3 min read
Published: 1 April 2026
inkhavenfearnasa
On April 13, 1970, an oxygen tank exploded on the service module of Apollo 13. So instead of orbiting and landing on the moon as planned, they precariously set themselves up to sling around it and back to Earth on a free return trajectory.
Today, after 53 years of lunar unadventure, the Artemis II mission is scheduled to launch. Unlike all the other Apollo missions that flew to the moon but did not land, Artemis II will not orbit. It’ll do a free return. Planned, this time.
Yesterday, I left Montréal and arrived at Lighthaven to participate in Inkhaven. One short hop to Toronto, one six-hour flight to SFO, one hour-and-some BART ride to Berkeley. This presented somewhat less of a legroom problem than spending 10 days in space, tinned and ballistic.
Among other things, astronauts are chosen for their exceptional stability. They need to execute complex and repetitive procedures for hours, and make only minimal, recoverable errors. Preferably no errors. When an accident happens, they need to keep performing. They must not be overcome by fear. To an astronaut, panic is not just a sense of impending doom. It is impending doom.
I’m used to being scared, so it comes as a mild surprise to find I am not, now that I’m here. Actually I'm rather elated. What’s different from my visit to Lighthaven last June? I was much more nervous then...
Maybe it’s that this trip has more of a coherent intention behind it. Or, that the small-ish size of the cohort means there’s less prospect of interacting with an endless stream of strangers, than at Manifest.
Maybe it’s because I did some squats in the gym this morning. Or, that I no longer drink any alcohol. Or that I’m finally able to keep to no more than 50 mg of caffeine per day, no matter any naive impulse to grab for more of its frenetic energy, and pay the tiresome price when it wears off.
Maybe it’s that I was in a good mood last night, and set the stage with a couple of easy and fun conversations with some new people. How did I manage that, though?
Probably it’s all of it, all the little things I’ve done to make myself gradually more the sort of person calm enough to just keep moving.
I don’t know how the Artemis mission will turn out, or if it will even launch today. Nor do I know if I’ll succeed at this new adventure I’ve joined: every day this month, I have to post 500 words or be kicked to the curb.
I feel confident I can do it. Mostly. Still, there’s nothing that says I cannot fail, consumed in some terrible fire. My confidence says that’s melodrama. It also points out I might be pleasantly surprised by the attention I get.
Would you take a writer seriously, if they said they weren’t in it for attention? Certainly the pursuit of truth and beauty and justice are worth the words. But how much does it matter, if someone does not read them? Going to the moon without cameras? Absurd!
So yes, this is about attention. And consistency. And not being overcome by fear. Yet taken off from home, on my comparatively puny mission to learn to better share with you, there are moments I nervously wonder: might I blow up?