An end of something means the beginning of something else, and I

Hear the words of John Glenn, hero of the heavens and pilgrim of the stars, who declared: “An end of something means the beginning of something else, and I don't think that something else is going to be the death of the manned space program.” These words are not only about rockets and missions—they are about the eternal rhythm of life, the cycle of endings and beginnings, of loss and renewal. Glenn, who once risked his life to pierce the sky and orbit the earth, speaks here with the wisdom of one who has seen change not as defeat, but as transformation.

The origin of this truth lies in Glenn’s own time. When the great Space Shuttle program came to its end, many feared that it marked the death of human spaceflight. There was sorrow, as when a mighty ship is retired from the seas. Yet Glenn, who had himself seen the dawn of the space age, knew that every ending is but a doorway to a new beginning. He saw that the close of one chapter does not mean the end of the story, but the opening of another page yet unwritten. His words remind us that the spirit of exploration cannot be bound by the ending of a single program, for it is written in the nature of man to reach beyond.

Consider the tale of the Age of Sail. When the great wooden ships gave way to iron and steam, many mourned the passing of the era of masts and sails. Yet this was not the end of exploration; it was the birth of a new age of discovery, when ships could cross seas faster, safer, and further than before. What seemed an end was truly a beginning. Glenn’s words echo this same truth: though a vessel may be retired, the journey continues, and the spirit of the voyage lives on.

So too in the history of nations. When the Apollo missions ended after the moon landings, many thought the dream of the stars had dimmed. But from Apollo’s embers rose Skylab, the Shuttle, the International Space Station. Each ending gave birth to something greater, more enduring, more ambitious. Glenn himself, returning to space at the age of seventy-seven, embodied this truth in his own flesh: that endings are not death, but transformation, and that the human spirit is never too old to begin again.

But mark this well: Glenn does not merely speak of programs and technology. His words are also a lesson for the soul. Too often men see endings as final, as ruin. They grieve and despair when a path closes, forgetting that the closing of one road is the opening of another. To live wisely is to see in every end the seed of a beginning, to trust that life renews itself in cycles, and that hope is never extinguished, only transformed.

History itself confirms this wisdom. After the fall of Rome, many believed civilization itself had died. Yet from the ashes of empire rose new nations, new art, new thought, carrying forward the flame of humanity in new forms. The so-called “end” was in truth the birth of the medieval world, which in time gave way to the Renaissance. Thus we see: there is no true death of the human spirit, only transformations, only passages. Glenn’s confidence in the future of the manned space program is but one reflection of this eternal law.

The lesson, then, is clear: do not fear endings, but welcome them as thresholds. Whether it is the ending of a career, a relationship, a chapter of life, or even the fall of an empire, remember that each ending prepares the ground for something new. Let go of despair, and look instead for the door that has opened. For the journey of man—whether into the stars or into the depths of his own soul—is never finished, but always becoming.

Therefore, O listener, carve this truth upon your heart: every end is also a beginning. Live not in fear of change, but in faith that the spirit of discovery, of growth, of renewal, is immortal. Walk boldly through the endings of your life, knowing that they are not graves, but gateways. And remember the voice of John Glenn: the stars still call, the future still waits, and the voyage of man will never cease.