A few days ago, I wrote about getting to see Artemis 2 astronauts Victor Glover, Christina Koch, and Reid Wiseman at a private event aboard the USS Hornet Sea, Air and Space Museum. Because the event felt "off the record," I didn't report on the occasion or their remarks in any detail.
But Glover said something that stuck with me. He spoke about the profound beauty of watching the Sun eclipsed by the Moon as their spacecraft looped around it, then the wonderment of still being able to see lunar craters, maria and mountains gliding past, lit only by the very dim blue glow of Earthshine--sunlight reflected off the Earth back onto the Moon. You can see Earthshine yourself when the Moon is, say, a crescent, and its shadowed features are faintly visible.
As dazzling as the view was, Glover realized that it wasn't unique or special in any way. It was a show the universe has put on nearly constantly for billions of years. Routine. Commonplace. What was unique and special was that this time, for a few brief minutes, there were humans in the right place to see it. THAT'S what was unique and special: our presence.
I've read and seen a lot of interviews with astronauts but never heard one make that particular point, and I'm not sure if it's deeply profound or simplistically obvious. The fact that I'm still mulling it four days later suggests the former to me.
The universe is putting on spectacular shows all the time--not just in the cosmos but in the oceans, in the skies, in the dirt beneath our feet. Maybe our highest calling in life is to stay open to wonder and notice it.
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