Starship
I vividly remember a conversation I had with my older brother just after Elon Musk unveiled SpaceX’s plans for Starship (then called the Interplanetary Transport System) in 2016. I brought him up to speed on the details of the concept. Among other highlights, I noted that it would be several times heavier than the Saturn V at liftoff, include 30-something engines on the first stage, and use an advanced full flow staged combustion cycle burning methane on all engines.
My brother gave me a blank look. “So that’s never going to fly,” he said.
I could hardly fault his pessimism. The idea was so absurdly big that it was hard to take it seriously. I countered that SpaceX really seemed to be putting their engineering to the sticking place on this one, but some cynical part of me agreed. How could it possibly happen?
As of this writing Starship hasn’t delivered anything to orbit yet. SpaceX has done impressive things in the development of the vehicle so far, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s still years away from entering service. Still, the concept is more or less intact after six more years of development and design evolution. I’ve been following and been involved in programs like this for a while, and Starship has the mark of something that’s going to get to orbit, whether or not it ultimately builds a highway between Earth and Mars.
As remarkable as it seems, I think it really is less astonishing to assume that this vehicle changes the way we relate to space than to assume that it will fizzle into obscurity. Imagination is powerful, but there’s lag built in. It’s difficult to imagine something that’s never happened before, and that difficulty can trick the mind into assuming things are impossible when they might not even be that difficult.
This post isn’t really about Starship. It’s about the hidden ways I restrict myself. There are limits to what I can easily imagine happening in my life. Usually when I push against those limits I assume things are impossible, and I back off. For nearly all of my life, my self-conception of gender was like this. It was something immutable, axiomatic, constant. Why waste brain cycles contemplating change in the unchangeable?
Once I began to push a little harder, it shocked me how easy it was start things moving down the path toward transitioning. Changing the gender that clothes my identity might not exactly be easy (neither is building a fully reusable rocket capable of carrying 100 people to Mars), but finding that it’s possible makes it infinitely easier than I once considered it. Easy enough to start, and easy enough to be working towards now.
The cynical voice is often right, and listening to it scratches a masochistic urge many (myself included) often feel. It feels good to be reminded, though, that something radically new really is possible, and is really going to happen.
