![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Always looking up
Jul. 6th, 2005 11:18 amWith the Discovery launch only a week away, I've been indulging a little in my childhood fascination with NASA and space flight. When I was a kid, astronomy was my thing. I knew the major constellations and in which seasons Mars and Venus would appear the most brilliant. I borrowed my science teacher's telescope one summer and took daily notations of my observations of the moon. And I had a subscription to Air&Space that I devoured with fervor and attention that belied my age. What I remember about that magazine boils down to two things: it always had an advertisement for commemorative mission patches, which I had memorized, but had no money to collect (to my severe disappointment), and an ad for Space Camp.
Ohhhhh, how I longed to go to Space Camp.
Summer after sophomore year of high school, I finally had that opportunity. For my age group, of course, Space Camp was given the far more dignified title of "Advanced Academy." I remember looking over the application form with my mom and feeling like I was applying for college or an important job. I meticulously picked the program I wanted to enroll in, picked the flightsuit I wanted to order, chose my roommate, and paid my mom as much of the tuition as I could afford, which amounted to about half the total cost. (It was a sobering experience. Up until then, I'd been saving all my money to buy a broadsword and fencing foils.)
Advanced Academy was one of the first "important" things I'd ever done on my own. I was in another state, on a compound where I knew exactly two people (Sarah and Rachel Carlton), and I was pursuing a goal that, for all my stargazing, I had never fully articulated to myself. I never really wanted to "be an astronaut." But I wanted to see what it was like, to see if I had what it takes, to at least come away knowing, one way or another, if it was something I'd want to pursue.
After a week of history lessons, engineering exercises, SCUBA safety lectures, four successful missions (we only died twice!), and one unsuccessful - and harrowing - diving experience, I had my answer: it wasn't gonna happen.
Now, don't get me wrong. It was a fantastic experience, and I still want to go back, even after all these years. But being around other people who had studied (I mean really studied - these kids were insane with the factoids) the technical stuff and the history of space exploration showed me that my fascination, for all its importance to me, had really been quite... superficial. I don't mean superficial in the sense that it was silly or shallow. But what I had studied had really only scratched the surface of knowledge that would be essential to anyone seriously looking into becoming an astronaut.
I didn't really notice that at the time, of course (except during history pop quizzes when that one kid would always know the answer, and I'd be like, "Huh? Where's that in the pamphlets?"), but after the whole thing was over, I slowly lost interest in the technical side of space exploration, and instead took to privately waxing poetic about the stars.
I don't regret anything about my childhood obsession or about moving away from it as I grew older, especially considering the Columbia disaster a few years ago. When the news of that mission found its way to me, I remember a distinct feeling of relief. I thought, "Thank God I decided not to work for NASA." I could only imagine the fear and frustration of the astronauts, their families, Mission Control... I was glad I hadn't pinned my future hopes on an organization or career that had to deal with that kind of eventuality.
Seeing the pictures and video of the Discovery flight preparations, though... It rekindles the old spark of interest. I find myself researching weather Mission Commit Criteria, solid rocket fuel cells, thermal shielding technology, vacuum-packaged ice cream... I want to know the politics involved in planning the launch, and I want to know to what extent the future of the space program is riding on its success. I want to submit questions to the panel of specialists that will be discussing the mission in the week leading up to the launch. I WANT A COMMEMORATIVE PIN, DANG IT.
I'm sure it'll pass. But I hope it doesn't fade too quickly. I kind of miss that little kid who scribbled ascension and declination degrees in a dog-eared notebook and practically lived in her flightsuit for weeks after camp was over. It's nice to get reacquainted, if only for a little while.
Ohhhhh, how I longed to go to Space Camp.
Summer after sophomore year of high school, I finally had that opportunity. For my age group, of course, Space Camp was given the far more dignified title of "Advanced Academy." I remember looking over the application form with my mom and feeling like I was applying for college or an important job. I meticulously picked the program I wanted to enroll in, picked the flightsuit I wanted to order, chose my roommate, and paid my mom as much of the tuition as I could afford, which amounted to about half the total cost. (It was a sobering experience. Up until then, I'd been saving all my money to buy a broadsword and fencing foils.)
Advanced Academy was one of the first "important" things I'd ever done on my own. I was in another state, on a compound where I knew exactly two people (Sarah and Rachel Carlton), and I was pursuing a goal that, for all my stargazing, I had never fully articulated to myself. I never really wanted to "be an astronaut." But I wanted to see what it was like, to see if I had what it takes, to at least come away knowing, one way or another, if it was something I'd want to pursue.
After a week of history lessons, engineering exercises, SCUBA safety lectures, four successful missions (we only died twice!), and one unsuccessful - and harrowing - diving experience, I had my answer: it wasn't gonna happen.
Now, don't get me wrong. It was a fantastic experience, and I still want to go back, even after all these years. But being around other people who had studied (I mean really studied - these kids were insane with the factoids) the technical stuff and the history of space exploration showed me that my fascination, for all its importance to me, had really been quite... superficial. I don't mean superficial in the sense that it was silly or shallow. But what I had studied had really only scratched the surface of knowledge that would be essential to anyone seriously looking into becoming an astronaut.
I didn't really notice that at the time, of course (except during history pop quizzes when that one kid would always know the answer, and I'd be like, "Huh? Where's that in the pamphlets?"), but after the whole thing was over, I slowly lost interest in the technical side of space exploration, and instead took to privately waxing poetic about the stars.
I don't regret anything about my childhood obsession or about moving away from it as I grew older, especially considering the Columbia disaster a few years ago. When the news of that mission found its way to me, I remember a distinct feeling of relief. I thought, "Thank God I decided not to work for NASA." I could only imagine the fear and frustration of the astronauts, their families, Mission Control... I was glad I hadn't pinned my future hopes on an organization or career that had to deal with that kind of eventuality.
Seeing the pictures and video of the Discovery flight preparations, though... It rekindles the old spark of interest. I find myself researching weather Mission Commit Criteria, solid rocket fuel cells, thermal shielding technology, vacuum-packaged ice cream... I want to know the politics involved in planning the launch, and I want to know to what extent the future of the space program is riding on its success. I want to submit questions to the panel of specialists that will be discussing the mission in the week leading up to the launch. I WANT A COMMEMORATIVE PIN, DANG IT.
I'm sure it'll pass. But I hope it doesn't fade too quickly. I kind of miss that little kid who scribbled ascension and declination degrees in a dog-eared notebook and practically lived in her flightsuit for weeks after camp was over. It's nice to get reacquainted, if only for a little while.
