You have a lot of things to do when you're out on a space walk

Hear the words of Sunita Williams, voyager of the heavens, who has drifted beyond the shelter of Earth’s sky: “You have a lot of things to do when you're out on a space walk, and that sort of overwhelms your mind.” In this confession lies not weakness, but the truth of human endeavor—that in the face of vastness, in the press of duty, the heart trembles and the mind strains beneath its burden. For a space walk is no idle drift through the stars; it is labor in the void, where each movement holds consequence, where every action is bound to survival.

The origin of this saying comes from Williams’ own experience as an astronaut aboard the International Space Station. She was one of those few who dared to leave the safety of the craft and step into the abyss, tethered only by a cord, her body a fragile spark against the endless black. There, her task was not to gaze at the stars, but to repair, to adjust, to labor. And in that labor, the sheer number of things to do—the constant calculations, the technical details, the dangers—pressed upon her until her mind itself seemed overwhelmed. This is the truth of exploration: awe and burden entwined.

Consider the mariners of the Age of Discovery, who sailed into uncharted waters. Many dream of them gazing at sunsets on endless seas, but the sailors themselves knew otherwise. Their days were filled with rigging sails, keeping watches, patching leaks, fighting storms. Their wonder at the horizon was mingled with toil, and their minds, too, were overwhelmed by the ceaseless duties of survival. Just as the astronaut in space is consumed with tasks amidst infinite beauty, so were they consumed with duty upon the restless sea.

Yet there is also power in this admission. To be overwhelmed is not to be defeated, but to be human. Williams’ words remind us that even the most heroic journeys are composed of small labors, of countless tasks that pile upon the mind. Greatness does not arise from floating free of responsibility, but from bearing the weight of it while still pressing forward. In the silence of space, as on the storm-tossed sea, the true measure of the traveler is not whether they feel overwhelmed, but whether they continue.

The emotional force of her saying lies in its honesty. Many imagine astronauts as superhuman beings, unshaken by fear or fatigue. Yet Williams reveals the truth: the mind is strained, the heart feels the press of duty, and even among the stars, one can feel burdened. This honesty does not diminish her—it magnifies her courage. For courage is not the absence of being overwhelmed, but the choice to act rightly in spite of it.

The lesson for us is clear: in our own lives, we too will face moments where duties crowd upon us, where our tasks feel countless, where the sheer weight of responsibility seems to smother the spirit. Do not believe that such moments mark failure. They are the proof that you, like the astronaut, stand at the edge of greatness. The important thing is not to avoid being overwhelmed, but to keep moving, step by step, tethered to discipline and guided by purpose.

So let your practice be this: when your mind feels burdened by too many tasks, do not despair. Break the work into motions, as the astronaut does—one step, one turn, one action at a time. Breathe, anchor yourself, and remember why you are there. For as Sunita Williams teaches, even in the vast silence of space, where the stars blaze and Earth shines below, greatness is not found in being free of burden, but in carrying it faithfully while moving ever forward.