Fourth grade. Miss Taylor’s class. She was sobbing when we came in. Sobbing. She found her composure, and told us what happened. People died while trying to leave our planet. They volunteered for it. They trained for it. They lived for it. The chance to leave home and explore a place that will kill us all if we enter it unprepared. So they prepared. And they died for it. And to this day it still makes me very sad.
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Fourth grade. Miss Taylor’s class.

She was sobbing when we came in.

Sobbing.

She found her composure, and told us what happened.

People died while trying to leave our planet.

They volunteered for it. They trained for it. They lived for it. The chance to leave home and explore a place that will kill us all if we enter it unprepared.

So they prepared.

And they died for it.

And to this day it still makes me very sad.

It’s easy to get comfortable. To feel like we’ve figured it all out. To feel like there is no more room for faith, or magic, or belief in anything but the cold equations. It’s easy to forget how much we still don’t know. To forget what confused little babies we still are. Did you know that something is making the universe expand faster than it should? Somewhere in there, something messed our equations right on up. Made stuff do the opposite of what we expected. And we still don’t know what it is. The truth of things is this: There is still plenty of room for stories about how things are, or were, or what someday could happen. Sure, you can choose to shrug it off and accept the fences we like to put around ourselves. But how agonizingly boring that way of thinking seems to me. Like Shel wrote: Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.
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It’s easy to get comfortable. To feel like we’ve figured it all out. To feel like there is no more room for faith, or magic, or belief in anything but the cold equations.

It’s easy to forget how much we still don’t know. To forget what confused little babies we still are.

Did you know that something is making the universe expand faster than it should?

Somewhere in there, something messed our equations right on up. Made stuff do the opposite of what we expected.

And we still don’t know what it is.

The truth of things is this:

There is still plenty of room for stories about how things are, or were, or what someday could happen.

Sure, you can choose to shrug it off and accept the fences we like to put around ourselves.

But how agonizingly boring that way of thinking seems to me.

Like Shel wrote:

Anything can happen, child. Anything can be.

Source: coolinterestingstuff.com