The experience of being in space didn't change my perspective of

Host: The morning fog drifted over the Pacific coast, swallowing the skyline in silvery silence. Gulls circled above the empty pier, their cries echoing like fragments of forgotten prayers. The ocean stretched endless, a sheet of steel, indifferent and eternal.

Inside a small seaside diner, the air smelled of coffee and salt. Jack sat at the counter, his hands clasped around a chipped mug, eyes fixed on the distant waves. Across from him, Jeeny leaned back in her seat, her hair tied loosely, her face soft yet lit with quiet fire. A radio hummed faintly from behind the counter—static and an old voice mentioning Sally Ride, the first American woman in space.

Jeeny: “You ever think about it, Jack? Leaving Earth. Floating out there in the dark, watching this whole planet spin like a marble?”

Jack: “Not really.”

Jeeny: “Really?”

Jack: “Yeah. I mean… what’s there to think about? It’s physics, not poetry.”

Jeeny: “Sally Ride once said, ‘The experience of being in space didn’t change my perspective of myself or of the planet or of life. I had no spiritual experience.’”

Jack: “Good for her. At least she was honest.”

Host: The waitress refilled their cups, the steam rising like ghosts between them. Outside, the fog began to lift, revealing the faint glow of the horizon.

Jeeny: “You don’t find that… sad?”

Jack: “Sad? No. Refreshing, actually. Everyone expects astronauts to come back talking about the ‘oneness of humanity’ or some cosmic revelation. She didn’t. She just told the truth. She went up there, saw the view, and came back the same person. That’s integrity.”

Jeeny: “Or emptiness. To see the whole Earth from above and feel nothing—that’s not strength, Jack. That’s spiritual numbness.”

Jack: “Or maybe it’s just clarity. Maybe she understood that meaning isn’t floating in the void—it’s down here, in the noise, in the grind, in the ordinary. Not every experience has to be transcendent.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t that the point of experience? To be changed by it?”

Jack: “Not necessarily. Change is overrated. Sometimes you just see something incredible, and that’s it. You don’t need to make it holy.”

Host: The light shifted, creeping through the window blinds, laying thin lines of gold across their faces. Jack’s expression was distant, carved with the weight of reason. Jeeny’s eyes, dark and searching, glimmered with something that defied logic.

Jeeny: “You really think we can look at Earth from the outside and not be moved? To see that fragile blue sphere hanging in the black—tiny, alone—and not feel something?”

Jack: “Sure. Because beauty doesn’t have to make you cry, Jeeny. Sometimes awe just exists. You don’t have to baptize it.”

Jeeny: “But maybe awe is the baptism. Maybe it’s not about religion—it’s about awakening. Seeing our smallness and realizing how precious life is. How everything connects.”

Jack: “That’s your poetry talking. Ride wasn’t searching for meaning—she was working. You think she had time for metaphysics while checking flight telemetry?”

Jeeny: “And yet, when Armstrong stepped on the Moon, he didn’t just report data. He said, ‘One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.’ Even the most logical men can’t escape wonder.”

Jack: “Armstrong was a poet by accident. Ride was a scientist by design.”

Host: Jeeny’s fingers tightened around her cup, her reflection shimmering in the coffee’s surface. The ocean outside sighed against the shore, a long exhale from an ancient lung.

Jeeny: “You always hide behind logic, Jack. You strip things of their mystery, like it’s dangerous to feel.”

Jack: “Feeling doesn’t make truth deeper. It just makes it louder. You want to believe space is sacred? Fine. But maybe it’s just vacuum and silence. No divine voice, no revelation—just us, small creatures pretending the void is whispering meaning.”

Jeeny: “Pretending? Or listening?”

Jack: “Same thing.”

Jeeny: “Then why do we look up at all? Why send people there, spend billions, risk lives—for what? Just to confirm emptiness?”

Jack: “Because curiosity doesn’t need a reason. We explore because it’s what we do. Even if the sky is silent, we still reach for it.”

Host: The clock above the counter ticked softly. A seagull landed on the windowsill, its feathers wet and gleaming. Jack turned slightly, his eyes following its movement, as if the bird’s stillness carried more meaning than the vastness of space.

Jeeny: “You know what I think? I think Sally Ride did have a spiritual experience. She just didn’t call it that. Maybe it wasn’t fireworks or tears. Maybe it was the silence—the realization that the universe doesn’t revolve around our desires. That could humble anyone.”

Jack: “Or harden them. Depends on what you expect from the stars.”

Jeeny: “I expect truth.”

Jack: “Then she gave it to you. No sugar, no myth. Just the truth: space didn’t care who she was, and neither did the universe. That’s the real awakening.”

Jeeny: “But isn’t it terrifying to accept that? To know the universe is indifferent?”

Jack: “It’s liberating. If the universe doesn’t care, then meaning is ours to make. That’s not despair—it’s responsibility.”

Host: A truck horn sounded faintly in the distance. The fog thinned further, revealing the ocean’s surface glittering under the newborn sun. The light cast a quiet glow on Jack’s face, softening its usual sharpness.

Jeeny: “So you think enlightenment is realizing there’s no enlightenment?”

Jack: “Something like that. Maybe the most spiritual thing is to stop searching for spirits.”

Jeeny: “And yet, you’re still staring at the horizon like it’s going to answer you.”

Jack: (smiles faintly) “Maybe I’m just waiting to see if it will.”

Host: The waves crashed against the rocks, each one erasing its own footprint. Jeeny turned to look at the sea, her eyes reflecting its restless motion.

Jeeny: “When I was a child, I used to stare at the stars and feel small—but safe. Like I was part of something too vast to break. I think that’s what space does to us—it strips away the noise until all that’s left is awe. Even if you can’t name it, you feel it.”

Jack: “And maybe that feeling is just neurons firing. Awe is biology. We romanticize it because we hate the idea that we’re just… chemical reactions reacting to pretty lights.”

Jeeny: “Or maybe those chemical reactions are divine. Maybe that’s how the universe speaks—through us.”

Jack: “Then it’s a pretty quiet god.”

Jeeny: “Only because we stopped listening.”

Host: The sunlight broke through fully now, flooding the diner with gold. The fog lifted completely, revealing a vast, unbroken horizon—endless, indifferent, magnificent.

Jack: “Maybe Sally Ride didn’t need a spiritual experience. Maybe being unchanged was her victory. She saw the Earth from above and still chose to come back—to live among us, to keep doing the work. That takes more faith than any vision.”

Jeeny: “Faith in what?”

Jack: “In reality.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe reality is its own kind of miracle.”

Host: For a long moment, neither spoke. The waves whispered against the shore, soft and steady. The radio hummed again, a faint trace of static before another song began—something old, something human.

Jack reached for his wallet, leaving a few bills on the counter. Jeeny stood, her eyes lingering on the ocean beyond the glass.

Jeeny: “Maybe she didn’t feel it then. But maybe, years later, standing alone somewhere like this, she looked up and finally understood.”

Jack: “Or maybe she didn’t need to. Maybe understanding isn’t always the point.”

Host: The doorbell chimed as they stepped out into the sunlight. The air was cool, the sea breeze carrying the faint taste of salt and new beginnings.

They stood side by side at the edge of the pier, faces lifted to the sky.

Above them, the vastness waited—silent, endless, and utterly indifferent.

And in that silence, somehow, something like grace.