Fly Me To The Moon

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
- The Right Stuff by Tom Wolfe: The fantastic work of New Journalism that told the story of Chuck Yeager and the Mercury 7. The Oscar-winning movie is also great.
- A Man On The Moon: The Voyages Of The Apollo Astronauts by Andrew Chaikin: This definitive work on the Apollo mission. It inspired Tom Hanks to produce the mini-series, From The Earth To The Moon, for HBO.
- Jeffrey Kluger of Time Magazine has books on two missions: Apollo 13, which he wrote with Capt. Jim Lovell, the commander of that flight. This inspired the Oscar-winning film by Ron Howard. Kluger’s new book, Apollo 8: The Thrilling Story Of The First Mission To The Moon tells the story of the awe-inspiring first flight to the moon in December 1968.
- Failure Is Not An Option by Gene Krantz: The autobiography of the famous flight director from the Mercury missions through the Apollo missions. Gives a behind-the-scene view of mission control for the success and failures of the space program in the 1960s.
- Hidden Figures: I recently watched this film, and was incredibly impressed by it. We need to tell the untold stories of those overlooked folks — African-Americans and women — who helped us get to orbit and to the moon and back safely while they are still around.
- For All Mankind: A groundbreaking documentary by Al Reinerts, which tells the Apollo story totally through NASA footage and radio transmissions from the missions. An incredible and minimalistic watch.
- The Last Man On The Moon: A documentary about Gene Cernan, the last man to walk on the moon on Apollo 17. Cernan died earlier this year. It’s an unvarnished, unromantic look at his life as an astronaut, full of highs and lows.
- Mission Control: The Unsung Heroes of Apollo: Another great documentary told by the flight controllers who watched the missions through their consoles in Houston.
