So reads the line from the Apollo 11 Air-to-Ground voice transcript. It was a simple line, one concocted only shortly before it was thrust into history. A short thought, an idea passing through the stream of consciousness of a humble man from Ohio, who found himself separated from eternal fame by a single rung on a ladder.
Like the first flight at Kitty Hawk, it was something so sudden. It was the advancement of the human race in a breath. The holding of a breath. That boot was there, hovering just inches above the dust, dust untouched by anything but the elements of space. Untouched, it sat peacefully for billions of years, long before all known forms of life had begun to evolve from nothing. Until that one small step, until ten parallel imprints from the left boot of Neil Armstrong changed everything. From the ancient peoples to Galileo to the engineers of the 20th century, the moon beckoned, and humanity, slowly gathering understanding of the natural world, finally answered. Years of calculation, decades of engineering, millennia of science and explorative wonder funneled to that fraction of a second. So short and simple, so quiet in the emptiness of space…yet so undeniably significant, so immeasurably powerful. And there it was, that foot, on the surface of the moon.
Today, forty years since the first boot dropped from that rung and lightly pressed into that fine, white powder, the moon is still there. Forty years later, those imprints are still etched into its surface, and the image of their creation is etched into the memory of its witnesses. Wars have been fought since then, millions have died and millions more born. The continuing turmoil of the human race has dragged along. From POWs in Vietnam to vacationers in Hawaii; from New York City to Ainsworth, Nebraska, every person has at some point gazed up at the moon. For some, it provides a moment of escape; some find solace, wonder, or peace…or, quite literally, a guiding light.
To me it is like a personal friend. The moon and I have our similarities. At 00°41′15″N, 23°26′00″E precisely on its surface lies a plaque. On that plaque is a signature, one of four; it is that of the first human being to set foot on the moon. That same signature is penned on a nondescript piece of scrap paper on a shelf in my room. There, next to the autograph of John Glenn and a photo of my grandfather with both, it sits in a simple wooden frame. To others it is worth money, but to me it is much more valuable than that. It silently reminds me of what is possible. It reminds me of all that has been accomplished, and of the possibility of what can be. There is no final frontier; nothing is final in this universe, and there will always be more to explore.
Most nights the moon passes over unnoticed, while its faint light washes over the frame on the shelf in my room. But some nights, like tonight, forty years since that signature was planted in the Sea of Tranquility, I notice its presence. I can look up at that moon, as a boy from Wapakoneta did two generations ago, somehow knowing that as long as the adventurous spirit is alive, the possibility for another giant leap will never disappear. And maybe, just maybe, I will be the one to take the small step.
Current Mood: Tranquil
Listening To: "Apollo 13" by James Horner
