Chapter 1: My Cocoa Beach Roots

I was raised in Cocoa Beach, Florida, just a stone's throw from the Kennedy Space Center. It was the vibrant decade of the 1960s, when “I Dream of Jeannie” captured the hearts of viewers.

My family didn’t need the television to feel the excitement of space missions; all we had to do was step outside our home and gaze at the sky. With each rocket or shuttle launch, we craned our necks to follow the fiery trails, holding our breath and bracing ourselves for the thunderous roar of the sonic boom.

A rocket launch is a shared experience. Neighbors would gather in their driveways, sitting in lawn chairs with their heads tilted skyward. Cars halted in the streets as passengers stood on their hoods, cheering. Banners adorned the community, wishing good luck to the astronauts.

Regardless of our beliefs, we offered our hopes for Buzz Aldrin, Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins, and their courageous peers who were shattering sound barriers. In those moments of liftoff, we didn’t ponder the existence of a higher power; instead, we felt an undeniable presence of something greater than ourselves.

A rocket launch is also an intimate experience. The countdown (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) serves as a gateway to our unvoiced dreams and regrets. We picture ourselves soaring into space, making history while uttering the iconic words, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

Recently, I joined millions of viewers in watching the Discovery Channel's live coverage of SpaceX's Resilience launch. As Crew Dragon's astronauts donned their sleek, magazine-cover-worthy space suits, I was reminded of my childhood excitement.

From my Manhattan apartment, amidst a second wave of COVID-19 sweeping the nation, I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline. Yet this time, it mingled with a sense of unease.

“Did we just send COVID-19 into orbit?” I wondered. “Will this mission to the ISS become a super-spreader event? What impact did we have on the environment?” These questions raced through my mind as I watched the rocket ascend into the night.

During the launch coverage, the network highlighted a genuine danger faced by astronauts — “orbital debris,” a sanitized term for the human-made waste floating aimlessly in space. According to NASA, as of January 1, 2020, over 8,000 metric tons of this debris orbited our planet. Even a tiny piece could threaten a rocket or the ISS, endangering lives. We haven't even settled in, and we're already scripting our demise.

As the rocket ascends, we collectively hold our breath, aware of the perils of exploration. Yet fear does not deter us. While it may hinder individuals, it propels humanity forward with relentless speed.

In my basic philosophical musings, I contemplate life and death, the cyclical nature of existence. I reflect on my own beginnings and endings, pondering whether I'll get another chance to make things right. I also consider the fate of our species, our planet, and even the universe at large. How many opportunities do we have to succeed? How many worlds will be lost before our time runs out? In our pursuit of progress, we must cultivate all the Resilience we can muster.

Gene Cernan, the commander of the final Apollo mission, left the lunar surface with these poignant words: “We leave as we came and, God willing, as we shall return, with peace, and hope for all mankind.”

Section 1.1: The Spirit of Exploration

Exploration has always been a cornerstone of humanity, pushing boundaries and redefining our understanding of existence.

Subsection 1.1.1: The Community Experience

Chapter 2: Reflections on Our Future

As we continue our ventures into the cosmos, we must remain mindful of our impact on the universe and each other.