I sometimes think this is just my life: I go to mow the lawn and

Hear, O children of humility and wonder, the words of Sunita Williams, voyager beyond the Earth, who said: “I sometimes think this is just my life: I go to mow the lawn and sometimes go to space. But when other people say what you’ve done is really impactful, that’s really humbling.” In this utterance shines the paradox of greatness—that those who touch the heavens often see themselves as ordinary, while those who look upon them from below see the light of inspiration.

The origin of this quote lies in Williams’s own journey. She is an astronaut of extraordinary accomplishments, having spent hundreds of days in space, commanding the International Space Station, and walking among the stars. Yet when she speaks of her life, she mingles the cosmic with the mundane—mowing the lawn and orbiting the Earth appear side by side. This reveals a profound truth: that the extraordinary is often carried in ordinary vessels, and that even the heroes of our age are also neighbors, daughters, and friends who carry out simple tasks with the same hands that touch the stars.

History has seen this pattern before. Consider George Washington, who after leading armies to victory and shaping a new nation, returned to Mount Vernon to tend his farm. To him, planting and harvesting were as vital as politics and war. Greatness did not remove him from the rhythms of daily life; rather, it deepened his humility. Williams stands in this tradition: she may soar into orbit, but she returns to the grass under her feet, recognizing that both realms—the cosmic and the common—are part of one life.

Her words also speak of the humbling power of recognition. For in her own eyes, she is simply living, doing what she loves and fulfilling her role. But when others call her deeds impactful, when they see in her journey a symbol of courage, progress, and inspiration, she feels the weight of humility. True greatness does not boast; it bows. It does not see itself as towering above others, but as walking among them, even when its footsteps span both Earth and sky.

There is also in her words a message about perspective. What seems ordinary to oneself may be extraordinary to another. The act of going to space may feel to Williams like another day’s work, yet to a child who dreams of flight, it is a beacon, a reminder that the impossible can be reached. The simple mowing of the lawn, too, reminds us that no life is ever only one thing. Each of us moves between the small tasks of survival and the grand callings of destiny, and in both lies meaning.

Therefore, O listener, the lesson is clear: do not despise the ordinary, nor dismiss the extraordinary. For both belong together, and both reveal who we are. Your daily labors, though small, form the foundation upon which your great moments stand. And your great moments, though luminous, are kept steady by your grounding in simple acts of life. Humility is born when we see that we are neither gods nor dust alone, but a union of both.

Practical action lies before you. Do your small tasks faithfully, whether mowing your own lawn or caring for your home, for they, too, are part of greatness. And when recognition comes, receive it with humility, remembering that what seems natural to you may be life-changing to another. Live in such a way that your actions—both great and small—shine as examples, inspiring those who watch you, while grounding yourself in gratitude for the life you live.

So remember the teaching of Sunita Williams: life is both mowing the lawn and going to space. To walk between these worlds with humility is the mark of true greatness. Let your life, too, be both simple and wondrous, grounded and soaring, ordinary in its rhythm yet extraordinary in its impact. For it is in this balance that the human spirit shines most brightly.