I have, since I found out about it, wanted to go to space.
I remember, vividly, watching Star Trek in color in the basement of a friend who had television and shag carpet. I was young: older than five and younger than eight.
(I remember, vividly, watching all of Star Trek in one weekend at St. John’s. But that’s another story.)
I devoured all stories of the stars I could find, all of which made it seem possible. I despaired when Skylab crashed in the Australian desert. I gobbled up the news that NASA would launch a space shuttle. We were on our way again!
Still, the first job I wanted — and failed to apply for — was an internship with NASA at Wallops Island, Virginia. That was the first time I decided I wasn’t good enough; I hadn’t enough experience. I was too young.
I’m so excited! I want to be part of this! Why do all the open positions at the company have to be in California?!
Now I’m too old.
Go West, Young Man!
Ad astra per aspera.