When Artemis 2 launched, I scoffed. Annoyed. Griped about Space Bro Billionaires hijacking NASA and one of the greatest historical achievements unique to America. And while other countries have made it to space and recently, a few groups of Stellar Wealthy have gone to space like a European Tour, WE alone have stood on the surface of the moon. And when I say WE, I mean every single American claims this as birthright. We went to the moon. We took that small step. It was ours, collectively. But I felt and feared that the uber rich had corrupted this collective experience, converting it to a Member Only, VIP access, Golden Ticket thing, robbing the rest of us from the wonder and amazement.
I was wrong.
The four astronauts on Artemis 2 were spectacular scientists, voyagers, pioneers and emissaries. And they did it with exemplary competence and humility. We all knew that what they were doing wasn’t easy or safe or guaranteed, but they did it anyways. The courage to swing around the backside of the moon and have only the bleak, cold, blackness of the void of space. To lose sight of the earth. To truly be away from home and be unsure if you’re gonna make it back. It was spectacular. It grounded me. When they burned through the atmosphere of Earth and landed in the Pacific, the utter miracle of our existence enveloped me.
And facing me, 13 days later, was my own journey. To surrender to anesthesia and an endovascular neurosurgeon who deployed a Pipeline device into my left internal carotid artery, inside my brain, just behind my left eye. I have (had?) an aneurysm. Asymptomatic. Found on a screening MRA of my brain, to “just check” because my sister and grandfather both had subarachnoid hemorrhages. Then, when you find the thing, you have to do something about it. Prevent my own subarachnoid hemorrhage. Eliminate the potential for a catastrophic event. And as days passed, I had a sense of finality. I sound dramatic or blasé, but I did not think I was going to wake up. I considered – briefly – declining the procedure. But living with a pinless grenade inside my skull was untenable. So, I surrendered to the science and the exemplary competence of a neurosurgeon. I wasn’t concerned he would make a mistake. I just thought the aneurysm would rupture, be thin walled. And once that happens, it is not a recoverable position.
Like Artemis 2. They came through the atmosphere and landed. All went according to planning based on science and statistical risk – but it could have gone sideways while the 8 billion inhabitants of Earth watched despite all the tactical precision and planning.
So, I wake up in an elevator to a conversation about the arrival of a mass casualty event. The surgical team had already moved on to their next case. I had cleared the atmosphere and landed. And I was surprised. I hadn’t expected to wake up.
But, the beauty of life – of this brief life of mine – is almost more than I can contain or comprehend. I don’t need to float in space and see Earth from the edge of the moon to understand the marvel and wonder and awesomeness of this life. I see it in the tiny flowers (weeds) in my lawn. I feel it when I drink a glass of cold water. I am enamored with the glory and abundance of this life. And I am so thankful for more time.
