Dear Wigleaf,

I would love to travel to space. I would love to look back on our planet and understand that its hugeness is merely part of a larger hugeness and that it is, in fact, quaint in its actual unhugeness.

The only problem (along with the other problems) is that my boyfriend used to take me stargazing and there was something about driving out to the furthest fields we could find, letting ourselves absorb the darkness, trekking out into the middle of a field where I couldn't see where I was stepping, and, finally, looking up at the sky, that damn near gave me a panic attack. Something about the curve of the sky above us, feeling suddenly unmoored, like I could pop off the earth and tumble into the stars and die.

It's nothing like that one road trip I took in the Nevada desert, when we were drinking everything we could get our hands on and went out to some hot springs after midnight, when I could see the sky coated in stars from horizon to horizon. We were Greek gods, heroes of our own stories at last, our own insignificant Mount Olympus at our backs.

Comprehending our position and status within the cosmos is not a perspective that I want, necessarily, in my life. Especially not sober. So yes, I'd love to travel to space, but more than that, I'd love to be the kind of person who could see herself from space.

Sincerely,
AUS