When hearing and reading about the variety, and sheer fantasticality of fauna that used to live on our planet and no longer do, an undeniably sad feeling settles over me — something akin to FOMO, like there was something incredible that’s come and gone, and I've missed out on it. From monster fish that could grow to 30 feet and demolish its armoured prey (Dunkleosteus), giant sailfin mammal-like reptiles (Dimetrodon), and 40-foot serpents (Titanoboa) to more recent mammalian megafauna worthy of the moniker like the giant ground sloth (Megatherium), armadillos that could weigh an estimate 2 tonnes (Glyptodon), and giant apes that could grow to ten feet in height (Gigantopithecus) — and even recently extinct animals, such as the famous dodo or the marsupial answer to the placental wolf; the Thylacine or Tasmanian tiger. As someone who loves to learn about new creatures — seeing them, learning about their anatomy and behaviour for the first time — it seems that I've missed out on an entire world, several worlds, of wonders that are now only preserved in fossils, genes, and written records. The closest thing to witnessing them is through artistic interpretations and recreations. And although I know I won't be able to see, or come face to face with, all the living animals I learn or read about, the fact that I know they're out there right now, on the same planet I'm on — living and breathing, moving and hunting — fills me with an undeniable awe.

Like many children, I was raised on stories and media filled with wonderfully imagined creatures, from monsters of ancient mythologies to Pokémon. I inhaled information on these creatures like there was no tomorrow — information about fictional creatures probably filled a large majority of my little child brain. As I got older and started, inevitably, taking up more of an interest in the real world, I was naturally drawn to the animals of our planet — all the many forms into which they have evolved. The more I learned, the more I heard and read and saw of the creatures that live alongside us today, the more it seemed that I was living in a world just like one of the fictional ones I was obsessed with. Over time, educating myself about obscure animals and their strange characteristics and behaviours, I realized that, if anything, the creatures of our world were stranger and more interesting by far than any monster from Greek mythology, Lord of the Rings, or a Pokémon game.

Out of this realization stems my inspiration for science communication, for letting people know about all the wonderful creatures that exist in our time, on our planet. That walk under the same sun, breathe the same air, and all share a deep ancestral connection with us. Information I've written and shared about obscure and amazing species is often responded to with: "I've never heard of this animal before, how cool!", or something to that effect, and that leaves me with a deeply happy feeling. Because most people go their whole lives with no knowledge of the sheer variety of life that exists in our world, during our time. And maybe some people won't care much, or have no inclination to learn about the creatures of our world — and to each their own. But if there are people out there (and I know there are) with some innate curiosity to learn about the curiosities that live alongside us — even if they don't know it (especially if they don't know it) — I don't know of anything I'd rather do than be able to share what I've learned, and continue to learn every day, with them and hope they can share in the feelings of wonder that learning about wildlife evokes for me.