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aruanMother Earth is an entirely accurate phrase. That we're only occasionally called to notice the oxygen we breathe to keep our brain alive, the water we drink to facilitate the chemical reactions that keep our bodies functioning are testaments to our resilient, nurturing planet. Look at our moon, at Venus and Mars - the margin of error on which our existence hinges is so small, it's less likely that we're actually real than if this actually were the construct of someone else's sleeping subconscious.
Space shuttles are inherently fascinating objects, whether or not one has any personal vested interest in the space program. A little human ingenuity and a whole lotta rocket fuel, and this enormous hunk of metal can effortlessly shake off the bonds of gravity to soar into the void of space.
How miraculously absurd that already sounds, no?
However, we've also come to take for granted that, as with all things inevitably and inextricably bound to our Earth, space shuttles go up then come back down again. We neglect that it is precisely the beat of butterfly wings on the other side of the world that scraps liftoffs; that it is a single stray screw on the launchpad that holds up a schedule already thrice-delayed; that it is on the most seemingly insignificant detail that everything hinges because the only thing certain as you're descending into the Earth's atmosphere at 16,000 miles per hour is the absoluteness of every move you make, every scenario you have to negotiate.
Like a certain other someone, becoming an astronaut has always been a dream of mine. But the hardworking, dedicated and incredibly brave crew of the space shuttle Columbia actually made it happen, not foremost for themselves but to pioneer mankind's push into a new world where the horizon is marked by the rising of the earth and your hearth is the only warmth despite being surrounded by the light of the cosmos. They were part of something purely out of the latest in the science fiction section until not so long ago. They were pilgrims on a new sort of Mayflower, taking part in forging a new hope, nurturing a beautiful, seemingly impossible dream. But this dream isn't as ephemeral as brainwaves, easily dissipated by blinking into the morning sunlight. These men and women each realized the grave truth of the hostility that this new world poses, the serious risk of entering a place never meant for their frail bodies. In Commander Rick Husband's own words of the Challenger tragedy sixteen years ago, "they gave their lives for their country and for all mankind." That they nonetheless signed their lives on the dotted line of the greater good of progress is intensely courageous and worthy of the highest honors we can bestow.
Upon hearing the tragic news, my thoughts went from shock at the event to fear of foul play to mourning for the victims and their families to Lance, and what he must be feeling right now about this reminder that even when everything is as accounted for as possible, we are all only human in the end, in a world of our own making. First with the Russian rocket explosion, and now this tragic event, nothing he was about to undertake what could be called "pompous" or "self-serving" in light of the motives and roles of the rest of his crew. He would've partaken in experiments, worked alongside the career-crew of specialists to ensure the success of a mission he would've been just as much a part of as them. He then would return to Earth not to hoard the experience to himself, something he hasn't done since his whole bid for the mission slot began. There was the television special that would document his hard work and help kids realize the very real possibility of a dream that so many dismiss as too big, childish and merely a phase in the boundless idealism of youth. There were the news conferences to follow, the educational specials to be filmed and shown in classrooms and homes, inspiring a new generation of engineers, space enthusiasts, visionaries and investors who could feel closer to the miracle of our universe thanks to a boy they loved, an average, ordinary boy, who got the opportunity to touch the sky.
But it isn't as easy as most people dismiss and I think, having gone through all of the technical and practical training, Lance is one of the few people who realizes the facts of just what one undertakes when he/she is appointed for such a task. Taking a ride on a space shuttle isn't as fun and fancy-free as it may seem when we're broadcast images of zero-gravity hijinx once they're in orbit. There are G-forces to be endured, procedures to be followed to the letter, and there's still a substantial amount left to only moderately controllable chance, i.e. the foam insulation issue that seems to have been to blame here. The helpless, stunned faces of a mission control on its feet, watching CNN like the rest of the world because that was the only news coming into their offices attests that even their best wasn't enough to save the souls aboard Columbia. Going up into space isn't just pursuing a dream you've worked to make happen. It's relying on the people in mission control, all the members of the maintenance crew, every engineer involved in designing the mechanisms aboard. It's committing to something bigger than yourself, becoming part of a purpose and as we saw today, and sometimes, unfortunately, at that ultimate price.
This event isn't a "sign" that we should stop, though. It means re-evaluating our methods, surely, perhaps inventing a wholly redesigned vessel to carry its voyagers, but not the abandonment of this frontier entirely. Columbus sailed toward the horizon line without any real guarantee that he wouldn't fall off the edge of the Earth. European explorers swept into the wilds of the American West without really knowing what they'd find in its forests or the mountains they'd have to scale. Marco Polo ventured into the East not with an army but a travel journal. They and the crew of Columbia were all in pursuit of knowledge whose value stood to overshadow their own lives. Yet they went forward, and the world is a better place for their selfless courage.
NASA has cancelled the six remaining shuttle launches it had planned for this coming year. And until we find out what went wrong and can take every measure to assure that no other lives are lost, however noble the pursuit, that's just as well. But no one aboard that shuttle would've wished his/her death to mean the end of the human exploration of space and its possibilities. Not one of them would say that we should turn away from this venture because it's "too dangerous" or "not worth the risk." Space was everything to these people, and the fact that they died doing what they loved shouldn't mean its end as well. It shouldn't mean the end of manned flight, it shouldn't mean the end of the shuttle program, and it shouldn't mean the death of the dream held dear not just by our beloved, ordinary boy, but by a planet of people who dream of the possibilities that lie with living in the new world beyond our stratosphere.
May the brave men and women of the shuttle Columbia rest in peace, knowing that their work and that of those who have yet to come will continue, and that they'll always be remembered as heroes of their time.
Space shuttles are inherently fascinating objects, whether or not one has any personal vested interest in the space program. A little human ingenuity and a whole lotta rocket fuel, and this enormous hunk of metal can effortlessly shake off the bonds of gravity to soar into the void of space.
How miraculously absurd that already sounds, no?
However, we've also come to take for granted that, as with all things inevitably and inextricably bound to our Earth, space shuttles go up then come back down again. We neglect that it is precisely the beat of butterfly wings on the other side of the world that scraps liftoffs; that it is a single stray screw on the launchpad that holds up a schedule already thrice-delayed; that it is on the most seemingly insignificant detail that everything hinges because the only thing certain as you're descending into the Earth's atmosphere at 16,000 miles per hour is the absoluteness of every move you make, every scenario you have to negotiate.
Like a certain other someone, becoming an astronaut has always been a dream of mine. But the hardworking, dedicated and incredibly brave crew of the space shuttle Columbia actually made it happen, not foremost for themselves but to pioneer mankind's push into a new world where the horizon is marked by the rising of the earth and your hearth is the only warmth despite being surrounded by the light of the cosmos. They were part of something purely out of the latest in the science fiction section until not so long ago. They were pilgrims on a new sort of Mayflower, taking part in forging a new hope, nurturing a beautiful, seemingly impossible dream. But this dream isn't as ephemeral as brainwaves, easily dissipated by blinking into the morning sunlight. These men and women each realized the grave truth of the hostility that this new world poses, the serious risk of entering a place never meant for their frail bodies. In Commander Rick Husband's own words of the Challenger tragedy sixteen years ago, "they gave their lives for their country and for all mankind." That they nonetheless signed their lives on the dotted line of the greater good of progress is intensely courageous and worthy of the highest honors we can bestow.
Upon hearing the tragic news, my thoughts went from shock at the event to fear of foul play to mourning for the victims and their families to Lance, and what he must be feeling right now about this reminder that even when everything is as accounted for as possible, we are all only human in the end, in a world of our own making. First with the Russian rocket explosion, and now this tragic event, nothing he was about to undertake what could be called "pompous" or "self-serving" in light of the motives and roles of the rest of his crew. He would've partaken in experiments, worked alongside the career-crew of specialists to ensure the success of a mission he would've been just as much a part of as them. He then would return to Earth not to hoard the experience to himself, something he hasn't done since his whole bid for the mission slot began. There was the television special that would document his hard work and help kids realize the very real possibility of a dream that so many dismiss as too big, childish and merely a phase in the boundless idealism of youth. There were the news conferences to follow, the educational specials to be filmed and shown in classrooms and homes, inspiring a new generation of engineers, space enthusiasts, visionaries and investors who could feel closer to the miracle of our universe thanks to a boy they loved, an average, ordinary boy, who got the opportunity to touch the sky.
But it isn't as easy as most people dismiss and I think, having gone through all of the technical and practical training, Lance is one of the few people who realizes the facts of just what one undertakes when he/she is appointed for such a task. Taking a ride on a space shuttle isn't as fun and fancy-free as it may seem when we're broadcast images of zero-gravity hijinx once they're in orbit. There are G-forces to be endured, procedures to be followed to the letter, and there's still a substantial amount left to only moderately controllable chance, i.e. the foam insulation issue that seems to have been to blame here. The helpless, stunned faces of a mission control on its feet, watching CNN like the rest of the world because that was the only news coming into their offices attests that even their best wasn't enough to save the souls aboard Columbia. Going up into space isn't just pursuing a dream you've worked to make happen. It's relying on the people in mission control, all the members of the maintenance crew, every engineer involved in designing the mechanisms aboard. It's committing to something bigger than yourself, becoming part of a purpose and as we saw today, and sometimes, unfortunately, at that ultimate price.
This event isn't a "sign" that we should stop, though. It means re-evaluating our methods, surely, perhaps inventing a wholly redesigned vessel to carry its voyagers, but not the abandonment of this frontier entirely. Columbus sailed toward the horizon line without any real guarantee that he wouldn't fall off the edge of the Earth. European explorers swept into the wilds of the American West without really knowing what they'd find in its forests or the mountains they'd have to scale. Marco Polo ventured into the East not with an army but a travel journal. They and the crew of Columbia were all in pursuit of knowledge whose value stood to overshadow their own lives. Yet they went forward, and the world is a better place for their selfless courage.
NASA has cancelled the six remaining shuttle launches it had planned for this coming year. And until we find out what went wrong and can take every measure to assure that no other lives are lost, however noble the pursuit, that's just as well. But no one aboard that shuttle would've wished his/her death to mean the end of the human exploration of space and its possibilities. Not one of them would say that we should turn away from this venture because it's "too dangerous" or "not worth the risk." Space was everything to these people, and the fact that they died doing what they loved shouldn't mean its end as well. It shouldn't mean the end of manned flight, it shouldn't mean the end of the shuttle program, and it shouldn't mean the death of the dream held dear not just by our beloved, ordinary boy, but by a planet of people who dream of the possibilities that lie with living in the new world beyond our stratosphere.
May the brave men and women of the shuttle Columbia rest in peace, knowing that their work and that of those who have yet to come will continue, and that they'll always be remembered as heroes of their time.
