I’m not sure why, but I always see space as a concern of childhood. Perhaps that’s the point in our lives when we’re still remembering what a strange thing it is to be floating in a void, when we’re still awed by the planets and stars. Space is visible to us when we’re young. As we grow older, it fades out of view.
My husband has always wanted to travel into space. He still hopes that, in his lifetime, it’ll be possible to take a holiday on the moon, or at least to leave the atmosphere for an hour or two strapped safely into a space shuttle. This makes no sense to me whatsoever. Space, to my mind, is bleak, lifeless and unaccommodating, not to mention inherently dangerous. I’m more than happy to wonder at it, but I need to do that with my feet planted firmly on planet Earth. That way, I can filter the engulfing facts of space through a human culture that helps me to interpret it. Space alone is simply terrifying.