Attitude control.
Everything I know about space comes from three sources:
Star Trek: The Next Generation. (And no, I’m not ashamed to admit that “TNG” and E.R. were my favorite two shows for the last bit of elementary school and the start of middle.)
Two unnecessarily difficult undergrad astronomy courses that I took to fulfill the science-for-non-majors sequence.
A recent binge-watch of Away, a 10-episode Netflix series starring Hillary Swank as an American astronaut leading an international crew on the first mission to Mars.
Which is basically to say I’m almost an expert.
***
Re-entering Earth is all about attitude control. And, no, this doesn't mean astronauts need to keep a positive attitude (although that's always helpful). Rather, it refers to the angle at which the spacecraft flies. — HowStuffWorks
***
I’ve been thinking a lot about re-entry lately.
I can’t exactly compare our return to Delhi to the terror/thrill of the g-force it would take to punch through Mars’ atmosphere. The 3-airplane trip went about as smoothly as one might hope for. Nicolas, as per usual, was a rockstar earning compliments from both the crew and fellow passengers. And Joe and I did OK enough for tall people stuck on 23 hours’ worth of flights and layovers. Our bags took about five minutes past forever to meet us on the belt but we were still on our way to our apartment not more than an hour after we finally touched down.
Even the jet lag wasn’t so horrible. We were mostly back to normal after about a week and though things were a little blurry, we could still deal with pressing tasks.
So it caught me off guard when I started feeling blergh-y at the end of last week.
It took me a few days to realize that the grumpiness wasn’t just the monsoon heat and humidity getting to me.
No. It’s re-entry.
It’s going to the produce stand and trying to ignore the flies while sifting through to find the cucumbers that are most likely to hold for at least a day and the tomatoes that won’t turn out to be mushy on the inside. It’s taking all the produce home and washing it no less than three times in the hopes of avoiding “Delhi belly.” It’s missing kale.
It’s remembering how to say “no” to the street children reaching into the tuk-tuk at the intersections. (Because as heartbreaking as it is to say “no,” the reality of saying “yes” with a few coins is perpetuating a cycle that is even more heartbreaking.)
It’s spending the better half of a day patching together a grocery shop from the market down the block, the produce stand next to the market, the meat delivery place, and BigBasket.
It’s not being able to call my neighbor-and-closest-friend for a coffee and a hug because she and her family left post while we were on our home leave.
It’s…
Which isn’t to say that it’s all bad. Of course it isn’t. School and activities start up again soon, fresh faces will arrive and new friends will be made, and I’ll settle back into my groove probably even sooner than I think I might.
But the shock to the system on re-entry is real and to deny that it isn’t… well.
I found myself sending a text this morning to a woman who has become a friend in the couple months she’s been here. It turned out I needed to hear its message just as much as she might have: Delhi’s hard. It can be good but it’s also just hard. And even if you’re THAT person [and find yourself making comparisons or complaining when things are comparatively easier for you than the people around you], you’re still awesome for doing this thing. There are so many back home that couldn’t even imagine it.
I suppose in the end it really is all about the angle at which I decide to fly my ship.
