In the Ocean of Creation
An astronaut on what he saw from the edge of the International Space Station, and why it is his responsibility to describe it.
WHAT A CRAZY TIME we are living in right now. For the better part of the past four months, many of us have been cloistered in our homes, fearful of what venturing out into the public might do to our health. We listen to the experts, the scientists who know how we can minimize the risk to ourselves, our family, and our friends. For me, it has been an opportunity to slow down, take a more relaxed pace, and contemplate my place in this ever-changing world.
One of the fortunate things that comes from being an astronaut, a former one at that, is having memories emblazoned into your mind from a unique vantage point: seeing the beauty of the earth unfold before my eyes as we passed across its surface, five miles every second, ninety minutes to circle the globe from approximately 250 miles above the earth. The sights were so breathtaking it is difficult to put into words, but that is my responsibility.
Early on in my NASA career I was fortunate, to listen to the perspectives of other astronauts who had gone before me. One speaker was a shuttle astronaut named Steve Smith. He came into our classroom and wrote a very large number on the board. He said, we estimate nearly 108 billion people have lived on the surface of the Earth. Then he wrote a much smaller number. As of today, 566 people have had the privilege of flying in space. Steve reminded us how fortunate we were to do something so very few people in the history of the human race have ever done and that it was our responsibility to share that experience with others. It is my hope that by offering our perspective, as flown astronauts, we can help to paint a vivid picture of just how remarkable our planet is and how important it is to protect it.
Before I flew, one of my mentors, Jerry Ross, a seven-time shuttle astronaut and spacewalker, encouraged me to stop at some point in my spacewalk and sear the image I was seeing into my mind. Not to take a picture but hold it in my memory for the rest of my life. He said it would be far more beautiful that any picture could ever recreate. So, I did just that, hanging on the edge of the International Space Station, holding on by a thumb and a forefinger, my feet dangling 250 miles about the earth. I turned and looked out over the limb of the earth, beyond the visibly green layer of our atmosphere and out into the vastness of the universe.
It’s what I didn’t see that filled my mind with awe and inspiration. For the first time in my life there was nothing between me and whatever else was out there. It was a feeling so humbling and yet so powerful. Looking across the edge of our beautiful planet, I took in the contrast of the deep blue of the oceans and the sterling white of the clouds that swirled below me, against the deepest black void you can imagine. My natural thought? How fortunate we are to live on this oasis in the universe. Even more profound was the question of who else or what else was out there. Are we actually alone? Are we the only inhabitants in cosmos? I have never felt more insignificant in all of my life. I was a tiny speck in the ocean of creation, humbled to be provided the opportunity to witness something so profound.
Flying in space has forever changed my perspective of life on this planet. We are all sailors on this cosmic ocean. Our life is not stationary. Even though the pandemic has caused us to focus our vision inward, the day will soon come when we can venture forth with more purpose and enthusiasm about what lies outside of our home, our safe harbor. This well-known quote seems to say it best: “Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than those you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from safe harbor. Catch the wind in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”