William Shatner recently made it back from his civilian trip into space, courtesy of Jeff Bezos. Upon his return, Shatner spoke of the overwhelming grief he felt while being in space and seeing earth in all its unique blue-ness, so small and insignificant in the universe of deep, black nothingness. It made Shatner realize that here on earth is “where the love is.” That’s what he said. This is it. This is the place. Love can be found right here. And it made him profoundly sad to know that we are polluting this pristine environment and throwing it away. All of this is a gift – a miraculous gift and we are turning our backs on it.

Space – darkness, fear, cold, claustrophobia, solitude. What do you think of when you think of outer space? Of bobbing around in a spaceship, a million miles from anywhere? Would you want to take a trip out there? I love the concept of it, the principle. Of seeing what is beyond our little world. How fascinating the planets and stars and solar systems are! But then fear would stop me in my tracks. I wouldn’t want to go for fear of never coming back. I would feel absolute terror that I would not be able to return.

I remember watching an old Swedish film called “My Life as a Dog.”  In the film, the narrator is a little girl who is vaguely obsessed by a dog. At that time, the Soviet Union had launched a dog in an unmanned rocket ship into space. The dog’s name was “Laika.” And poor Laika would never come home. The Soviets though it was a wonderful idea and apparently watched the dog eventually perish as his little space capsule swirled away, lost in the stars. The little girl was deeply troubled by this. Throughout the film, she wondered how Laika was feeling, if Laika was lonely or scared or hungry or in pain. If Laika knew she wouldn’t make it out alive. Did she know she was going to die? What was Laika thinking?

I loved the sweet simplicity of the child’s thoughts. And indeed, I shared sympathy for poor Laika, sent out into the universe, never to return home. Home. Our little blue planet. I was quite taken by Shatner’s account of his grief. What we have here on this planet of ours is so truly remarkable and most of us never take note of it. We just keep going day after day – same old shit. Instead of breathing in this life, this planet. Realizing what a gift it is to be here, to be alive, to have our feet on this earth. Was it all predestined or a magnificent mistake? Who knows. But here we are. Home.

Sometimes I have this this overwhelming urge to go home. I’m homesick and wistful and just want to go home. And then I realize I am home. But is this really it? Is there nowhere else to go? The home I knew as a child, I left long ago when I set off for college on the faraway East Coast. I only returned for short visits, but never again to live there as my home. My mom and her beloved dog are there still but it doesn’t feel like home to me anymore. The neighborhood is full of old memories I don’t want to remember and the dreams of children who grew up and floated away.

They say you can never go home and alas, perhaps they are right. Where is my home? When my children go off to college and their rooms are suddenly empty, where will I go? Or will I simply stay here and build a new story of my own? What will that be without their laughter and joy? That happy noise? Just four walls and a ceiling – the little old lady who lived in a shoe. Not a home, per se. Just a place to lay my hat until the next adventure comes along. A leaf drifting in the wind, searching for that ineffable Shangri-la that lives in my mind. Home.