200 million miles from home the OSIRIS-REx mission proves that dreams, discipline and commitments to each other can solve huge challenges.
I’ve been chasing an asteroid for the past couple of months. On October 20th, I directed live coverage of NASA’s first attempt to make contact with an asteroid 200 million miles away, capture a sample, and bring it back to Earth. The program utilized nine live cameras, including five in the the Mission Support Area, or “MSA” (essentially the project’s “mission control”), a pile of super-talented guests, an even bigger pile of stunning graphics and animations, and a million edgy government, corporate, and university stakeholders.
In a word: extraordinary.
Here’s another word: thrilling.
Of course, this whole endeavor meant that I had to leave the safe confines of my home just outside of Washington DC, a place from which I’ve rarely ventured since the start of the pandemic in March. Once ensconced in the MSA on the outskirts of Denver, I worked shoulder to shoulder with a huge group of superb videographers, TV engineers, animators, producers, on-camera talent, NASA scientists, and anything-but-ordinary spacecraft engineers and flight controllers. Not only were cast and crew obligated to get close to each other and lean in to shared tasks, but as the chief cook and bottle washer, I was also the primary point person for myriad decisions negotiated with government leadership, corporate execs, academic heavyweights, creatives, the technical crew, and….
…that’s all fine by me. That’s what I do. The problem was, in this case, that it all happened during a major pandemic stalking the nation, invisible among us, hiding in the community, waiting for a mistake or a misstep from just a single tired, distracted, or complacent person so that it could latch on, get inside, and burn through the team. A positive test would not only have jeopardized the whole television production (you can check that out here), but it would also have jeopardized the whole mission itself. Imagine the terrible consequences if key players in spacecraft operations and scientific investigations were laid up fighting COVID-19. The obligations of mutual regard were not simply a good idea, or an ethically grounded strategy, or even a moment of obviously appropriate reciprocity. The obligations that everyone took the virus seriously during our long working days as well as the spaces we travelled outside the MSA had massive consequences to a mission that had taken nearly 20 years to reach this moment, shaped dozens of superstar careers, and consumed many million of dollars of investment.
Our behavior surrounding OSIRIS-REx was a microcosm of how the larger society might regard collective behavior for just about every other aspect of American life. Nobody likes the virus, but that doesn’t mean the virus cares what we think. If we can send a probe to collect a sample of the ancient solar system 200 million miles away, we can certainly figure out how to collect samples of saliva or snot here on Earth to determine who’s positive and who isn’t. We can certainly take steps to mitigate the spread of something that simply requires us to care about putting our shared daily lives—and our dreams for all sorts of future endeavors—back together again.
The American West provokes deeply existential dreams, with glorious freedom and crushing isolation locked in an eternal struggle, surrounding by an unending ocean of beauty.
At the end of each long day, I climbed into my rental Chevrolet and sighed relief when I yanked my mask off and took a deep breath. The short eight mile drive back to my hotel across an arrow straight stretch of golden American West lifted me every day. Sure, fires were burning out of control on the Colorado horizon, with smoke plumes rising elegantly into the sky; from my distant vantage, they pretended to be nothing more than unusually thick, luxurious clouds glinting orange and pink in the setting Colorado sun. The virus lurked, perhaps as close to me as the car one lane over on the highway; it never left my consciousness. There were no evening meals with team members, considering that we all needed to try and keep our distance whenever we could. Away from the MSA there were only sporadic moments of socialization, often outside, relatively brief, limited in proximity. There was also exhaustion aplenty, with powerfully long days pursued at full speed, intense stretches of homework and show prep waiting for me at the little table in my hotel room, and the promise of much more to come with the sunrise as we got closer to the show.
And with all this, the virus, the fires, the social distancing, the masks, the precautions, the pressure, the limited sleep, the thousand things to do and the million interpersonal nuances that needed careful care and attention, there’s only one thing to say about the whole adventure: it was glorious to be out in the world again.
COVID-19 has caused more damage than just its medical ramifications. We are isolated from each other, skittish, agitated, tired…and you know this already. What the implications of all that will be, however, are hard to project. In our isolation, we are out of touch with each other. We are not reading faces and expressions as well—first, because we see fewer people these days, and second, because when we do see others, we’re looking at only their eyes peeking above their masks, and then often from uncomfortable distances.
“Alls well that ends well” is a weak ethical position, employed by half-hour sitcoms designed to exude artificial morality and stability in the world. The fact that everyone seemed to come away from the assignment without infection is hardly proof that everyone did the right thing. “Alls well that ends well” is no way to mitigate the pandemic. Like a big, complicated, live broadcast, there is no way to succeed except to sweat the details, stay disciplined, roll with surprises, and keep on keepin’ on.
Come to think of it, that’s the only way to successfully pursue a big interplanetary mission, too. What we do to pursue our boldest exploratory and scientific initiatives can serve as guidance about how to handle all sorts of tough things.
I’m a media producer. I make things. I’m an artist first and foremost. The fact that I can translate science and engineering stories to mainstream audiences is beside the point: you definitely don’t want me on your flight team sending technical commands to your spacecraft. (“I’m not a flight controller, but I play one on TV.”) With OSIRIS-REx I was on a grand adventure—I enjoyed it immensely, to tell the truth—but I must report that the entire week simultaneously filled me with nagging dread. So many aspects of the careful discipline I had employed in preceding months were forced to yield to imperturbable necessities for producing and directing a complex, live show about an extraordinary scientific expedition. What fills me now, writing these words from my basement while I quarantine from my family, is an awareness that the OSIRIS-REx team demonstrated an equivalent discipline so they could keep their own mission on track despite the pandemic. It is precisely the same level of discipline that enabled our production team to get its job done producing the story for a worldwide audience.
My journey back to DC started with a crowded airport in Denver and continued with a packed airplane for more than three hours. I wasn’t happy. Now home, I’ll confess that prior to taking the gig in the first place, the pandemic made me woefully reluctant to say “yes”. That’s not natural for me; my instinct is to look at a mountain peak and imagine myself climbing up. To feel whole I don’t simply enjoy opportunities to mix with the world; I require them. I need to see, to share, to experience things that influence me and that I can similarly influence. I need to taste and touch and hear and smell and even just consider new ideas as much as I need to sleep and eat and breathe. I need to make stuff. As a result, I’ll confess that this whole mission filled me like the waters of life. But even with the fading glow of extraordinary success, I cannot claim with certainty that it was a good choice. “Alls well that ends well” does not confer a badge of responsible decision-making. Life is complicated.
Now…matters are worse. Infections rates are climbing like a rocket. The nation teeters on the brink of self-induced immolation, and I’m terribly blue about what portends for the future. But I’m also extremely lucky. I’m thankful. I realize the asymmetry of my life measured against the pain of so many others. OSIRIS-REx is a shining light in the darkness, a story of how dedicated teams can figure out ways to pull together and do extraordinary things despite obstacles. As I consider the coming winter season, a time I’ve often spent thinking about new productions, new projects, new strategies, I cannot help but keep in mind that the solar system continues to revolve around its golden star. Dreams about what’s possible and what we desire are the reasons we all get up to face each day. Actions are what we do to make those dreams come to life.
AFTERWORD:
1) For more info about the OSIRIS-REx mission, including status updates about the spacecraft’s planned journey back to Earth, visit the project’s main site.
2) In 2007 I made a short film for NASA about the OSIRIS mission when it was in its early planning stages. (It didn’t have the “REx” component in its name at that time). It runs about seven minutes, and you can check it out here. The credits listed on the web page are somewhat incomplete. The credits in the film…are accurate. 😏