In space you float, weightless. You're neither heavy nor light in space. You just are. In space there is no up. In space, if someone asks you, "Hey, what's up?" you can respond, "Nothing. Nothing is up." and you'd be right. I'm not a believer in space as a future home for humanity. I just don't think it's going to happen. We're wired for up. We're obsessed with our weight. We belong here, on Earth. We were planted here by celestial gardeners long ago.
Let me example you an example. Example this:
A young woman lounges on an overstuffed armchair and reads a book. A college girl, probably, with short hair that plays around her forehead and eyes and a thin summer dress that falls around her thighs as she reclines sideways in the chair. The book is a classic, your favorite classic, and she's completely enchanted by it, absent from this armchair world. It's a public place, a hangout for young people, maybe a cafe or the commons area of a university. The plot twists and her heart leaps, red flushing her cheeks. It's Earth on a Thursday, and you might, if you sat and watched her long enough, fall madly in love with this reading woman. Outside gravity holds everything down. People walking by glance up from time to time into the warm, blue, cloudless sky. The girl blinks and turns a page and your heart pangs for her. How silly are you? You don't even know her name, but you're smitten. She hasn't even looked at you, doesn't know you're alive on the same planet, that you have roughly the same sense of up that she has. You love too easily, but what can we do?
In space it's very difficult to lounge on an armchair. You drift one way and it drifts another. The glare on your helmet makes it difficult to see your book.
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
