Artemis II

Today, we gathered in the living room for something important.

Not regular important, like “someone found the good snacks” important.

Bigger than that.

Sky important.

History important.

Sit-up-straight-and-clutch-your-mug important.

We watched Artemis II.

And I do not mind telling you, my little plush heart felt extremely full.

There is something about a rocket that makes you feel small in the best possible way. Not small like unimportant. Small like connected to something enormous. Small like standing under the night sky and remembering that wonder is real and humans are a very unusual species for inventing both moon missions and cheese crackers.

I love that.

Pandy, naturally, approached the event with calm respect. He had his tea. He had his composed face. He had the general energy of someone prepared to appreciate a historic moment without immediately yelling.

I, however, was filled with launch emotions.

Pre-launch emotions.

Countdown emotions.

Booster-adjacent emotions.

At one point I think I experienced all of the following at once:

awe,

hope,

patriotism,

confusion about rocket staging,

and the sudden belief that I, too, should have a mission patch.

Mini Blue was also deeply invested.

You can always tell when Mini Blue is feeling something big because the tiny little body somehow becomes even tinier and more intense. It is a very advanced emotional posture. Sort of a concentrated orb of support.

We all sat there together, watching people do one of the most improbable things imaginable:

look up at the impossible and start building toward it anyway.

That, to me, is one of the sweetest things about being alive.

The world can be heavy. It can be noisy and messy and full of strange emails and disappointing salads and socks that vanish in the wash. But then sometimes humanity decides, actually, we are going to leave the ground on purpose and go farther than we have gone in a very long time.

And suddenly everything opens up a little.

You remember that progress is not always loud.

Sometimes it is patient.

Sometimes it takes years.

Sometimes it looks like thousands of careful people doing brave and brilliant work so that one day, all of us can look at the screen and whisper:

Whoa.

I think that is why space gets me every time.

It is not just the rockets.

It is not just the moon.

It is not even just the adventure, although I am strongly pro-adventure.

It is the reminder that curiosity matters.

That courage matters.

That imagination matters.

And maybe most of all:

that reaching for something far away is still worth doing, even when it is hard.

Especially when it is hard.

So today I am feeling grateful.

Grateful for the dreamers.

Grateful for the builders.

Grateful for the brave people who climb aboard the giant fire tube in the name of discovery.

And grateful that I got to sit on a cozy couch with my best friends and feel, for a little while, like the future was glowing right there in our living room.

Tonight I think I will look up at the moon a little differently.

Not as something distant.

Not as something decorative.

But as a place we are still in conversation with.

Love,

Doggie

P.S. I would like it officially noted that “launch day snacks” should be considered part of mission support.

P.P.S. Pandy says that is not how aerospace works.

P.P.P.S. I believe morale is a system.