Here
I am again in the damn shrink’s office. Laying on his couch like
some stereotypical loser from a bad novel. He wants me to work on
“pushing through the small things, to get to the major source of
things,” and work on issues about my upcoming launch date. I don’t
speak. I lay there and let him doodle in his notebook. I haven’t
said much to him today. My hour is almost up. I am sure he has been
doodling little hangmen, probably with my face.
“You
know one thing I am tired of, Doc?” I say.
“What’s
that, Tom?”
“I
am so tired of all the assholes who walk up to me and sing lines from
that damn song to me.”
“Song?”
“Yeah,
you know. ‘Space Oddity’ by David Bowie? People just come up to
me, people I don’t even know, and they just start singing lines
from that damn song to me. It’s starting to piss me off. It has my
name in it, so I guess they think it’s funny.”
“What
do you say to them?”
“Nothing.
I just look at them like I am about ready to put a fork through their
throat. Most of them just walk off.”
“It
sounds like it’s not easy being recognizable. Maybe they do it
because they think it will make them seem interesting to you, or
maybe make you talk to them for a bit.”
“I
don’t know. It’s just enough to make me go ballistic.”
“That’s
the price of fame, I guess,” he replied. “Sorry Tom, we are out
of time.” I walk out of his office.
I
guess it’s hard for people to understand what it’s like waiting
for a launch date. That's the day I go up, streaking into the sky as
I sit in a capsule atop a rocket that is one big ball of flaming
death just waiting to happen. First, I fly to Kazakhstan on a cold,
icy, freezing morning. I sit for eight minutes on a tower of flame
being lifted up to the International Space Station, the big set of
tin cans in the sky. Sometimes I feel as though I could eat my own
liver from the amount of anxiety I have. I could just reach in and
pull it out. Sometimes it’s so bad that I doubt I can go through
with it, but I have so much time and energy invested in this mission
that there’s no way I can’t go. The thought of being in my flight
suit sitting there with nothing to do for the time that it takes to
launch and travel there makes me queasy. Six hours in a can, orbiting
the earth a few times, then finally docking with the ISS – it’s
unnerving.
I’ve
always wanted to go to space, ever since I was a small boy watching
the Apollo moon landing on TV. I managed to make it through college
and then flight school with the US Air Force. I love to fly.
I
lean back on my chair and listen to some 7 Seconds turned up loud,
feeling glad that it’s not Major Tom. Damn that song.
The
next morning I am on the way to the shrink’s office for more
therapy. I leave mission control and stop at the guard station to
check out. I show Greg my badge and he smiles. He sings, “Ground
control to Major Tom, commencing countdown,” then he starts
counting down as the gate arm lifts up. I fight the desire to flip
him off as I drive through. Greg is a good guy; I can’t be mean to
him. Damn that song. I can’t do this. I can’t go up. I have to
tell my commander today. I can’t. I have to go. I would be too
embarrassed not to.
I walk into the
therapist’s office and sit in a chair that looks like it has seen a
few decades of use; not really
beat up, just antique looking. Really bad music plays over the
speaker above me. I gag recognizing the muzak version of that damn
song. “Space Oddity” blares out at me, sounding as though some
soulless machine spits it into a lifeless disaster of sound, void of
any life. I almost walk out when the doctor comes to get me.
“How are you,
Tom?” he asks.
I say as calmly as I
can, “I’m fine. Nice waiting room
music. Don’t worry, I left my fork at home.” He looks at me, his
face red with embarrassment.
“Sorry, Tom. That
was a coincidence. The music is from a service. I don’t control
what they play.”
“I saw a movie
last week. ‘Silver Linings Playbook.’ In it, a guy with a slight
anger problem waits for his therapist when a certain song that makes
him go batty plays. It turns out the therapist did it just to see
what the guy would do. Are you testing me or something?”
“Nah, I’m not
that big of an ass, Tom. It’s really just coincidence.”
“I would drop
them,” I reply, smiling as I walk towards his office.
“I’ll consider
it.”
“Awesome, Doc.”
We walk into his
office. I can’t get comfortable lying on his couch, so I just stand
at the window, looking out at the warm summer’s day.
“Why do you use a
couch, Doc? Isn’t that just used in bad movies?” I chuckle.
“Feeling
optimistic, Tom?”
“No more than
usual.”
Outside, the trees
blow in the wind. Big white cottonball clouds drift slowly by, making
me wish I was up flying through them. I miss flying. While in
training, I don’t get a lot of time to fly. Mostly we run launch
and emergency drills. In my mind I can smell the cockpit of my F-16
and feel the seat as it conforms to my body. It’s as if it was made
just for me.
The doctor watches
me, thinking what to say.
“How is flying
your plane so different from going up on the rocket?”
“My plane feels
like an extension of me. Not like some tin can atop a rocket motor.
In my jet, I am in total control. It does what I want. In the
capsule, I will just sit there and wait until we dock. I am not
piloting this time.”
“How bad is the
anxiety today?”
“Not bad.
Sometimes I see little black spots off center of my vision.
“Tom, I’m
starting to think that you may be a danger to yourself or others in
the capsule. I may have to talk to your commander.”
“You can’t do
that, Doc. I have to go. No matter how I feel, I have to.”
“You have some
serious issues that you need to work on. You need to be willing to
talk to me. If not, you may have to be grounded.” I feel my heart
start to pound like a Slayer bass drum.
“I can’t drop
out of the program. I have to go. I won’t fail.” My heart pounds.
“Could I have a
little time before you call Commander McKaye?”
“Sure, Tom,” he
says.
I look back out the
window. A bird flies against the wind, staying in place as if
hovering above the ground. His wings beat hard. He moves up and down
in the current. I clench my fist to relieve the anxiety I feel a bit
and lower my head.
“Doc, you see that
little black bird there, flying his ass off but going nowhere? That’s
me in the seat of the capsule. An outside force is controlling me. I
can’t escape it, just like that little bird can’t escape the
wind.”
“It sounds like
you have a control issue, Tom. Maybe that’s part of the problem.
Sometimes, we really just don’t get to be in control, and we have
to learn to be ok with it.”
“I don’t know,
Doc. I just have to go. I would not be able to live with myself if I
dropped out. Quitting just isn’t who I am. I’m an astronaut.”
“Ok, Tom. Keep
coming to your sessions. I will give you a while before I talk to
your commander. Work on things. It will be fine,” he says softly. I
continue watching the little bird fly.
“Oh, Tom, another
thing. When you go up there, remember the movie. Sometimes it’s not
a matter of control, it’s just a matter of knowing when to move
your head as someone jumps up into your arms incorrectly.”
“Oh my god, Doc.
You did see that movie.” I can’t control my laughter as his face
flushes.
“You really did
leave your forks at home. Right, Tom?”
“Yeah, Doc. No
forks. I promise.” I sit on his couch and try to relax as I think
of where to start first. It takes me a long time to be able to speak.
The things that I want to say just do not want to come out. I start
speaking a couple times, but have to stop.
“What’s the most
absurd thing that you have ever done, Doc?” I finally ask quietly.
“Well, one time I
went to a heavy metal show and actually went into the pit.”
This was one of the
most shocking things I have ever heard.
“Why would you do
that, Doc?” I mumbled.
“Sometimes you
have to step way out of your comfort zone, Tom. It’s really a good
way to grow as a person. Experience is a great teacher.”
I couldn’t imagine
what it would have been like for this straight-laced looking doctor
to go to a heavy metal show and bounce around the pit.
“Tom, tell me.
What is the worst thing that would happen to you if you go into
space?”
“Well, my capsule
could go up in flames and fall to the land, killing me and everyone
else on the mission.”
“Can’t your F-16
crash? Have there really been no crashes involving one?”
“No, there is
always that chance. Things happen. Some have died. I myself had a
close call once. I over-extended my range and was so low on fuel, I
thought I would have to ditch, but I made it to a field and landed.”
“You can accept
that you may die flying but you can’t accept that you may die going
to space?”
“Well, yes. I
guess it really is just a matter of control,” I said.
“You have to try
and just let things go. You are spending too much time worrying about
what could happen and not letting yourself enjoy what is happening.”
“How do I do that,
Doc?”
“If I could tell
you that in one session, I could write a book and sell a million of
them. This is going to take time, Tom.”
I sat, not talking.
I knew that I had a major task ahead of me. I knew that if I did not
conquer my fear it would spread to other areas of my life.
I tried a lot of
meditation, relaxation techniques, and breathing exercises. I took an
anti-anxiety medication, too. I eventually learned to maintain a more
even level of thought.
I felt like a new
person inside and out. I ate well, stopped drinking alcohol, and made
sure to practice rational thought exercises.
On a cold December
morning, I landed in Kazakhstan. I spent a week preparing for launch.
I stepped onto the elevator platform that goes to the capsule atop
the Soyuz rocket. I waited as the other two members of my team
climbed in and sat down. It was my turn. I sat in my seat and
fastened my seat belt. I looked up and managed to see a little black
bird flying past my window. I knew things would be ok. I heard the
countdown reach T minus 1 minute. My seat rumbled with the power of
the engine lifting me into orbit. Then, through my headphones, I
heard one of the Russians on my team sing “Major Tom” to me in
decent English. Bastard. Funny, I didn’t even think about forks or
stabbed throats. All I thought about was how nice orbit would be.
That and little black birds flying with the wind.