I don't classify myself as the first space tourist because I

Hear the words of Helen Sharman, the first Briton to step beyond Earth’s embrace, who spoke with humility and joy: “I don’t classify myself as the first space tourist because I wasn’t as though I paid and had a holiday out of it – although I had a fab time.” These words, light in tone, carry weight in meaning. They reveal the difference between mere pleasure and sacred duty, between the wanderer who seeks amusement and the pioneer who bears a greater purpose. In her journey, Sharman reminds us that space is not a playground for leisure alone, but a frontier of service, science, and sacrifice.

The origin of this quote lies in her historic flight of 1991. Helen Sharman, once a chemist working with chocolate flavors, answered a radio advertisement—“Astronaut wanted. No experience necessary.” Out of thousands, she was chosen to fly aboard the Soviet Soyuz spacecraft as part of Project Juno. Though her mission brought wonder and delight, it was no purchased ticket, no idle holiday. It was the fruit of discipline, training, and the willingness to risk life for the advancement of knowledge. Thus she distinguished herself from a space tourist, reminding us that her voyage was not a mere escape, but a calling.

Her words echo the distinction seen throughout history between the adventurer and the pioneer. When Marco Polo traveled east, it was not for amusement but for trade, knowledge, and the expansion of horizons. When Edmund Hillary scaled Everest, it was not as a casual climber, but as one who bore the burden of pushing humanity’s limits. So too, Sharman reminds us that those who first tread upon the unknown do so not as tourists, but as emissaries of human ambition. The joy may be real—she calls it a “fab time”—but it is joy mingled with responsibility.

We must not miss the humility within her saying. Though she was the first Briton in space, she did not cloak herself in pride or boastfulness. Instead, she gently lowered herself, refusing titles such as “first space tourist.” This humility is itself a teaching: that true greatness does not shout its own name, but allows the deed to speak for itself. In this way, she stands alongside other pioneers who carried their crowns lightly—like Neil Armstrong, who, when he placed his foot upon the Moon, spoke not of personal triumph, but of a “giant leap for mankind.”

Her quote also hints at the rising question of what space shall become. Shall it be the domain of scientists, explorers, and those who labor for humanity’s future? Or shall it, in time, become a place of leisure for the wealthy, a holiday beyond the Earth? Sharman, by drawing the line between herself and a tourist, calls us to remember that exploration is sacred work. It is not yet the time to treat the stars as a playground. First, we must honor the burden of discovery, the building of knowledge, the survival of those who go forth on behalf of all.

The lesson, then, is this: in your own life, do not confuse labor with leisure, nor purpose with pastime. There is a time for joy, yes, but there is also a higher calling to serve, to risk, to give yourself for something greater than entertainment. Be like Sharman, who rejoiced in her journey, but never forgot its meaning. Seek joy in your work, but let your work also bless others, lifting not only yourself but your community, your nation, your world.

And what practical actions can be drawn from her wisdom? If you are given the chance to step into the unknown, do not take it lightly, but carry it as a gift and a responsibility. If you achieve greatness, wear it with humility, distinguishing yourself not by boasting, but by service. And when you find joy, as Sharman did in space, let it remind you that duty and delight are not enemies but companions. Thus, her words, playful and wise, remain a guide: live not as a tourist in life, but as a pioneer, who rejoices yet also serves.