Fly Me To The Moon

Ben McNeely
Aug 23, 2017 · 4 min read
The first photo of Earthrise from the moon. Taken aboard Apollo 8, December 1968.

I’ve been looking up a lot lately.

Not to feel big, but to feel small.

When I saw the solar eclipse through the flimsy glasses, I laughed. I laughed out loud and yelled, “Look at that! Look at that!”

For a few minutes, I put away the worries of producing a nightly news and analysis program that would beam across the state.

I put away the worry about what’s going on in Washington, or right down the road in Raleigh.

I put away all the fears and anxieties about my life, what I was doing, where I was going, and all that.

I put all that away for a few minutes, and watched a wonder in the sky. A celestial event that happens every couple of years, but that we barely consider until it comes close to us.

As the eclipse moved closer to totality, the light dimmed and the sky glowed behind a weird Instagram filter. The trees became natural light boxes, with the shadows projecting half-moons on the asphalt.

For a few minutes, America stopped, looked up, and felt small — for the right reason.

It seems like with all the turmoil lately, the future is uncertain. There is a lot of anxiety about everything. Social media only amplifies that anxiety.

But 50 years ago, America — and humanity — went to the moon. For the first time, we saw our little blue marble in the vast void of space.

Everyone wants to be big, to feel important or special. To be powerful. But really, we’re very small. All the wars, all the death, all the corruption and chaos — when viewed from 100,000 miles out in space, is all small.

50 years ago, the Apollo missions weren’t just an American achievement, it was an achievement for all humanity. I’ve been reading and watching documentaries about those flights lately, as a way to cleanse my soul of the horrible news that we’re immersed in, day after day.

Only a handful of men landed and walked on the moon 50 years ago, but we all went with them — including our hopes and dreams, our collective future.

We haven’t been back to the moon since, and we’re working toward going to Mars. But it’s not fast enough. So until then, I’ll keep looking up.

Some people look up and feel small, and that makes them feel bad. I look up and feel small, and smile.

I smile because it means I know I am connected with the rest of the universe, if only but for a brief moment.

For further reading/viewing

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Ben McNeely

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A simple country writer making TV and radio in the state capital. Never mind what you’ve heard: It’s all dirty rumors started by people who know me. #gopack

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