy, and the wonder of a world that seemed mysterious and new again. My perspective of the world – and our place in it – changed that day, in ways I’m still learning to understand.

I walked away with a dazzling awareness of the importance of Nekton’s work, and a profound gratitude for these compassionate explorers, each of them guided by a love of science and this Earth we share.

This is how this short essay appears in the special Oceanographic publication, The Innerview