“Some Things Are Worth Pondering”
I found myself in a bar tonight, part of a small crowd gathered to watch Artemis. There was a quiet kind of anticipation in the room—people watching history, or at least the possibility of it.
At some point, I wandered into a back room and struck up a conversation with a young man—maybe 30 years old. I’m 73. Two very different generations, yet within minutes, it felt like we were meeting somewhere in the middle.
“Were you alive when we landed on the moon?” he asked.
“I was,” I said. “Watched it like everyone else back in 1969.”
He leaned back slightly. “Do you think it really happened?”
I paused. Not because I hadn’t thought about it before—but because I had.
“I used to accept it without question,” I told him. “But over the years… I’ve wondered.”
He nodded, as if he’d been waiting for that answer.
“I mean,” he said, “when you think about the math, the engineering, the sheer precision required—it’s incredible. And that was the 1960s.”
“That’s exactly what I’ve struggled with,” I replied. “We’re talking about navigating through the Van Allen radiation belts, computing trajectories, landing on the moon, and coming back safely… all with technology that was, by today’s standards, extremely limited.”
He smiled slightly. “Right. I carry a smartphone in my pocket that has more computing power than what they had back then. And yet, they supposedly pulled off one of the most complex missions in human history.”
“So how did we do that,” I asked, “when we couldn’t even build something like what you’re holding in your hand today?”
He shrugged. “That’s the question.”
We sat with that for a moment.
Then I said, “What puzzles me even more is now—Artemis. If we truly had the capability over 50 years ago, why does it feel like we’re starting from scratch?”
He leaned forward. “Exactly. Why aren’t we just… going back? Why isn’t it routine by now?”
“Instead,” I said, “we’re still working toward landing again. It doesn’t quite line up, does it?”
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”
There was a quiet pause between us, the kind that comes when a question hangs in the air without an easy answer.
“And then,” he added, almost cautiously, “you start wondering… what if there’s more to it? Something we don’t know? Something that changed things?”
I looked at him. “You mean… something that stopped us?”
He didn’t answer directly. Just gave a small nod.
We both knew we were stepping into speculation—but sometimes questions lead you there.
“I don’t claim to have answers,” I said finally. “But I do think some things are worth questioning.”
He smiled. “Or at least… worth pondering.”
And with that, the conversation ended as quietly as it began. But the questions stayed.
If we truly landed on the moon in 1969…
why does it feel like we’re only now trying to figure out how to do it again?
My Near Death Experience Arts and Thoughts 