Finding (Moon) Joy Again
I can’t stop thinking about the Artemis II mission.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been obsessed with space. The night sky has always been so beautiful and as soon as little me learned that there were other places in this universe than the ground I was standing on, I was insatiable. I’d probably be at NASA if it weren’t for my brand of ADHD making school a pain in the ass. But that love has never gone away. My favorite stories speculate about the possibilities that lie beyond our little pocket of the void. But we don’t have to speculate about this anymore. This is us. And this is our closest celestial neighbor, one of several protectors that have ensured that we could someday pay it a visit.
Get Kylan Eoghan’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
This mission went almost perfectly according to plan. There were two snags, both at the beginning. Microsoft Outlook was glitching, and their $30 million space toilet malfunctioned, though it was quickly fixed by specialist turned “space plumber,” Christina Koch. Which are such uniquely human problems to have. This mission overall has been so especially human, and this crew has embodied the best of us. The beauty of collaborating on shared goals and having fun with each other and just knowing that this is the beginning of something so much greater. Having absolute faith in science, in physics and engineering to keep them safe and sound while traveling thousands of miles per hour through waves of radiation and the nearly empty vacuum, knowing that there is always a chance for something to go wrong but that they have each other and their team back home to make damn sure that nothing does. The beauty of humanity is reflected in their diverse backgrounds, that despite our differences we are so much stronger when we work together. It’s so hard to remember that when you can’t open any social media without being assaulted by the fact that too often humans tend to forget what we could be, countries committing violent horrors against each other, science-deniers claiming the world is flat, zealots using religion as an excuse for genocide.
But then I see them. These four brilliant individuals in a tiny pod hurtling around the moon. I watch them share joy and heartache and exasperation and you hear the cheers of everyone in mission control that landed Orion so precisely that their splashdown was off by seconds because their parachutes slowed them down to 19 MPH instead of 20, after falling through the atmosphere at Mach 31. I can’t get over that, that even though the heat shield was damaged they ultimately got home safer than they planned for. And the crew were all smiles when the navy divers got them to their recovery ship. Commander Reid Wiseman even smuggled their zero-gravity indicator into his bag so he could ensure that no one was left behind. A little plush moon wearing a baseball cap, holding within the names of five and a half million other humans who got to symbolically join them on a mission that would take them further from home than anyone has ever been. And he made sure that they weren’t alone at the end.
NASA projects frequently exist at this intersection of science and sentiment. I won’t deny the political motivations involved or the terrible people involved in its inception. Reality can’t be denied. But NASA still represents this pinnacle of study, of our understanding of the physics that govern our reality, and these missions always remind me how drawn we are to poetry. It’s hard not to wax poetic when you’re faced with the entirety of us. The images that are sent back are works of art in themselves, to capture all that we have ever known alongside that which has never before been seen by the naked eye. The beginning and the end of who we are is contained within these bounds, but those bounds were just extended further than we ever thought possible. We’ve sent robots to Mars, sure, but the calculations and logistics necessary to carry people such a significant distance are so much greater, let alone to shelter them long-term. Space is one of the most hostile environments we’ve dared to venture into and yet we keep taking risks. For the thrill of discovery, and to answer questions about our place in the universe, and to continue questioning and learning as we travel into the future.
The Artemis 2 mission has been keeping me relatively sane since they launched. Their livestreams have been a source of comfort, their photos a source of awe and joy. Moon joy, as Christina Koch so appropriately described it. I haven’t felt this kind of joy in a long time. The love and whimsy of a childhood spent obsessing over stars and Saturn and black holes made manifest once again, before I knew what the pain of adulthood could bring. It’s like nostalgia but in my lifetime there’s never been a mission like this. I’ve grown up reading about the science of the past, of the missions that succeeded and failed. NASA continues to lose funding each year and it’s in spite of the limitations that they’ve had to work under and thanks to international partnerships that we’ve gotten to this point. And for them to do incredible things with so much working against them, it feels almost like magic. They had to get it right because to fail is a setback they can’t afford, literally and figuratively. There’s a wonder in the reliability of knowing exactly how to execute a mission that feels holy to me. Not because I believe in a god but because studying science can reveal so many answers and knowing how to use what you learn to then go and do the impossible is to enact your will upon the universe. To know that we as humans are truly free creatures is a blessing to me. That love can take you to the moon and back is to find comfort within the void. Earth is the only home that I will ever know, and I’m okay with that, much to the disappointment of my child self. I can find catharsis within the stories I write and consume, take myself far away from here when things get rough.
But reality is so beautiful sometimes. Even when our species is so wrapped up in conflict I can’t help but love us. Artemis 2 gave me hope again after a long time of helplessness slowly taking over, and I don’t doubt that I will eventually succumb to that darkness again. 2026 alone has been a lot to take personally, let alone the last several years. A pandemic, the deaths of loved ones, a hurricane, cancer in my family, loosing access to crucial medical care. But the light will shine again. We will go forward, we will make progress, and I believe that someday we will realize that we are all we have and that we are worth preserving. It might take some time, but we can’t let that let us grow complacent. There will always be work that needs doing, but this mission has proven to me that so much is possible so long as science and sentiment can coexist. We can learn the answers to the most challenging questions we have if we put in the effort to understand what we are asking. We can embark on the most difficult missions when we have good people standing beside us. And when the work is done, there will be people waiting for us to come home safe and sound.
