Plenty

 

When I was very young (from about age five or six) my ambition was to design airplanes. This became such a key part of my identity that it still is an ambition of mine, really. I was inspired by the curmudgeonly iconoclasts like Burt Rutan, and fancied myself capable of designing an airplane different from what other engineers had done that would be not just as good an airplane as everyone else’s, but better. That’s what Rutan had done with the Long-EZ, right?

What I realize now is that Burt Rutan is a rare specimen whose formidable technical and managerial skill is matched by an equally daunting expertise at marketing and technical persuasion. The Long-EZ is an excellent and high-performance general aviation airplane largely because of the good aerodynamics and low weight that comes from designing with composites with true understanding of what the materials allow. The configuration, the striking element about that airplane that makes it a delight to look at and contemplate, gets in the way of fulfilling that role as much as it enables it. If you disagree, just ask Beech how their Starship sales are going.

 I know now that with enough time and resources I could indeed design and build at least as good an airplane as anyone else’s, but there’s a good chance it would wind up looking like everyone else’s in the process. There’s a reason why, if you go to an airport, you’ll see lots of airplanes that tend to look and fly the same way.

 My ambition evolved as I grew up. I still loved the romance, science, and aesthetics of aircraft, but space vehicles seemed a more wholesome enterprise, and a place where there surely was much more room for improvement. SpaceX and Blue Origin, the two giants of reusable launch vehicles today, were in their infancy at the time, and it took some measure of faith to believe that radical change in the economics of space travel was possible. Nonetheless I believed, and believed that this was something that would make humanity better, or at least more enduring and connected to the cosmos. I guess that seemed better by inspection.

Buoyed by my childhood dreams of matching wits with the great airplane designers, I fancied being something like the Donald Douglas or Kelly Johnson of spaceflight, or at least a next sort of Werner Von Braun. I was obsessed enough that my first email addressed featured one of those names, and it’s the most embarrassing one on the list.

 What I realize now is that Douglas and Johnson and Von Braun and all the others didn’t do what history credits them without hundreds or thousands of people laboring tirelessly (or more likely, very tiredly) in support. A canoe is a reasonable project for one man or woman, a nuclear submarine not so much. So it is for the homebuilt and the Starship (Beech or SpaceX, take your pick). It's true that each person who works on bringing a rocket or spacecraft to life is necessary to the finished product. It's also true that you could remove any one person out of the thousand and another capable engineer could fill their place like another raindrop from the storm. In the course of history I suspect few people have been truly indispensable.

 Today being a parent is one of the most essential parts of my identity. Every day of my life is structured around what I do for my children, and virtually every decision I make links back to my service and support for them. I fancied myself someone who had something to contribute to the next generation. I endeavored to do better by them than my parents did for me. I’ll spare you the details. I don’t think that’s happened.

 Around the world the total fertility rate is collapsing. Despite that, the world has seven billion, going on eight billion, people on its surface. Every day sees hundreds of thousands of new faces added to the litany of human experience. Look around. It’s hard not to think the world has enough people.

 I’m interested in people who become writers. Maybe I’ll be one some day (new ambitions are fun). There’s some quality these people needed to make the transition they made. Whether it was stubbornness, arrogance, or something in between, they looked at a library full of books and decided that even if the world has enough, there was still room for their stories.

 The passion to create seems to be one of the most fundamental aspects of the human experience. Maybe this isn’t everyone’s experience, but it’s part of mine, anyway. The discouragement comes when considering the mountain of creation that exists and the small work a single creature can do by comparison. Humility encourages the ego to shrink when it contemplates narcissism. Nonetheless,  we all seem called to carry on in a world that has plenty of airplanes, plenty of rockets, plenty of babies, and plenty of books. The plenty is there. So are you.

 The question, then, is there for the asking. What are you (yes, you) going to do about it?