I’ve never been to space. In fact, out of the 565 people who have been to space, only 65 have been women. The first woman in space was Valentina Tereshkova who went in 1963 at the age of 26, a year older than I am now.
I started thinking about space after I spoke to someone a few weeks ago who told me that during this transition, I should consider myself an astronaut, and my new home space. I was equal parts excited and confused by the analogy, so I googled what it felt like to be in space.
I found this Wired article where Marsha Ivins, who has been to space 5 (!) times, recounted her experience. In many words, she described the journey as exciting and disorienting, and in her exact words “a mix of the transcendently magical and the deeply prosaic.”
Marsha Ivins on board the space shuttle Atlantis in 2001. NASA
This move feels a little like both.
In the earlier conversation, the space analogy was used to illustrate the feeling of no longer being restricted. In my case, zero gravity doesn’t mean moving limbs, it means the freedom to make decisions and choices that reflect my own best interest. But I am learning that doing that is not always easy, especially when you’ve spent so long trying to stay afloat that you never really allowed yourself to just swim for the fun of it.
In addition to this newfound freedom, there is the mundanity that Marsha referred to. The monotony and resounding aloneness of a new home, a new city, a new country. I know it’s not permanent. Unlike Marsha and Valentina, I have more than a few days to acquaint myself with space. And although my legs feel wobbly now, I know that they won’t always be this way. And the promise of that is exciting.
Valentina said that “once you've been in space, you appreciate how small and fragile the Earth is.” Instead, space made me realize how limited my options were, and how freeing it is to feel like the whole world (and more) has opened up to you.
other women (w)rote.
So, in my last newsletter, I raved about I May Destroy You. And if it’s not obvious that I just got an HBO subscription (thank you to the plug, MCA) then it will be when I tell you about Lovecraft Country, another HBO show that I have been bingeing. After the first episode, I thought, this is what happens when Black creators are supported and encouraged to create without limitations. Misha Green, who created, directed, and wrote the show, talks about telling HBO that she wanted to “make a big fucking show,” and Lovecraft Country is a big fucking show. The show is an adaptation of a 2016 book by the same name, which is also inspired by the horror fiction of H. P. Lovecraft. In this interview with Marie Claire, Green talks about creating the show and “building worlds.”
I’m reading The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson, and it is a magnificent read for so many reasons, but what strikes me is the magnitude of the story. Wilkerson writes about the journey of over 5 million African-Americans from the country’s south to the north and west between 1915 and 1970. This is known as the great migration and the term great is not hyperbole, it is known as one of the largest internal movements in history. Wilkerson’s new book, Caste, is out and has already made waves. Read both if you can, Wilkerson is a phenomenal journalist and a gifted storyteller.
This year has been pregnant with grief. I don’t have to tell anyone reading this about the lives we’ve lost this year alone, to COVID-19, police brutality, and ill-fated mishaps and maladies, but I’ll name a few - Kobe, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, John Lewis, Ahmaud Arbery, and now Chadwick Boseman. Chadwick’s death was a gut punch, a gratuitous addition to what has already been a gruelling year full of grief for everyone, but especially Black people. This profile of Chadwick by Reggie Ugwu is brilliant and so is this tribute to him by Kathleen Newman-Bremang.
In line with my feelings about our collective grief, I want to share this poem by bimpé fageyinbo. bimpé is a brilliant artist, and you can check out more of her work on Instagram and on her website
In this editorial, theoretical astrophysicist Katie Mack questions the fundamental notion of space and time. Mack writes, “possibly the best way to think of space-time is as an emergent phenomenon – something that isn’t automatically written into the structure of reality, but appears in our universe anyway, not so much as an illusion, but as an unexpected circumstance we happen to find ourselves in.”
I know that I said this newsletter was for “off the record” stuff, but I’m breaking that rule. In a few days, I’m launching something I’m really proud of and I just wanted to brag about it here. For the last year, I’ve been documenting maternal health interventions implemented in Nigeria over the last 30 years and the finished product is launching this Thursday. It’s a searchable database of government-led, aid-funded and community-organized programs and hundreds of documents. If you’re a journalist/researcher interested in maternal health in Nigeria or just want to learn more, register for the launch here and follow us on Twitter for more info.
Finally, this story by Naomi Jackson about giving birth as a black woman in America is harrowing and underscores that crisis that is maternal mortality.
(w)rite back.
I’m curious, what would you do if all of a sudden there were no limitations in your life? What worlds would you build or visit? Do you have any thoughts, comments, questions about the newsletter? If so, leave them and your favourite Monica and Brandy songs below or write back via email.