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Taylor Jenkins Reid:
When I first started writing Atmosphere, I knew I wanted it to be more than a love story set in space. I wanted it to be a meditation on the way extraordinary circumstances reveal who we are at our core. The space shuttle missions of the early 1980s were the perfect canvas — a time of optimism and ambition, but also of immense pressure, secrecy, and change. In orbit, there’s no room for pretense. You can’t hide from your crewmates, from the mission, or from yourself. And the more I read astronaut memoirs and spoke to people who had lived that life, the more I realized — the view from orbit doesn’t just change how you see the world, it changes how you see your place in it.
These conversations are an imagined extension of that idea. They bring together voices — real, fictional, historical — to wrestle with what it means to risk everything for a dream, to love in places that don’t always allow it, to stand alone as the first in a room full of doubt, to choose between the rules and your heart, and to think about the legacy you leave behind. My hope is that you’ll read them the way I imagined them: as quiet moments in the galley after a long day’s training, or the stillness between radio calls during a night in orbit. They’re about space, yes, but they’re really about the atmosphere we all live in — the invisible current of connection, courage, and humanity that binds us together.
(Note: This is an imaginary conversation, a creative exploration of an idea, and not a real speech or event.)
Topic 1: The View from Orbit — Seeing Earth, Seeing Ourselves
Participants
Moderator: Carl Sagan (cosmic perspective and poetic science voice)
Joan Goodwin (Atmosphere, astronaut and physicist)
Vanessa Ford (Atmosphere, aeronautical engineer, Joan’s partner)
Chris Hadfield (real-life astronaut, known for musical storytelling and orbital reflections)
Sally Ride (first American woman in space)
Neil deGrasse Tyson (astrophysicist and science communicator)
Carl Sagan:
“When you’re in orbit, the planet you’ve always called home becomes a fragile blue sphere, hanging in an infinite sea of black. In that silence, you’re staring at the sum of all human history, every life, every story. Let’s begin there — when you first saw Earth from above, what struck you most deeply?”
Chris Hadfield:
“I was ready for beauty. Everyone tells you about the blue, the clouds, the sunlight hitting the oceans. But what hit me wasn’t sight — it was the quiet. The Earth turns without a sound. You look down and realize there are no borders. You can’t see politics, grudges, or power struggles. It’s like the planet is whispering, ‘I’ve been fine for billions of years. You, the newcomers, have some learning to do.’”
Joan Goodwin:
“I’d seen pictures my whole life — posters in classrooms, NASA images in textbooks. But from up there, the blue wasn’t just blue. It pulsed, as if the oceans were alive and breathing. The clouds didn’t just drift, they danced. And I remember thinking: this isn’t just where we live; this is part of who we are. I felt so small, but also… necessary.”
Neil deGrasse Tyson:
“From orbit, the Earth is an equalizer. Gravity doesn’t pull on one person more than another. The absurdity is that down on the surface, we spend centuries drawing lines to divide ourselves, and from space, those lines don’t exist. It’s a reminder that most of our conflicts are imaginary.”
Vanessa Ford:
“I saw home, but I also saw possibility. I thought about all the people I loved, and all the people I didn’t know yet but might one day meet. And I realized something — love, like the planet, has to be fiercely protected. You can’t treat either as replaceable.”
Sally Ride:
“For me, there was a deep responsibility that settled in. Earth looked flawless, almost untouchable. But I knew from science — and from news back home — what we were doing to it. It was like seeing an old friend on their wedding day, radiant in a white dress, while knowing they’re sick inside. You smile for them, but your heart aches.”
Carl Sagan:
“Perspective changes us. If seeing Earth from orbit shifts something inside you, how do you carry that shift back into everyday life?”
Vanessa Ford:
“It made me ruthless with my priorities. I became less interested in petty arguments, less drawn to things that didn’t matter. Once you’ve seen how small we are in the grand scheme, you realize life’s too short for grudges.”
Sally Ride:
“I carried a sharpened sense of urgency. Education — especially for girls in STEM — stopped feeling like just a career path to support. It became a necessity for our planet’s survival. The next generation will inherit this view, whether from orbit or from their classrooms. We owe them the tools to understand it.”
Chris Hadfield:
“I started telling stories. Music, photographs, public talks — anything that could capture a fraction of that view and share it with people who might never leave Earth. The experience isn’t meant to stay in orbit; it’s meant to land in someone’s heart.”
Neil deGrasse Tyson:
“It doubled my commitment to science literacy. I wanted people to grasp that they’re made of the same atoms as every star, every ocean wave, every leaf in a rainforest. If we all understood that, we might treat each other — and the planet — with a little more grace.”
Joan Goodwin:
“I carried love differently. Space taught me that every orbit is temporary — you circle back, but you’re never exactly the same. So I stopped waiting to tell people what they mean to me. I learned that the right words said today might be the thing someone carries for the rest of their life.”
Carl Sagan:
“Imagine this: if everyone on Earth could spend one minute looking at our planet from orbit, what would you hope they’d understand?”
Joan Goodwin:
“That our lives are threads in a vast, woven fabric. Pull too hard, and we unravel each other. But if we tend it — gently, deliberately — that fabric can hold for centuries.”
Neil deGrasse Tyson:
“That Earth is the only home we have, and it’s not a given. There’s no planet B waiting backstage. We either care for this one or we don’t get another act.”
Sally Ride:
“That every person you’ve ever hated, loved, ignored, or misunderstood is part of the same fragile miracle. The more you see of the planet, the more you realize how connected we all are.”
Chris Hadfield:
“That fear shrinks in the face of perspective. From up there, your problems don’t vanish — but they get smaller, more manageable. You start asking different questions about what really matters.”
Vanessa Ford:
“That love is planetary. It’s not just between people — it’s between all life and the home we share. If you can feel that, even for a moment, you’ll never see the Earth the same way again.”
Carl Sagan:
“Listening to each of you, I’m struck by how the view from orbit isn’t just a picture — it’s an awakening. It’s the recognition that we’re stewards of something breathtaking, and fragile, and shared. Perhaps that’s the greatest gift space travel gives us — not just new horizons, but a new way to see the ground beneath our feet.”
Topic 2: Love in the Shadows — Choosing Connection in a World That Can’t See You
Participants
Moderator: Audre Lorde (poet and activist, known for her fierce honesty on love and identity)
Joan Goodwin (Atmosphere, astronaut and physicist)
Vanessa Ford (Atmosphere, aeronautical engineer, Joan’s partner)
Sally Ride (first American woman in space, private about her sexuality during her career)
James Baldwin (novelist and activist, eloquent about love and human dignity)
Mae Jemison (first Black woman in space, advocate for inclusion and authenticity)
Audre Lorde:
“In Atmosphere, love takes root in a place where it isn’t safe to be seen. That reality has touched so many of our lives. I want to ask — what does it mean to choose love when the world would rather you choose silence?”
James Baldwin:
“It means you measure the cost and still decide that living without love is the greater loss. To deny yourself love is to agree to live a half-life. Silence might protect you from public scrutiny, but it will never shield you from loneliness.”
Joan Goodwin:
“I used to tell myself that silence was a form of protection — for me, for Vanessa, for the mission. But silence doesn’t erase feeling; it only makes it ache louder inside. Love doesn’t stop speaking just because you refuse to say it out loud.”
Sally Ride:
“For me, it meant building compartments. I kept my personal life sealed away because I knew the risk. The mission came first, and visibility felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford. But looking back, I realize the love in that locked room became stronger, because it had to endure without applause.”
Vanessa Ford:
“I’ve been through dangerous missions, mechanical failures, close calls — none of it compared to the fear of someone discovering who I loved. Choosing Joan meant choosing joy, but also choosing to guard it like it was contraband.”
Mae Jemison:
“When you’re the first — the first woman, the first Black woman, the first queer person — your life becomes a message whether you consent to it or not. Choosing love in that context is saying, my humanity is part of that message. And that’s a radical choice.”
Audre Lorde:
“Some people say secrecy adds romance, like a secret code between two people. Others call it a prison. How does living in the shadows shape love itself?”
Sally Ride:
“It sharpens the moments you do have. A glance across a crowded room, a hand brushed against yours — those become entire conversations. Every small gesture feels magnified.”
Vanessa Ford:
“There is something intoxicating about it at first, like you’re part of a grand, forbidden story. But it’s unsustainable. Love is meant to breathe, and shadows don’t give you enough air. Eventually, secrecy stops feeling like romance and starts feeling like suffocation.”
Mae Jemison:
“It’s exhausting. Every decision — where to go, who to invite, how to speak — becomes a calculation. And yet, it forges a kind of bond. You come out of it knowing that if your love can survive under pressure, it’s been tempered like steel.”
Joan Goodwin:
“For us, it was both. The secrecy gave our time together a kind of urgency — every kiss, every laugh, every quiet breakfast felt like it might be our last before someone found out. But it also made me dream of the day I could put my arm around her in public and have it mean nothing… and everything.”
James Baldwin:
“Love is not meant to be hoarded in the dark. The world doesn’t always deserve to see it — some loves are too sacred for public consumption — but you deserve to live it without apology. That’s the fine line between privacy and erasure.”
Audre Lorde:
“If the world had given you perfect freedom to love openly, how might your story — and your love — have been different?”
Vanessa Ford:
“I think we would have laughed more. Fear steals laughter, and laughter is the music that keeps love alive. We would have danced in the open instead of behind closed doors.”
James Baldwin:
“I might have loved longer. I might have stayed longer. Too many of my loves were cut short by the walls the world built around us. Some walls were made of law, some of prejudice, and some — the worst ones — were made of shame.”
Mae Jemison:
“I might have invited more people into my life. Openness multiplies the ways love can grow. When you live openly, you can let others celebrate with you — and those celebrations become part of the love story.”
Sally Ride:
“I would have been lighter. I didn’t realize the weight I was carrying until much later. Keeping something so beautiful hidden is like trying to protect a flame by locking it in a box — it may survive, but you forget how warm it can make you feel.”
Joan Goodwin:
“I’d have been bolder. I’d have looked at her in the middle of training and let the whole room see the truth in my eyes. Maybe we would have inspired someone else to stop hiding sooner. And maybe… we’d have lived with fewer what-ifs.”
Audre Lorde:
“It seems each of you carries both grief and gratitude for the love you’ve lived — grief for what was lost to secrecy, and gratitude for what survived it. That duality is the truth many never speak. If we are ever to build a world where love doesn’t need shadows, it will be because of voices like yours — not waiting for permission to be heard.”
Topic 3: Breaking the Astronaut Mold
Participants
Moderator: Christiane Amanpour (journalist known for fearless interviews and amplifying women’s voices)
Joan Goodwin (Atmosphere, astronaut and physicist)
Vanessa Ford (Atmosphere, aeronautical engineer)
Sally Ride (first American woman in space)
Mae Jemison (first Black woman in space)
Eileen Collins (first female Space Shuttle commander)
Christiane Amanpour:
“When you step into a room — or a spacecraft — as the first of your kind, eyes follow you. Some eyes are hopeful, others are waiting for you to slip. What did you feel in those first moments, and how did you handle the weight?”
Eileen Collins:
“I walked in knowing that my presence alone was a test. Every move I made was scrutinized, not just for my competence, but for what it would mean for the women coming after me. A mistake wasn’t just mine — it became a data point for why women didn’t belong here. So I aimed for flawless. That was the burden, and the shield.”
Joan Goodwin:
“I tried to pretend I didn’t notice the stares. But you do notice — the subtle questions, the patronizing jokes masked as ‘light humor.’ I learned to let their skepticism fuel me. If they doubted me, I wanted to make them doubt their doubts.”
Mae Jemison:
“I carried two histories on my back — being a woman and being Black in a white male-dominated space program. Every success was proof that those histories were not limitations. Every failure risked confirming someone else’s prejudice. You learn to live in a constant state of proving and protecting.”
Sally Ride:
“I was quiet. My strategy was to get in, do the work, and leave no opening for dismissal. But quiet doesn’t mean passive. I watched everything, filed it away, and chose my moments to speak — moments when I knew my words couldn’t be ignored.”
Vanessa Ford:
“I went loud. I wasn’t going to wait for permission to sit at the table. If they couldn’t picture me as astronaut material, I’d make them redefine the term. And if that made them uncomfortable — good. Change is never comfortable.”
Christiane Amanpour:
“Barriers don’t just block opportunity — they chip away at your sense of self. What was the hardest internal challenge you faced as ‘the first’?”
Joan Goodwin:
“The fear of becoming a symbol instead of a person. Once you’re a symbol, they stop seeing you as human. You’re either on a pedestal or in someone’s crosshairs. Both are isolating.”
Mae Jemison:
“Imposter syndrome, plain and simple. I had the degrees, the training, the hours in the simulator, and still, there was that voice asking if I was really supposed to be here. The trick is learning to answer it — not with arrogance, but with truth.”
Vanessa Ford:
“For me, it was rejecting their narrow definition of ‘astronaut material.’ I wasn’t a fighter pilot, I didn’t fit the Hollywood image of a space hero. I had to prove — over and over — that skill, innovation, and grit aren’t exclusive to one archetype.”
Sally Ride:
“Knowing I couldn’t show weakness. The smallest complaint, the tiniest slip, could be twisted into proof that women couldn’t hack it. Carrying that constant armor is exhausting, and it isolates you from the very team you’re supposed to be part of.”
Eileen Collins:
“Balancing grit with grace. Push too hard and you’re labeled difficult. Play it too soft and you vanish into the background. Walking that line every single day was its own mission.”
Christiane Amanpour:
“Let’s talk about the flip side — the victories. What’s a moment when you knew you’d not only earned your place, but changed the room for whoever comes next?”
Vanessa Ford:
“During a complex EVA drill, one of the senior pilots got tangled in his own lines. I was the one who calmly freed him and completed the task ahead of schedule. He never looked at me the same way again — and neither did the rest of the crew.”
Sally Ride:
“The day I was chosen for my first flight. It wasn’t just my achievement — it was a signal to every little girl watching that this door was open now, and it couldn’t be closed quietly.”
Mae Jemison:
“My first launch. As we broke through the atmosphere, I thought of the generations before me who had been denied even the dream of this moment. I carried them with me into orbit, and I knew that my being there meant someone else would see it as possible.”
Eileen Collins:
“Commanding my first shuttle mission. There’s a point during pre-flight when you address the crew, and I looked around and thought, We did it — and now this is normal. That’s when you know the mold is cracked beyond repair.”
Joan Goodwin:
“When a young engineer told me she’d joined the program because she saw me on the news. I realized then that every time I stood my ground in that room, I wasn’t just fighting for myself — I was making space for her.”
Christiane Amanpour:
“If you could speak to someone today who’s about to be ‘the first’ in their field, what would you tell them?”
Sally Ride:
“Find your anchor — a person, a principle, or a belief that holds you steady. You’ll need it when the noise gets loud and the ground feels unsteady.”
Mae Jemison:
“Don’t just survive the space you’ve been given — expand it. Your job isn’t only to open the door; it’s to widen it so you’re not the last one through.”
Joan Goodwin:
“Remember, you’re not there by accident. They didn’t hand you a seat as charity — you earned it, and you’re qualified to keep it. Own that.”
Eileen Collins:
“Document everything. Your journey will become someone else’s manual for survival and success. Even the stumbles will have value to someone coming after you.”
Vanessa Ford:
“Walk in like you belong, because you do. And if they look surprised, let them. You’re not there to make them comfortable — you’re there to change the picture they’ve been carrying in their heads.”
Christiane Amanpour:
“You’ve all spoken about the cost of being the first — the pressure, the isolation, the endless proving. But you’ve also shown that the cost is worth paying, because it buys the next generation a little more ease, a little more room to breathe. That’s the real legacy — not just your place in the mission log, but your place in someone else’s story.”
Topic 4: Duty vs. Desire — When the Rules Collide with the Heart
Participants
Moderator: Tom Hanks (admired for his thoughtful portrayals of moral dilemmas)
Joan Goodwin (Atmosphere, astronaut and physicist)
Vanessa Ford (Atmosphere, aeronautical engineer)
Chris Hadfield (retired Canadian astronaut, known for balancing protocol with human judgment)
Sally Ride (first American woman in space)
Gene Kranz (legendary NASA flight director during Apollo 13)
Tom Hanks:
“In space, rules exist for a reason — they keep people alive. But sometimes life throws you a situation where those rules and your heart are pointing in opposite directions. I want to start by asking — have you ever faced a moment when following your duty meant betraying your own desire?”
Sally Ride:
“Yes. I remember a time when a fellow astronaut was clearly being sidelined for reasons that had nothing to do with performance. I wanted to speak up, but doing so might have jeopardized the mission and my own position. The silence I chose still echoes in me. Duty can keep you in orbit, but it can also keep you from doing what your soul demands.”
Joan Goodwin:
“It happened in a simulation. Vanessa was in trouble — her system had malfunctioned — and my assignment was to keep working on my task while others addressed hers. Every instinct told me to go to her, but protocol required I trust the system. It was the longest thirty seconds of my life. I’ve never forgotten how it felt to sit on my hands.”
Chris Hadfield:
“In space, desire often shows up as the urge to improvise. You see a shortcut, a clever workaround, something that might make the job easier. But if it hasn’t been tested and approved, acting on it risks more than just you. That constant tension between ‘what if’ and ‘what’s safe’ is part of the job.”
Vanessa Ford:
“My desire was simple — protect Joan at all costs. If something happened to her, I didn’t care about the mission anymore. But space doesn’t care about your love story. It forces you to decide: is one life worth risking the mission, or the entire crew?”
Gene Kranz:
“During Apollo 13, my duty was to bring everyone home alive. My desire was to give the engineers free rein to try every wild idea they had. But letting chaos run the room would have been fatal. Sometimes leadership means saying no to possibility in order to preserve certainty.”
Tom Hanks:
“Rules are often seen as either shields or cages. How do you know when it’s time to bend them — and when it’s time to hold the line?”
Vanessa Ford:
“You bend them when following them would violate your core values — but you have to be ready for the fallout. In space, the fallout can be fatal. On Earth, it can still be devastating in its own way.”
Chris Hadfield:
“The best astronauts are masters of the rules — so much so that they also know where the rules have flex. You can’t safely improvise without a deep understanding of the structure you’re breaking.”
Joan Goodwin:
“I think you bend them when they stop serving their purpose. Rules are tools, not relics. But you have to ask yourself: am I breaking this for the mission… or for myself?”
Sally Ride:
“Sometimes bending the rules isn’t rebellion — it’s survival. Some rules were written for situations that don’t exist anymore. We have to evolve with the mission, or we risk losing it entirely.”
Gene Kranz:
“Rules are the bones of the mission. Bones can heal from a break. But if you lose the mission, there’s no recovery. You have to weigh the risk like you’re holding someone’s life in your hands — because you are.”
Tom Hanks:
“Can you think of a moment when desire actually saved a mission — or someone’s life?”
Chris Hadfield:
“Once during a training dive, a diver’s life support system malfunctioned. The protocol was to wait for the safety diver to assist. But one of the trainees ignored that and pulled him to safety immediately. That was pure instinct — and it saved the man’s life. Sometimes desire moves faster than duty, and that’s the difference.”
Joan Goodwin:
“On one of our shuttle tests, a crew member froze during a critical sequence. Vanessa reached over and guided his hand to the controls. She wasn’t assigned to that panel, but if she’d waited for him to recover, we might have failed the test entirely.”
Vanessa Ford:
“I broke a comm protocol once. We were supposed to route everything through the commander, but I saw a hazard developing and radioed ground directly. It cut minutes off the response time. I took heat for it, but I’d do it again without hesitation.”
Sally Ride:
“There was a young engineer who spotted a flaw in a system but wasn’t authorized to make the change. She went to the right person off the record, and the fix was implemented quietly before launch. No one knows her name, but her choice probably prevented a disaster.”
Gene Kranz:
“During Apollo 13, we had to use the lunar module as a lifeboat. That wasn’t in the playbook. It was desire — the desire to get those men home alive — that made us reimagine every rule we had.”
Tom Hanks:
“Last question: If you were advising someone standing at the crossroads between duty and desire, what would you tell them?”
Chris Hadfield:
“Run the simulation in your head. See both endings. If you can’t live with either, find the third option. There’s almost always a third option.”
Joan Goodwin:
“Ask yourself what story you’ll want to tell when it’s over. The version you can live with — that’s your answer.”
Vanessa Ford:
“Choose the outcome you can carry without regret. Regret is heavier than rules, and it follows you longer.”
Sally Ride:
“Make the decision that lets you look in the mirror without flinching. Everything else is noise.”
Gene Kranz:
“Duty without heart is brittle, but desire without discipline is dangerous. The right choice is rarely in one camp or the other — it’s in the tension between them. If you can stand in that tension and act, you’ll find your answer.”
Tom Hanks:
“What I hear from all of you is that duty and desire aren’t enemies — they’re partners in an uneasy dance. The challenge is knowing which one should lead, and when. That balance might just be the truest test of an astronaut, and perhaps of any human being who’s ever had to choose between the rules and the heart.”
Topic 5: The Astronaut’s Legacy — What We Leave Behind When We Touch the Stars
Participants
Moderator: Ann Druyan (writer, producer, and cosmic communicator, known for carrying Carl Sagan’s vision forward)
Joan Goodwin (Atmosphere, astronaut and physicist)
Vanessa Ford (Atmosphere, aeronautical engineer)
Chris Hadfield (astronaut, author, musician)
Sally Ride (first American woman in space)
Mae Jemison (first Black woman in space)
Ann Druyan:
“When you launch into space, you leave more than gravity behind. You leave people, places, and the small threads of daily life that tie you to Earth. But you also bring something back — sometimes not in your hands, but in the way you change others. Let’s start here: what do you hope your legacy is, in the eyes of those you leave behind?”
Sally Ride:
“I hope my legacy is possibility. Not just that a woman could fly to space, but that any person, regardless of the labels society hangs on them, can step into roles no one imagined for them. If some girl somewhere said, ‘I saw her do it, so I know I can,’ then I did my job.”
Joan Goodwin:
“I think about my niece, Frances. She’s the person I most want to leave something for. Not medals or records — but the knowledge that I dared to live fully, even when it was risky. If she grows up believing she can protect what she loves and still chase what calls her, then that’s my mark.”
Chris Hadfield:
“My legacy? I’d like to be remembered as someone who made space feel close. Whether through a song recorded on the ISS, or a story told in a school gym, I want people to feel the wonder of it in their bones, not just see it in a photograph.”
Vanessa Ford:
“I want people to know that you can be an engineer with your hands in metal and still be a whole, complex human being with love, fear, and joy. The mold of the ‘perfect astronaut’ was never meant for someone like me — and I hope I shattered it enough to make room for others.”
Mae Jemison:
“For me, it’s about widening the lens. When I flew, I knew my presence would mean more to some people than the mission itself. My legacy is every person who now feels they belong in science, in exploration, in history — because they saw someone who looked like them in orbit.”
Ann Druyan:
“Spaceflight is often described as an individual achievement, but legacies are communal — they ripple through families, teams, and even strangers. Who in your life has shaped the legacy you want to leave?”
Chris Hadfield:
“My father, who let me take apart the lawn mower when I was nine because he wanted me to know that curiosity mattered more than keeping things tidy. That philosophy followed me into space — and into how I share it.”
Vanessa Ford:
“My grandmother. She never went to college, but she could fix anything with her hands. She taught me that your work is part of your love language. Every time I worked on a shuttle panel, I felt like I was speaking her language.”
Joan Goodwin:
“Frances again. She asks questions that remind me why curiosity is sacred. Every answer I give her makes me want to come back from space with better ones.”
Sally Ride:
“My physics professor at Stanford. He didn’t just teach me formulas; he taught me how to stand in a room where you’re underestimated and refuse to shrink. That lesson shaped my legacy as much as any launch did.”
Mae Jemison:
“My mother. She refused to let me limit myself to one dream. When I told her I wanted to be a doctor, an engineer, and an astronaut, she didn’t laugh — she asked me how I planned to fit it all in.”
Ann Druyan:
“Legacy can be measured in achievements, but also in intangibles — the ideas you plant that bloom long after you’re gone. What’s one lesson you hope will outlive you?”
Joan Goodwin:
“That love and courage aren’t separate virtues. You don’t have to choose between protecting what you care about and stepping into the unknown. The best journeys demand both.”
Sally Ride:
“That learning never stops. The moment you think you know enough to stop being curious, you’ve started to drift away from the truth.”
Mae Jemison:
“That science and art are not opposites — they’re partners. The more we integrate creativity into exploration, the more human our discoveries will be.”
Vanessa Ford:
“That breaking the rules can be an act of love, as long as you know which rules you’re breaking and why.”
Chris Hadfield:
“That fear isn’t your enemy — it’s your compass. If you’re afraid of something because it matters deeply to you, then it’s pointing you toward the work you’re meant to do.”
Ann Druyan:
“Finally, imagine a hundred years from now, someone sees your name on a plaque in a dusty museum, or in a history book, or maybe in a child’s report on space exploration. What do you want them to feel when they read about you?”
Vanessa Ford:
“I want them to feel possibility — not in an abstract sense, but like a door swinging open toward something they didn’t think was for them.”
Chris Hadfield:
“I want them to feel joy. The kind of joy that makes you want to hum a tune or look up at the stars a little longer.”
Mae Jemison:
“I want them to feel connected — to the idea that exploration is a shared human story, not a solo performance.”
Sally Ride:
“I want them to feel challenged — to see my name and think, ‘If she could do that then, I can do even more now.’”
Joan Goodwin:
“I want them to feel seen. Even if they never meet me, even if they only read a line about my life, I want them to think: ‘Someone like me belonged among the stars.’”
Ann Druyan:
“Legacy is a word we use for the future, but it’s really built moment by moment, in the present. Hearing each of you, I’m reminded that the footprints we leave on this planet — and beyond it — aren’t just in the dust. They’re in the minds we change, the doors we open, and the courage we pass along. That is how we touch the stars forever.”
Final Thoughts by Taylor Jenkins Reid
If there’s one thing writing Atmosphere taught me, it’s that legacy is rarely about the big moments. It’s about the small ones — the conversations no one else hears, the choices that no one else sees, the acts of love that don’t make it into history books. Astronauts talk about seeing the Earth as a fragile sphere, wrapped in a thin blue line of air, and how that sight stays with them long after they’ve returned. But it’s not just the image — it’s the understanding that this little planet, with all its flaws and wonders, is all we have.
These imagined conversations gave me a chance to explore what that understanding might mean in different contexts — for someone in love but unable to show it, for someone carrying the weight of being a pioneer, for someone torn between personal desire and collective duty, for someone thinking about what will last after they’re gone. I think about Joan and Vanessa and the others, and I realize their legacies aren’t measured in miles traveled or medals earned. They’re measured in the people they inspired, the doors they opened, and the truths they dared to live.
We can’t all go to space. But we can all choose to live with the kind of perspective it offers — to hold each other a little closer, to protect what’s fragile, to be unafraid of loving openly, and to leave something behind that makes it easier for the next person to breathe. That, to me, is the real atmosphere we inhabit: the shared air of every act of courage and every connection we’ve ever made.
Short Bios:
Taylor Jenkins Reid – Bestselling American novelist (The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, Daisy Jones & The Six), known for weaving complex emotional narratives about ambition, love, and self-definition.
Tom Hanks – Academy Award–winning actor, filmmaker, and space enthusiast, known for Apollo 13 and From the Earth to the Moon. His storytelling blends warmth, authenticity, and a deep appreciation for history.
Joan Higginbotham – Former NASA astronaut and electrical engineer who flew on Discovery in 2006. Advocate for STEM access and diversity in exploration.
Chris Hadfield – Canadian astronaut, ISS commander, and musician whose public outreach has inspired millions with a human view of life in space.
Mae Jemison – First African-American woman in space (1992), physician, engineer, and advocate for integrating arts and sciences.
Sally Ride – First American woman in space (1983), physicist, and founder of Sally Ride Science to inspire youth—especially girls—in STEM.
Eileen Collins – First woman to pilot and command a space shuttle, retired Air Force Colonel, and pioneer for women in aviation and spaceflight.
Scott Kelly – Retired NASA astronaut who spent 340 days aboard the ISS, contributing crucial research on the human body in long-duration spaceflight.
Jessica Meir – NASA astronaut, marine biologist, and member of the first all-female spacewalk team.
Peggy Whitson – Record-holding NASA astronaut with the most cumulative days in space for any American, known for microgravity research and leadership.
Mark Kelly – Former NASA astronaut, U.S. Navy Captain, and current U.S. Senator, known for space policy and science advocacy.
Ron Howard – Oscar-winning director of Apollo 13, celebrated for humanizing the drama and triumph of space exploration on screen.
Neil deGrasse Tyson – Astrophysicist, author, and science communicator, known for making cosmic concepts accessible and inspiring to global audiences.
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