What If We Could See the Whole of Our Lives?

Image by author

Can you imagine what it must be like to lift off the ground, move up through the atmosphere, up to the general line that demarcates the end of our precious airspace from outer space? Moving so far from Earth, you can look back and see the entirety of the planet. What must that be like? Unbelievable, I’m sure. Unnamable. Apparently, it is.

It’s swift, moving from the ground to the start of outer space, known as the Kármán line. It only takes a few minutes to get there via rocket — three minutes to travel 100 km. It takes a commercial airplane roughly ten minutes to get to its cruising altitude which is only a tenth as high.

You know what it feels like to look out the airplane window and watch as the plane lifts off and the ground quickly falls away from you. You observe the tops of buildings and the lines of sinewy rivers as you ascend past clouds and arrive at the spot where you’ll travel across a long stretch of sky to get to where you’re going.

In a third of that time, you’d be in space if you were an astronaut. The beautiful blue atmosphere, with its light color and heavy weight, would swoosh past you in almost a blink of an eye. So, don’t blink!

The Overview Effect

If you’ve traveled into low earth orbit, to where the International Space Station (ISS) lives, or even further out than that, then you’re one of the rare humans who’s experienced viewing the planet from afar. The cognitive shift that happens from this experience has been dubbed the Overview Effect. For me, who’ll never go up into space, just imagining what this must be like is incredible enough.

There are various effects that can come from seeing Earth from far away. They include a self-transcendent view of humanity as one unified body, and realizing the Earth is something to protect and care for. According to reports, it’s tearful, captivating, and filled with awe.

Seeing this giant blue rock alone in the dark among the cosmos spurs a novel perspective that is not available if we only ever see our own patch of life on earth. It’s like going from living in a tunnel to standing on top of a mountain, but on steroids. It changes you. Studies have shown that it does seem to change astronauts for the long term.

If seeing something important from such a novel vantage point can change us, I wonder about other views we never get to see. For one, what if it were possible to pull away from ourselves and see the entirety of our lives in one complete scan?

Wild and precious

The earth is remarkable without question, but we are, too. We’re a freak of a number in the span of all possible events ever. We’re an extremely short-lived marvel, but we don’t see this about us. We notice how ephemeral we are once it’s late in the game. We don’t often slow down to see how wondrous, in the words of Mary Oliver, “this one wild and precious life” is.

What if we could watch the scope of our lives unfold, intertwine, and crystallize into the exquisite meaning that lies beyond our grasp today? Just as the earth means more from afar, so might we. From our first breath to today: actions, hopes, disappointments, regrets, happenstance, near misses. Causes and effects.

Would we cower? Would we be dumbstruck? Would we suck an enormous breath in because we’d see what a rare gem our life has been?

We’d see ourselves fully and not as some tiny present-day scrap. We’d see what we’ve forgotten. We’d see what we’ve never seen.

What’s possible?

Perhaps our moments of self-estrangement would suddenly melt into reconnection once we realized how many factors are involved in our sense of failure or inadequacy. Would we no longer be enemies of ourselves if we could see the countless influences leading up to and weighing down on our decisions? Would we reassess?

What would be possible if we had this understanding?

I bet if we realized how fragile and fleeting we are, and how unity with ourselves is necessary to live a rich life, we just might give it a try. I bet the disparate pieces of us would become a whole.

Maybe we’d realize how every piece we’ve wanted to reject, the parts we don’t like, the times when we were proud, the aspects we promote, and the stains we hide was one rich story that made beautiful cohesive sense.

It’s easy to lose sight of the bigger picture. To hyper-focus. To put our effort into navigating the day. An overview of the present moment eludes us often. That is human.

It’s also human to be halted in our tracks and notice the wonder. To realize, Hey, this sunset, that family, those violins, the flowers, jokes, willingness, love — are incredible. We can do this more often if we remember to.

Questions and thanks

Thanks to my pal Phil, sometimes I’ll play the live feed from the ISS, which features lovely calm music while the camera scans the earth as the ISS passes over it in its 90-minute orbits. This live feed feels like a security blanket to me. Maybe it’s the affirmation that Earth is peaceful and fine, despite what its inhabitants are doing.

I’m not sure if it’s helpful to me or stultifying to know — as the theory goes — the sun might one day fry and desiccate our blue planet. We’d all be long gone by then. On the one hand, somehow it’s a nudge to savor life more. On the other, I’m chagrined to know how fleeting this all is. Is there meaning in all this?

That’s a question for philosophers, theologians, and astronomers. My only questions are these: How will today be a moment of beauty? How will I be sure to pay attention? How will I say thanks?