Going Up

This is Lizzy. Out.
Can you hear me? Out.
Come in commander? Out.

I have always wanted to be an astronaut. This is so not a joke I am being ridiculously real with you at this current moment. Right now at 11:28 a.m on this wonderful Tuesday morning, I want to be an astronaut.

I know that this is fairly unrealistic, seeing as I have given up on math and science, not to mention the fact that I am not currently passing my astronomy class with flying colors. Despite all those (major) set backs, I still want to be an astronaut.

So, I’m gonna see how hard it is to become one.

NASA says they’d like to see at least 1,000 hours of “pilot-in-command time in jet aircraft.” And, according to the ever-trustworthy space.com article entitled “How To Become An Astronaut” I’m gonna need to major in engineering, biological science, physical science or mathematics. For those curious, I am majoring in Dramatic Writing, so I’m pretty much nowhere near those requirements, but I’m not ready to give up yet.

Alright, now onto the physical requirements:

  • 20/20 vision (either naturally or with corrective lenses)
  • blood pressure not more than 140/90 in a sitting position
  • a height of between 62 and 75 inches

Welp, I do not have 20/20 vision naturally, but I do have corrective lenses, so CHECK
I couldn’t even tell you what my blood pressure is, but let’s just assume the best, so CHECKETY CHECK CHECK
I’m 5’7 (and surprisingly still growing???) that puts me at about 67 inches, so CHECK ONCE AGAIN

I was built to be an astronaut! I’m not making this up, the facts are listed right above.

So let’s say I pass all those silly little preliminary requirements. Then comes the fun stuff! As a candidate for space travel I’d become a qualified scuba divers, do military water survival training, undergo swimming tests, and be exposed to high and low atmospheric pressures! AND LEARN RUSSIAN! How absolutely dynamic! Talk about some cool stuff, right guys?

When my parents told me to reach for the stars and shoot for the moon, I’m sure they didn’t actually imagine I would try to. But then again, knowing me, I’m sure they figured I would at some point.

I recognize that I will never actually become an astronaut, but that doesn’t mean I’ll never see the galaxy. I could write you planets, color them with details until you can taste them. I could paint you a picture of the stars, the way they shine brighter from the right side of the spacecraft. I’ll read you journals filled with freeze-dried ice cream and rehydrated green beans. I will never be an astronaut, but I will surely go to space. What do you think writers see when we close our eyes?

Galaxies are constantly trapped behind our eyelids, ready to be broken into the world. One of these days I’ll let them see the world the way they ought to, but for now I’ll let them paint my dreams and crowd my thoughts.

Dear NASA, if you’re reading, I’d love to board your next space adventure. I’m fun I swear, and I have Nestle’s chocolate chip cookie recipe memorized (if that’s not someone you want on your crew, then I don’t know what you’re looking for!)

 

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