That morning, I sat in absolute disbelief as I watched the news unfold, while file footage provided graphic evidence of the disaster that took place over the skies of Texas.  My thoughts immediately turned to not just the immediate family and friends of those who perished onboard Columbia, but to all of those who belonged to the NASA family…to my NASA family.  Tears flowed as I saw images of the flight control team reacting to what they knew was the absolute worst possible scenario, a bad day amplified by a magnitude of infinity.  Without even personally knowing those onboard, I felt a deep sorrow for their loss, for those close to them, and for NASA.

The Apollo 1 fire was well before my time, and almost my parents’.   And though it took place during my lifetime, I was hardly a toddler with little cognitive ability to remember the Challenger disaster in 1986. And now with Columbia’s demise, we were once again faced with the stark realities of the dangers of human spaceflight and forced to weigh the benefits versus those very risks. Uncertainty loomed, and in the midst, I couldn’t help but wonder what this would mean for the future of our national human spaceflight program.

As pledges of sympathy and support poured in from all over in the subsequent days, President Bush delivered an address vowing that human spaceflight in the US would continue, just as it had after both the Apollo 1 and Challenger accidents.  And almost one year later, he announced his Vision for Space Exploration, setting forth legislation that would send us back to the Moon and onto Mars.  This promise ignited hope and inspiration in those of us who spent their youths dreaming of “slipping the surly bonds of Earth” and setting foot on extraterrestrial soil, while honoring the legacy of those who’ve made space exploration possible.

Since the inception of the US human spaceflight program, countless individuals have devoted their livelihoods to further the cause for exploration, to test the limits of mankind’s knowledge and experience, and to expand the boundaries of our terrestrial existence. We have been, are, and forever will remain an agency of people who believe in space exploration.  We are a collective group of passionate, dedicated workers who are inspired by the contributions of spaceflight to humanity.  We are men and women who were awed by Sputnik, by Neil Armstrong’s first steps, by the first joint Russian-American venture in space, by the Space Shuttle’s maiden voyage, by the building of the International Space Station, piece by piece, before our eyes and who are still inspired on a daily basis by the feats we help accomplish.  We are an agency motivated by man’s innate desire to achieve the impossible, “not because they are easy, but because they are hard.”

We believe in our hearts with the greatest conviction that the greatest accomplishments in human spaceflight are still ahead of us; and yet we recognize that we must honor the legacy left by our space-faring forefathers and our colleagues who’ve given their lives in the name of exploration. Our every decision, our every action is motivated by the events of our past and our hope for the future. Let us not forget the magnitude of their contributions or the extent of their devotion.

Eight years after the announcement of the Vision for Space Exploration, we sit at a pivotal juncture, one that will determine the course of the future of our nation’s human spaceflight program.  As we wait for our new Congress to set a fiscal year budget, my thoughts turn to all those who’ve dedicated and given their lives in the pursuit of humanity’s innate desire to explore.

As we step into a difficult transition period, one wrought with anticipation, nail-biting, nerves, disappointment, and frustration, let us not dwell on the opinions and assessments of others, but rather move forward with hope and inspiration drawn from the legends of spaceflight past.

As we decide on the feasibility of plans for the nation’s space program, let us remember that our forefathers, in the face of adversity, accomplished seemingly impossible tasks.

And, this week, as we commemorate the lives of our colleagues whom we have lost, let us remember that their ultimate sacrifice must not be in vain, that we must accept our constraints, our limitations, and from that, build plans of sustaining a robust human spaceflight program, capable of inspiring generations to come.

Unfortunately, between the Thursday when I bought the plane ticket, and the following Monday when I came into the office, the launch had been delayed…not by days or weeks, but months.

I was left with that item on the bucket list, now bolded, italicized, and underlined.

Eight months later, in June 2009, the crew of STS-127 was about to embark on their mission to the International Space Station (ISS), and everything looked good for launch…I mean, everything.  So good, in fact, that three friends and I decided to make the drive out to Florida.  We had exactly 15.5 hours to make a 16-hour trip.

#MissionFLby4 was born (some of you may recall the documentation of our adventures on Twitter & Facebook – we’re still apologizing for the barrage of posts in that 24-hour period!).

By the time we got through Baton Rouge, we were down an hour we didn’t have due to traffic, but onward we went.  Somewhere between Baton Rouge and the Mississippi border, we realized we forgot about the CST to EST conversion.

Whoops. Another hour we didn’t have.  #MissionFLby4 was now #MissionFLby4EST.

Just outside of Tallahassee, I got a text from a friend who was working in MCC, saying that he had heard about some issues.  After a few interchanges, he gave up that he was only kidding around; I called him a jerk, and we pressed onward.

At 12:18 a.m., about 45 minutes later, with Tallahassee behind us, I got a call from another friend set to work console for the launch.

“Hey, where are you?” he asked.  I told him.

“I’m not really sure how to tell you this, but…we’re not launching,” he informed me.

Momentary silence was followed by, “Are you serious?  You can’t be serious.  Spaceflightnow.com just had an update 18 minutes ago that said tanking is going well!  Hold on, I’ll call you back.”

I quickly visited Spaceflight Now again.  Last update, 12 a.m.: tanking proceeding nominally.  I called my friend back – “Seriously?  Spaceflightnow.com still says we’re good!”  He asked if I really didn’t believe him.

“Nope, not really!” was my answer.

“Well, I don’t really know what to tell you.  I was supposed to be on-console, and they just told me not to come in.”

Right in the middle of his explanation, I received a text message from another friend: “Scrubbed.”

Disheartened, we exited the freeway, U-turned, and headed back west.

In May, when I left Houston to go to the Cape for the last of our STS-132 training sessions, I had high hopes to see my first launch.  I had a good feeling, but I didn’t want to jinx it.  And on May 14^th, when just before coming out of the 9-minute hold, we heard of “a loose bolt,” I froze.

“Foiled again?!” I thought.

Thankfully, it wasn’t.  At 2:20 p.m. EST, I bore witness to one of the most breathtaking sights of human passion, dedication, intelligence, perseverance, and sheer genius ever.  Seriously, if you haven’t seen a space shuttle launch, do yourself a favor and get out to Florida.  You won’t regret it.  And if you do, I’ll buy you dinner.

This week was a bit of a disappointment for many of us. Five launch attempts; five stark reminders that spaceflight is difficult, risky, and anything but routine.  Though many of us were hoping to see Discovery embark on her very last mission, it takes but a moment’s thought to realize that we must be safe in our endeavors, first and foremost. With crews’ lives literally at stake, every minute detail must be examined, every issue addressed.

Over the last few days, as we waited, and waited, and waited, and waited, and waited some, I couldn’t help but think about all of the hard work going into supporting each one of those launch attempts.  I watched in awe as my coworkers in Houston and all of the support personnel in Florida, stuck in their own personal version of Groundhog Day, prepared to give Discovery the sendoff she deserves.  It was yet more evidence of the dedication and passion of the teams who work to support the US human spaceflight program each and every day.

As these thoughts whirled through my head, I was reminded again of why I love being a part of this agency.  It’s the intangibles we possess – the people, the collective intelligence, the shared passion and pride – that contribute to the success of our missions.  We are an agency of motivated, passionate, dedicated, and inspired individuals who are driven each day to contribute to fulfill humanity’s quest for the unknown, to satisfy the innate desire to achieve the impossible.

As Discovery lights up the night sky later this month, Endeavor embarks on her journey in February, and perhaps Atlantis on her true final voyage in June, I am confident that the nation will see evidence of the pride and passion we take in our work.  Though our future is uncertain, our forward path unclear, I am hopeful that our united belief in the values of space exploration will see us through the successful completion of the Space Shuttle program, the continuation of the Space Station program, and onward to whatever new endeavors we embark upon as a nation.

Several months ago, I stood before a tent full of space enthusiasts, some odd one hundred and fifty of them, relating my experiences with training the crew of STS-132. The participants of the STS-132 NASA Tweetup came from all walks of life: in and outside of NASA, engineers, scientists, artists, journalists, students (you name it, and it was quite possible they were there) – all bound by one common thread: their passion for human spaceflight.

As NASA shared its story with them, I witnessed two transformations:

One, within the minds and hearts of those Tweetup participants, as most saw first-hand what, to put it simply, NASA was all about…all of whom (perhaps I’m being a bit presumptuous) were awed by the beauty of one of mankind’s technologically marvelous creations;

And two, within my own self, as I reveled in the power of sharing and communicating – not just a story, but an experience; not just words, but feelings.

I found in subsequent weeks an ignited passion, a compelling desire to relate not only the awe-inspiring adventures I’ve found myself fortunately a part of over the years, but the tale of the organization that made those very adventures possible. I realized the importance and power of imparting (or attempting to, anyhow) in others the same passion, vigor, excitement, marvel in space exploration that I experienced the first time I saw Mission Control; the first time I went diving in the largest pool in the world; the first time I flew on the “Vomit Comet” (definitely NOT a misnomer, as folks on my flights will attest!); the first time I sat at a console, supporting real-time operations onboard the ISS (you know, SPACE!); the first time I saw a shuttle launch…really, the list could go on.

In the days following, it occurred to me, as I sat in a backroom in the bowels of Mission Control, reeling from an adrenaline-inducing event like a shuttle launch, seeing my crew on-orbit: I, too, have a duty, a sort of unspoken, undirected oath, to share not just my experiences and my stories, but those of NASA.

With the advent of social media, private industry and government alike have been given the power to communicate its message, its purpose, its vision, with the general public in a much quicker, more efficient format. NASA has embraced this new medium with open arms, using it to not just broadcast information out, but to engage and interact. Likewise, these outlets and services have allowed many within the agency to also share their perspectives with those very people, weaving a rich and personal tapestry of stories and experiences that humanize the agency like never before. From astronauts to engineers, scientists to mascots (@Camilla_SDO – I’m looking at you!), NASA has successfully leveraged a mechanism for interaction with the general public like no other organization.

Since…

I first saw Twitter feeds light up with questions to and answers from astronaut TJ Creamer (@Astro_TJ) & the excitement that his crewmate Soichi Noguchi’s (@Astro_Soichi) “space pictures” caused around the world,

I gave Camilla Corona (@Camilla_SDO), whose exploits are followed by many on the Internet, a tour of the NBL – and she tweeted about it,

I saw the passion with which astronaut Ron Garan (@Astro_Ron) spoke of his experiences in human spaceflight and the impact he hopes to have on the world on his website, Fragile Oasis (http://www.fragileoasis.org),

I watched as people’s faces lit up when they first met one of Twitter’s biggest proponents at NASA, the lovely Beth Beck (@bethbeck), who’s made it her job to share NASA with everyone,

I’ve seen the value of adding human faces to all of the incredible things that we do. And with this enlightening perspective, I’ve come to realize that it is no longer solely NASA’s responsibility to communicate with the world. As employees, we are ambassadors for the organization for which we all have such passion and reverence. It is our duty to share NASA with those around us, to share the sense of wonder and awe with which we came to realize our dreams. In such changing, often uncertain times, more so than any other, we must appreciate the importance and impact of humanizing a very incredible, beautiful, but risky endeavor – sustaining human presence off of the planet Earth.

And so, if with the above, for any reason, I’ve been unable to convey how incredibly imperative I feel this engagement is, I leave you with the following anecdote:

The same friend I mentioned earlier in this post related to me a story from the tour she gave to her family friends, whose children are 9 and 11, of our ISS mockup training facility. As they came upon the prototype of a rover the little 9-year-old had seen on TV, he grabbed my friend’s hand and said,

“This is the best day of my life!”

As she shared that moment with me, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps that child’s life was changed forever. Perhaps in that opportunity, he discovered a passion and interest he never knew existed…all because of the simple act of sharing an experience, a perspective, an opportunity we all, as employees, are fortunate enough to have.

And so, I challenge those who are reading, who have the privilege to be a part of human spaceflight, in whatever capacity, to inspire such a reaction from just one person in your life.

Share a story, give a tour, volunteer at an outreach event…communicate not just your drive and passion for human spaceflight, but NASA’s message and vision. We are the best advocates for the value of space exploration, not just in our lives, but those around us.

And those of you who know of people who work in the human spaceflight industry, I encourage you to ask your friends and family to share their life’s work with you.

Perhaps together, by simply sharing – a tenet of our younger years, we could very well see a surge in public interest in something so many of us hold so near and dear to our hearts.

Upon the return of each crew (both ISS and Shuttle), the training teams traditionally decorate the hallway of the crewmembers’ building with pictures, quotes, and other decorations, to welcome each crew back home.

Since a good majority of the Expedition 22 crew were avid Tweeters, the training team thought it would be a neat idea to gather well wishes & welcome home greetings from the crew’s followers to include on the wall.

So, here’s your chance to send a quick personalized message to @Astro_TJ, @Astro_Soichi, & Oleg Kotov. Please @reply me (@msengupta) with your thoughts. If you do not have a Twitter account, you may also leave comments on this blog…BUT, please keep them short – only the first line of your comment will be used on the wall. Deadline is Friday, 6/11, 12p CDT.

JSC is an interesting amalgamation of new and old, a distinct dichotomy of past and present; where many buildings stand, having weathered decades of political, societal, even meteorological storms. Time and technology’s marks have been left on their interiors, which have endured series of renovations and upgrades.

Last week, strolling through the relatively empty parking lot of Mission Control, I thought a lot about the role and duty we have as space enthusiasts to reach out and engage the general public, who’re unaware of the vast benefits and implications of the human spaceflight program.

Over the next few days, I had a bit of an enlightening moment.

On February 1st of this year, the President announced his new plan for NASA. Add whatever superlative you’d like to describe the plan, but one thing one cannot deny is that it is, in fact, quite dissimilar from what we are used to. I mean, he’s talking about landing on an asteroid…Armageddon-style (clearly not how we’d do it, but I say that simply to emphasize a point: that’s what the public will think of as soon as this plan is officially adopted).

The transition is soon to be upon us, and as I pondered this, I came to the following realization: what better way to approach and work through a transition than actively work to communicate NASA and human spaceflight’s value to those around us, in whatever small way we can?

Think about this before the thought is discounted.

Think about the societal impact that human spaceflight has made over the years. In its peak of popularity amongst the general public, those very same people – the taxpayers – knew exactly what NASA was doing. After all, we had a singular goal: beat the Russians to the moon. Easy to stand behind a single goal, right?

Understandably, as technology has developed, so, too, have the agency’s goals…to the point where the average Joe Schmo no longer has a clear idea of what NASA is trying to accomplish, or even what the agency is working on across its ten centers.

So, what does this mean? The unique thing, in my eyes, about the spaceflight community is the number of advocates it has, in and out of the ranks of the agency and its contracting community. There are space enthusiasts of varying levels not just across the US, but across the world. Space exploration has a magical influence on those who crave adventure that overpowers every sense and engulfs the mind. It’s that inexplicable feeling of overwhelming excitement and fascination that I’ve yet been able to articulate into words, and not for a lack of trying, I might add.

In my last post, I challenged the NASA employees and the NASA Tweetup participants. I mentioned that we have a collective responsibility to engage those around us and communicate the excitement we felt at the time of our space “firsts.” And after thinking about this over the last few days, I realized that it’s not just those affiliated with NASA who have this obligation. It’s a responsibility we must all share as space enthusiasts, regardless of whether we’ve set foot inside any one of NASA’s centers.

Just think about the implications of turning to your friend, who doesn’t even know that Atlantis and her crew were hard at work these last couple of weeks, who may not even know that we had twelve people living and breathing off the planet, who may not even know that we have had continuous human presence in space for so many years, and telling him/her about ALL of those things and more. What if we worked collectively and actively over the next several months to excite those around us with those facts and our own personal stories? What if, through this transition, more and more people learned about all the interesting and exciting things that NASA has done in the past, continues to do, and most importantly, all of the great number of achievements left before us? After all…hello, 21st century, adventure is calling, and we really need to answer. Asteroids? Sure! Mars? You betcha! The possibilities are truly limitless. And I should insert a note here to deter naysayers from commenting on the current future of our space program: I purposely bolded century, as we have a long ways to go until the end…the century does not end after the next election cycle, nor after 2020 when we were supposed to have a US human presence on the moon, and definitely not after 2030 when humans were to live on Mars.

My naïve, little mind tells me that this could perhaps be the silver lining to the grey cloud of transition. I don’t see the lack of our national capability to send people into LEO as a negative thing anymore. Sure, it stinks a little bit…but as we work to build the next generation of vehicles, there’s no reason we can’t help to inspire the next generation of explorers.

Work large, work small…it doesn’t matter how many people you reach out to, but think about the implication of just this small action.

Stories are powerful…and personal stories, they convey the emotions and subtleties that a simple third-hand recounting just cannot. Think back to the first time you saw Mission Control, or the first time you met an astronaut, the first time you saw the Space Shuttle roar to the sky, or even the first time an astronaut wrote to you on Twitter. Think about the excitement that you felt and the awe that it inspired. Think about getting to share that feeling, about getting to share in that passion with someone else. There’s no reason we can’t all, in our own way, tell people about the amazing experiences we’ve had, whether it’s working at NASA or just visiting.

I’ve realized over the course of the last two weeks the true impact of communicating our story to those around me. Engaging, even after the event, with the NASA Tweetup participants has demonstrated to me, in a profoundly significant way, the true greatness of the opportunity I have. Not until yesterday did I realize the unique vantage point I’m privy to…the ability (and now the willingness) to tell all of the people I get to meet through these opportunities about the amazing things NASA does.

So, I extend my challenge – not to just you, but myself, as well. You all share that unique perspective, in one form or another, as space enthusiasts.

How will you capitalize on it?

These folks dropped everything they were doing for 2+ days, to fly, drive, walk, run (OK, maybe I exaggerated on the latter two), to the Kennedy Space Center (KSC), where they were given the chance of a lifetime to interact with NASA professionals and see the sites where the US human spaceflight program roared to life. Their stay culminated in the witnessing of a now almost historical event: a space shuttle launch.

Now, in hindsight, I admit that walking into the STS-132 Tweetup tent for the first time overwhelmed me a bit…after all, I’d just walked into an area with 150+ almost new faces, something I probably hadn’t done since college. Over the next day and a half, I had a chance to interact with many of the participants, as we shared an experience I’m sure many of us will never forget. I think what struck me most throughout that time, and even today, is how passionate and excited they all were to not only get to see all of these awe-inspiring sites (undoubtedly ones many of us grew up reading about), but how generally interested they were in spaceflight.

Living and working in the bowels of our nation’s human spaceflight program affords us many opportunities and benefits. It is, however, incredibly easy (moreso than I ever could’ve imagined) to become jaded and unknowingly unappreciative of the incredible nature of it all. We, as NASA employees, have the perfect vantage point and opportunity to share both our own and our agency’s passion, drive, and accomplishments towards human spaceflight; and I’d be willing to argue that in some respect, it is our duty to act as ambassadors, facilitating conversations and interacting with those around us, to communicate (within reason, of course) our own personal raison d’etre for contributing to the human spaceflight program.

In the days since the tweetup, I’ve chatted with several of the participants I met in Florida. The most amazing thing to note about all of these interactions? They are still SO excited about what they got to be a part of last week. Their fervent passion has “recharged” me in a way, reminding me that what I am fortunate enough to do on a day-to-day basis is actually pretty amazing – and for that, I’m incredibly, incredibly grateful to all of them.

Now the question: just as NASA’s employees have an opportunity to be ambassadors for NASA, do the participants of all of NASA’s incredibly successful “Tweetups” have a similar chance and responsibility now? If so, what is the best way to leverage their (your) current excitement, and reach out to their (your) friends, families, and communities to engage them while sharing their (your) passion for space exploration?

This is our challenge, regardless of the level of affiliation we have with the US human spaceflight program. As space enthusiasts, we have a collective responsibility to share the amazing accomplishments and communicate the excitement we all felt when we first saw a shuttle launch, or walked into Mission Control, or talked to an astronaut.

And so, my challenge to not only the NASA employees reading this, but also the #NASATweetup participants, is how do we share our excitement and wonder with those around us? What’s the best way to share our experiences and have others share in our passion? How can we all partner together to connect with those around us?

I seem to always go back to this when I talk about my space adventures, but seventeen years ago, sitting in the viewing area of the Shuttle Flight Control Room (FCR), I still remember being in awe of the remarkable technological beauty that lay before me. To me, this was the epicenter of space…of everything I’d read and dreamed about for what, at the time, seemed so long. So, when I finally walked through the gates of Johnson Space Center as an employee, I was giddy with excitement.

In January, I arrived early, early one morning and made my way across a relatively empty parking lot, footsteps echoing on the pavement, towards Mission Control – the very ground human spaceflight pioneers and legends treaded years ago. That morning, I sat in the International Space Station (ISS) FCR for the first time, supporting my crew onboard the ISS during robotics operations. I watched as they used the concepts and techniques we’d trained months before, and I left later that morning, feeling as if things had come full circle, in a way. From eight to twenty-five, I had finally achieved my goal, the dream I’d had and declared as soon as I’d left the Shuttle FCR viewing room that fateful day years ago.

Thursday afternoon, I stared in utter silence and disbelief as the Orbiter Atlantis was unveiled to the world on Pad 39A, in preparation for her final voyage the following day. She majestically gleamed against the orange backdrop of her External Tank, flanked by the Solid Rocket Boosters that would propel her and her crew into the sky and literally out of this world. I returned later that night, to see her sparkling against the night sky; and though bright lights were shining to accentuate her innate beauty, I had no doubt in my mind that she didn’t need them at all.

And Friday…I have yet to be able to articulate my Friday in words. I still feel nothing could truly do such an awe-inspiring, magnificent, and beautiful sight justice. I still remember the feel of my heart beating with wild abandon, as I watched my crew walk out of their quarantine quarters and into the Astro Van, the recognizable, silver vehicle used to bring crew to the launch pad and their awaiting spacecraft, knowing just a few short hours later, they would be making an amazing, incredible trip.

The next four hours disappeared before I could even realize it, and there I was staring at the countdown clock, with the rest of the world, looking on as we came out of the t minus nine minute hold. And then, what seemed to be instantaneously, white smoke billowed around Atlantis, and every sensory organ was overloaded with intense feedback from her ascent into the heavens. I could not begin to accurately describe the magnitude of the rumbling heard and felt from our vantage point just three miles away, nor could I fully express the emotions that overtook me during those eight minutes until main engine cut off, when Atlantis finally embarked on her remaining orbits of our beautiful planet. With hands clasped over my mouth, a few tears in my eyes, I followed a trail of fire, propellant, and smoke, until Atlantis, a mere speck of light in the clear, cloudless, blue sky, disappeared.

I later realized that I was dumbfounded observing the entire sequence of events. Only hours after the fact did tears really well up in my eyes (and even now, as I recount), as it dawned on me that I’d witnessed a feat that truly characterizes the ingenuity, perseverance, innovation, and dedication of mankind. So, you see the dilemma – how can words even begin to do justice to a marvel of human creation? How can words even accurately begin to illustrate the result of the hard work and passion that is evidenced in every aspect of our human spaceflight industry? How can I even articulate an experience that has left me reeling so intensely and inspired me to continue to pursue one of my two passions in life (the other being music), in whatever capacity I am able?

This past week has been oddly bittersweet. Not only have I officially completed my training with the crew, but with a heavy heart, I’ve realized, despite my reluctance to do so, that what I’ve known during my life time with regard to the human spaceflight program is about to undergo a drastic change. The vehicle I grew up knowing, the one that’s just a few years older than me, is approaching its end, sitting on a deathbed that was laid a little over six years ago. And yet, after marveling at one of the greatest feats of human creativity and intelligence, I can’t help but feel comfort and hope that though our national human spaceflight capabilities will be on-hold, so to speak, temporarily…we will rise from this, more passionate, more resilient, more confident, more experienced, and more determined than ever before. Whatever plan gets finalized, however the budgets eventually roll out…we must not forget the innate yearning that we, as a species, have to explore. We now have the opportunity to draw from all of our many impressive years of experience and inspire others to not only marvel at our ingenuity and initiative, but contribute and invest in it. We now stand at a crossroads, at which we have the opportunity to honor those who have given their lives to help mankind escape the gravitational bonds that have tethered us to this lustrous planet for centuries, and explore the recesses of the unknown, bit by bit, in order to understand, appreciate, and provide for our species. Regardless of the next step, let us not forget that we are all passionate about the same thing; let us not ignore our inner child, who declared his/her desire to become an astronaut at age eight; and all the while, let us honor the legacies of the past, by embracing the possibilities and potential of the future. We owe those who’ve sacrificed their lives for the advancement of mankind at least that bit.

It was, in some fashion, much like a glimpse through the evolution of the space center. From its inception as the Manned Spacecraft Center, the buildings, the employees, the land that Johnson Space Center rests upon have trudged through the beaten course through programs and changes galore.

New buildings dot the outskirts of the center, while recognizable structures, like MCC, remain sturdy and discernable from distances. I imagined what life was like 40, 30, even 10 years ago. And as I made my way past the Saturn V rocket, I couldn’t help but think of it as a fascinating display of our intellect, perseverance, and determination.

Then, I rounded the corner.

An inconspicuous trail sets off to the right of one of the outer roads of JSC, one I’ve driven past what must be hundreds of times. At first, I ran past it, but something made me glance over my right shoulder at a couple of dozen trees, arranged in a circular pattern. I doubled back and entered the memorial garden. Wreaths and flowers adorned the trees planted in remembrance of the men and women who have given their lives to human spaceflight. Robert Gilruth, Frank Caldeiro, Gus Grissom, Rick Husband, Judith Resnik were only some of the names I jogged past. As I paused briefly to pick up the fallen memorial wreaths placed at the trees of the commanders of the Apollo 1 and Columbia crews (the one for the Challenger crew braved the winds), I couldn’t help but think about where we’ve come in the 50 years since NASA’s inception…the feats we’ve accomplished, the goals we’ve set, achieved, and surpassed. I couldn’t help but think about the sacrifices these men and women, along with countless others, have made in order to further our innate desire and yearning to explore.

And now, as we stand at the foothill of one of the most challenging and difficult moments in our nation’s space program, I believe it’s imperative to take on the responsibility of seeing the big picture. This new direction will commit the US to 10 more years on the International Space Station; it will restore funding and focus on life and earth sciences; it will allow NASA to undergo a complete paradigm shift in order to work closely with commercial entities to get crews safely into LEO.

I’m not sure about you all, but that to me is very specific, very distinct direction that, though detracts from our previous programmatic goal of reaching for the moon, has a very clear purpose. I see this as a stepping stone to free NASA resources to concentrate on beyond-LEO exploration. If we can prove that we can work well with our commercial partners to get humans into LEO, and subsequently allow them to maintain that capability, our boundaries are expanded ten-fold at minimum, and we’re free to allocate resources towards getting humans back onto the moon, onto Mars, and throughout our solar system. Sure, the timeline is a bit delayed, relatively, but there’s no proof (nor will there ever be) of what our timeline to get to the moon would’ve been with Constellation.

Though this proposed budget has not yet been approved, I think it’s inevitable that little can be done to drastically change the policy that eventually gets implemented. This reality, then, begs the question: what can we do?

Over the past few days, I’ve spent countless hours (literally) thinking about the implications of this significant change. Many of us will be displaced; many centers will likely see rearrangement; we will undoubtedly see the culture change that many have indicated NASA has needed for a good, long time.

So, where does this leave us? It’s imperative that we embrace this change and put forth the effort to work with the commercial space industry to accomplish the goals set out by the Administration; after all, if we don’t – we’re done for. Ultimately, the more resistance to this change we put in as an agency, the further we set ourselves back.

However, if we can prove our merit and ability to enable the commercial space industry to do what we do now, I hold onto hope that we will eventually be rewarded for our efforts with an inspiring, exciting new vision that gets humans beyond LEO and exploring the unknowns.

With this in mind, I believe it’s absolutely essential that we prepare for this future today. I’ve heard countless times over the last few days that, if adopted, this new direction will drive our talent and resources out the door, leaving the agency with no experience, knowledge, or expertise (you know, the ones we already have right now) to get us beyond LEO someday. If this is, in fact, even remotely a possibility, it’s crucial for us to work to make sure the good isn’t lost. We should make it a priority to cultivate and capture ALL of the lessons learned, experiences, and knowledge in order to utilize it when the time comes. We should identify and infuse this new culture with all of the positive aspects of our existing culture. And most importantly, we should be optimistic about our futures and see this entire reshuffle as an opportunity to REALLY contribute to our space program and help steer how we all handle the coming years. I imagine this to be an opportunity much like the founders of our agency had in creating Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo – to be bold and innovative, as we expand the frontiers of human space exploration.

Even now, a few days after that visit to the memorial garden, I can’t help but think about the amazing feats we’ve accomplished and the men and women who’ve helped get us to this very moment in time. Despite political decisions dictating our agency’s very being, I think it cannot be denied that NASA is home to some of the most intelligent and driven people who have true passion for space exploration. Let’s not allow this change of pace to derail that motivation and passion for contributing to human space exploration. Though times are changing, and we no longer have a clear timeline to beyond-LEO exploration, I urge everyone to keep an open mind about the implications of this lack of direction. What we do know is that we all are here for the same reason; and if we put forth that passion and effort into our forward work, there is no doubt in my mind that we can make the legends of our past proud of the accomplishments of our future.

From a young age, I buried my nose in astronomy books in my spare time. I, in fact, love to tell the story of my first direct contact with NASA – a fateful visit to Space Center Houston at the tender age of eight. I walked away, declaring I’d one day work in Mission Control and be an astronaut. I half realized that dream just under a month ago, when I sat in the Space Station Flight Control Room for the first time and spoke to the crew on the International Space Station, whom I helped train. I left the building that night, with my footsteps echoing across the empty parking lot, knowing that I had the amazing opportunity to contribute to a legacy left by the pioneers of yesteryear, ever single day.

Thus, I speak as a very passionate space enthusiast, who’s known no reality but one with humans in space. I make the following points to acknowledge that frustrations are entirely plausible and understandable at this pivotal juncture in our nation’s space program. But, I also implore you, in spite of this, to consider the true implications of the changes that lay before of us. I ask that we embrace the opportunity for change, as we approach a unique moment in our agency’s history, one that we have not seen since its inception, yet one that gives us the freedom to actually define our future.

Over the last few days, even hours, I’ve heard countless, generally depressing thoughts about the future of our nation’s space program, based largely on supposedly confirmed reports from various media outlets. The most flagrant of these speculations, and perhaps the one that will eventually be revealed to be fact, is the cancellation of the Constellation program, inevitably delaying the return of humans to the moon.

Specific implications of these actions are not within my realm of knowledge or expertise. However, in my very naïve viewpoint, I believe we are now at a critical impasse, where we have the opportunity to set the course for the future of human space exploration. Never before have we been faced with such apathy, lack of support and funding; and yet, this same moment, though it may seem a burden, presents us with a challenge. How can we prove to the administration, Congress, the American public, our international partners, the world…that we are truly capable of pioneering the future of human spaceflight?

Critics of the Ares program have voiced their opinions since the groundwork was laid for the Constellation program, and yet now that there’s a possibility for its cancellation, outcries of the absurdity of this happening are widespread. Yes, we lose our immediate and near-term capability for sending humans beyond LEO. But this presents us with an opportunity, an opportunity to take the lessons learned from the Ares program, from the ISS program, from the Shuttle Program, from our very history, to go back to the drawing board.

In our changing world, it’s time that we realize that ignoring the commercial spaceflight sector will not benefit our agency in the slightest. On the contrary, by accepting their role in human space exploration and working to define their roles and develop requirements, we capitalize on the ability to contribute to the future of human space exploration. We give ourselves the chance to innovate in a way that has never been tried before. In essence, it gives NASA the perfect opportunity to define its next step.

Yes, this does now mean that we aren’t landing on the moon by 2018…I think it’s time to accept this fact and just move on. The Shuttle Program was done for, as soon as the Vision for Space Exploration was announced. We, as an agency, saw this coming. Perhaps we could’ve prepared for it a little more practically; hindsight is always 20/20. But now that we are at this pivotal juncture, it’s time to view the impending change as an opportunity to prove what we are capable of as an agency. It’s a chance for us to truly innovate and develop a plan for getting humans beyond LEO. It’s an opportunity for NASA to work with both the commercial sector and the international community, as partners for getting humans to the moon and onto Mars. Though the timeline is significantly delayed than previously thought, this is one of the most crucial moments in our agency’s history where we actually get to contribute in defining its direction.

So, think about why you became a part of the space program in the first place. Think about what interests you and makes you so passionate about human space exploration. If you’re like me, it’s a “je ne sais quoi” quality that embedded itself in your soul at an early age and never left. It’s the yearning to explore and see new horizons. It drives you every day and excites your very being at the thought of your contributions, however minute or significant, helping humans fulfill one of our innate desires: to explore. How can we be upset over the new adventures that lay ahead? Why look back and criticize past decisions, when there is little we can do about them? Why not look forward to the future and use our position to drive our agency in the direction we’d all like to see it go: help humans get beyond LEO. There’s no single solution to getting this done. We have all the resources in the world at our disposal, literally, to accomplish what we did in the 1960s. Let’s prove our naysayers incorrect; let’s collaborate with our commercial and international partners; let’s expand the realm of possibilities and forge ahead with ambition, passion, and determination to accomplish what we all truly believe in, in our hearts. As someone once said, “We would not be honoring the legacy of those who came before us, if we didn’t believe our greatest accomplishments lay ahead of us.”

The team recognized at the end of those two days that its task was daunting enough to need extra work, and so the team members set out to accomplish their task. The result, after a little over a month of diligent work, outlined their vision for the JSC of 2028 and provided 5 suggestions of “immediately” implementable ideas that would, in the end, help realize this vision (presentation can be found in the Documents section of this website).

In recognizing the value of documenting and analyzing the leadership lessons learned throughout this experience, a subset of the team worked to compile the following paper. We are, of course, anticipating updating and adding to this paper as we chat more about our collective experiences. In the mean time, we hope that it can provide some more insight on the activities over the past year and a half and spark some interest in the dynamic leadership model that was utilized by the 20-Year Vision Team.

The paper can be found at the following link: Next Gen at Johnson Space Center – Boldly Expanding the Frontiers of Human Space Exploration