"Now, I've never flown in space; but the folks who have say that on landing day, you know, you've just spent maybe a week and a half, sometimes two weeks in orbit and you're used to the things happening slowly in space"
About this Quote
Carey’s power move here is understatement: he opens by disqualifying himself ("I’ve never flown in space") and then immediately reclaims authority through the collective voice of astronauts who have. It’s a rhetorical two-step that feels almost folksy, but it’s also NASA culture in miniature: humility as protocol, expertise as something you borrow from the system, not your ego.
The real subject isn’t spaceflight as spectacle. It’s calibration. By focusing on "landing day" after "a week and a half... sometimes two weeks in orbit", Carey frames orbit as an environment that rewires your sense of time and effort. "Things happening slowly in space" reads casual, but the subtext is bodily and cognitive adaptation: microgravity turns motion into drift, urgency into lag, even danger into something you learn to approach with measured inputs. That slow-motion habit becomes a liability the moment gravity and atmosphere reassert themselves.
Context matters: Carey is speaking from the post-Apollo, shuttle-era sensibility where astronauts are less mythic heroes than operational professionals. The quote nudges the audience away from cinematic reentry drama and toward the lived weirdness of transition: the hardest part isn’t the view of Earth, it’s coming back to a world that refuses to wait for you. The line lands because it’s about a hidden cost of exploration - not risk in the abstract, but the intimate disorientation of returning home changed in ways you can’t fully explain unless you’ve felt it.
The real subject isn’t spaceflight as spectacle. It’s calibration. By focusing on "landing day" after "a week and a half... sometimes two weeks in orbit", Carey frames orbit as an environment that rewires your sense of time and effort. "Things happening slowly in space" reads casual, but the subtext is bodily and cognitive adaptation: microgravity turns motion into drift, urgency into lag, even danger into something you learn to approach with measured inputs. That slow-motion habit becomes a liability the moment gravity and atmosphere reassert themselves.
Context matters: Carey is speaking from the post-Apollo, shuttle-era sensibility where astronauts are less mythic heroes than operational professionals. The quote nudges the audience away from cinematic reentry drama and toward the lived weirdness of transition: the hardest part isn’t the view of Earth, it’s coming back to a world that refuses to wait for you. The line lands because it’s about a hidden cost of exploration - not risk in the abstract, but the intimate disorientation of returning home changed in ways you can’t fully explain unless you’ve felt it.
Quote Details
| Topic | Travel |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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