Letter from an Astronaut
Ten.
It is just so typical of modern life that even as an astronaut - as someone in a vocation that you spend your whole life learning to be, training to be, striving to be - you are still finishing your work right up to the very last second of the countdown.
Nine.
The folks on the ground, they don't even know about the enormous amounts of effort that go into making something shoot upwards for 60 seconds. The vast amount of resources. The yearly budget that rivals the yearly budgets of some of America's smaller states. The studious and carefully picked collection of brainpower, vision, and force of will that must ALL come together in perfect combination to make launch day a reality.
Eight.
I know I'm sitting on several thousand metric tons of the most explosive fuel on the planet. But, you know, I'm not really feelin' it. Mostly what I'm feeling is the forty pound suit that I'm locked into, and this isn't even all of it. The backpack - all the machinery that actually keeps you alive and breathing - is the real monster. There's no way any of us could wear that during take-off, though. Not with the gravity jumping several multiples every second.
Seven.
I am full of energy. Not nervous energy but pure adrenaline-fueled excitement. I'm hanging on to this feeling as long as I can. I don't want to be calm or serene or anything like that. Going into space deserves more than mundane reflection. It deserves to be seen and felt and anticipated in all its glory. I am seven years old again.
Six.
It's like shooting a skyscraper into the moon, I've heard people say. An extraordinarily well built skyscraper. Pshooo. Gone.
Five.
All final seals check out and everything is green. Everything that we can reach, anyway. They strap you in as soon as you get on board. We've still got a little over a minute until being sideways does not pose any difficulty.
Four.
This is it. This is my first flight. Not my last. I hope not my last. If it was my last then I could be happy. I could die happy. When the Columbia burned up I felt so mad. Not because of the tragedy or the families or the bullshit bureaucratic red tape that probably made the faulty O-ring possible. But because they got robbed of a happy death. This is insane to even think, I know. But if they had blown apart while heading upwards, then it wouldn't have been so bad. Not on the return trip. Anything but that. Isn't it enough you're being kicked out of the heavens?
Three.
I'm not technically an astronaut, you know. Not until I've flown 50 miles above the Earth. There's a rule that NASA's got. A classification. Anything below 50 miles is just another eccentric billionaire. In a way it seems like a generous place to put the line. The planet's atmosphere doesn't really start ending until the 60 mile mark. When I learned that number I was so astounded. Really? Only 60 miles thick? You could drive your car to the edge of space and be there in an hour.
Two.
I don't want to think of that David Bowie song. I don't want to think of that David Bowie song. I don't want to think of that David Bowie song. ERGH. Too late.
One.
It's starting to shake. Oh shit.
I want you to think of the room around you shaking. The entire thing. Just shaking and shaking back and forth, as if the very earth itself is becoming unhinged. The clattering and shrieking and the rumble...the rumbling that's so thick and so enormous that surely it will soon destroy you.
Then I want you to keep imagining that getting fiercer and fiercer, well past the point in your imagination where you usually stop imagining this sort of terror. I want the world to wobble uncontrollably in your mind and yet still somehow stay intact. Then you will begin to have an inkling of what is happening right now.
Only in nightmares have I seen the clouds rush at me this fast. And I have never EVER come as close as I just did to actually shitting myself. We have left the ground. Been unseated from the earthly plane. We have left the GROUND and we're not coming BACK.
Surely I would shake right out of my skin if there wasn't a giant invisible hand squeezing my entire body. They teach you how to deal with gravity stress, both sudden and gradual, but you never really get used to this kind of pain. This must have been what it was like to have been born. It's marvelous. I can see why humans do it all the time.
The blue is starting to fade. I can see stars peeking out. It is daytime and I can see the stars. It is transforming from night to day within seconds and I can feel the pressure relenting bit by bit. I can feel the planet reluctantly letting go of me. This must be what death is like. It is also fantastic.
Haha! This is amazing! 48....49....50! Fifty mile mark! I am officially an astronaut! An astronaut! Me! My entire life has led to this moment and I can say with complete joy that it has all been WORTH IT! Hah! I am in space! SPACE, motherfuckers! Fuck yeah! The astronaut is in space!
It is just so typical of modern life that even as an astronaut - as someone in a vocation that you spend your whole life learning to be, training to be, striving to be - you are still finishing your work right up to the very last second of the countdown.
Nine.
The folks on the ground, they don't even know about the enormous amounts of effort that go into making something shoot upwards for 60 seconds. The vast amount of resources. The yearly budget that rivals the yearly budgets of some of America's smaller states. The studious and carefully picked collection of brainpower, vision, and force of will that must ALL come together in perfect combination to make launch day a reality.
Eight.
I know I'm sitting on several thousand metric tons of the most explosive fuel on the planet. But, you know, I'm not really feelin' it. Mostly what I'm feeling is the forty pound suit that I'm locked into, and this isn't even all of it. The backpack - all the machinery that actually keeps you alive and breathing - is the real monster. There's no way any of us could wear that during take-off, though. Not with the gravity jumping several multiples every second.
Seven.
I am full of energy. Not nervous energy but pure adrenaline-fueled excitement. I'm hanging on to this feeling as long as I can. I don't want to be calm or serene or anything like that. Going into space deserves more than mundane reflection. It deserves to be seen and felt and anticipated in all its glory. I am seven years old again.
Six.
It's like shooting a skyscraper into the moon, I've heard people say. An extraordinarily well built skyscraper. Pshooo. Gone.
Five.
All final seals check out and everything is green. Everything that we can reach, anyway. They strap you in as soon as you get on board. We've still got a little over a minute until being sideways does not pose any difficulty.
Four.
This is it. This is my first flight. Not my last. I hope not my last. If it was my last then I could be happy. I could die happy. When the Columbia burned up I felt so mad. Not because of the tragedy or the families or the bullshit bureaucratic red tape that probably made the faulty O-ring possible. But because they got robbed of a happy death. This is insane to even think, I know. But if they had blown apart while heading upwards, then it wouldn't have been so bad. Not on the return trip. Anything but that. Isn't it enough you're being kicked out of the heavens?
Three.
I'm not technically an astronaut, you know. Not until I've flown 50 miles above the Earth. There's a rule that NASA's got. A classification. Anything below 50 miles is just another eccentric billionaire. In a way it seems like a generous place to put the line. The planet's atmosphere doesn't really start ending until the 60 mile mark. When I learned that number I was so astounded. Really? Only 60 miles thick? You could drive your car to the edge of space and be there in an hour.
Two.
I don't want to think of that David Bowie song. I don't want to think of that David Bowie song. I don't want to think of that David Bowie song. ERGH. Too late.
One.
It's starting to shake. Oh shit.
I want you to think of the room around you shaking. The entire thing. Just shaking and shaking back and forth, as if the very earth itself is becoming unhinged. The clattering and shrieking and the rumble...the rumbling that's so thick and so enormous that surely it will soon destroy you.
Then I want you to keep imagining that getting fiercer and fiercer, well past the point in your imagination where you usually stop imagining this sort of terror. I want the world to wobble uncontrollably in your mind and yet still somehow stay intact. Then you will begin to have an inkling of what is happening right now.
Only in nightmares have I seen the clouds rush at me this fast. And I have never EVER come as close as I just did to actually shitting myself. We have left the ground. Been unseated from the earthly plane. We have left the GROUND and we're not coming BACK.
Surely I would shake right out of my skin if there wasn't a giant invisible hand squeezing my entire body. They teach you how to deal with gravity stress, both sudden and gradual, but you never really get used to this kind of pain. This must have been what it was like to have been born. It's marvelous. I can see why humans do it all the time.
The blue is starting to fade. I can see stars peeking out. It is daytime and I can see the stars. It is transforming from night to day within seconds and I can feel the pressure relenting bit by bit. I can feel the planet reluctantly letting go of me. This must be what death is like. It is also fantastic.
Haha! This is amazing! 48....49....50! Fifty mile mark! I am officially an astronaut! An astronaut! Me! My entire life has led to this moment and I can say with complete joy that it has all been WORTH IT! Hah! I am in space! SPACE, motherfuckers! Fuck yeah! The astronaut is in space!
posted by greenland at 12:02 AM
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