Your Moonshot Might Just Be a Solo Campout

There are a lot of things I admire from a safe distance: roller coasters, cliffs, and space travel. I have never dreamed of going to space. Ever. Not as a kid. Not as an adult. Space is scary. Hurtling-through-the-void scary.

And yet, I deeply admire those willing to do it anyway.

That is part of what got me thinking about Artemis II, the first crewed trip around the moon in more than 50 years. The mission launched on April 1, 2026, and splashed down off the California coast on April 10 after a nearly 10-day journey. At its farthest point, the crew traveled 252,756 miles from Earth. That is not just “outside your comfort zone.” That is leaving your comfort zone in another celestial neighborhood.

Still, what grabs me most is not the spectacle. It is the very human core beneath it: fear, preparation, trust, and the decision to go anyway.

Most of us are not boarding a spacecraft, but many of us are standing at the edge of our own version of scary.

Maybe it is camping solo for the first time. Maybe it is signing up for a climbing class. Maybe it is finally tackling that section of the Appalachian Trail you keep talking about. Different scale, same emotional weather.

Photo: Nigel Evans

Artemis II and the anatomy of a hard thing

Artemis II carried four astronauts: Reid Wiseman, Victor Glover, Christina Koch, and Jeremy Hansen. The mission was designed as a test flight of NASA’s Orion spacecraft around the moon and back, a major step toward future Artemis missions. In other words, this was not a joyride. It was a high-stakes exercise in training, teamwork, and trust in systems people have spent years building.

Space exploration is not magic. It is preparation. It is checklists. It is repetition. It is doing the boring work so you can survive the beautiful part.

That feels relevant on Earth, too.

We tend to talk about courage as if it arrives in one dramatic burst. But usually, courage looks much less glamorous. It looks like researching a trail. Testing your stove in the backyard. Taking a beginner's climbing class. Packing extra socks because you have learned, perhaps the hard way, that wet feet can ruin an entire hike.

You do not need a rocket to leave your comfort zone

This is the part I love about Artemis II: it reminds me that bravery is scalable.

No, your first solo campout is not the same as flying around the moon. Obviously. (Although they may both involve freeze-dried dinners.) But emotionally? There is overlap.

Both ask you to step away from what is familiar. Both require trust in your preparation. Both ask you to keep going even as your brain helpfully lists reasons to stay home and binge-watch a television series instead.

Jeremy Hansen, the first Canadian to fly around the moon, said he hoped the mission would be “a reminder and reflection of what we can do when we set big goals and work together to achieve them.” Yup. That is space-mission language, but it also works beautifully for ordinary courage. Big goals do not become less intimidating because they are Earthbound.

For some people, a moonshot is literal. For the rest of us, it might look like this:

• Camp by yourself for the first time

Just one night. One. You do not need to emerge from the woods transformed. You just need to prove to yourself that you can do something unfamiliar and come out stronger.

• Try rock climbing

Indoor counts. Seriously. The point is not to become a climbing bro overnight. It is to let your body and brain do something new, awkward, and a little thrilling.

• Do the smaller version of the big dream

You do not need to hike the entire Appalachian Trail tomorrow. You can start with an afternoon hike, or maybe a full weekend of hiking.

Preparation is not the opposite of courage

One thing astronauts understand, and outdoor people should as well, is that preparation is not cowardly. It is respectful.

Reid Wiseman said of the Orion spacecraft, “Every lesson that has ever been learned in human spaceflight has been rolled into Orion.” That line is a powerful reminder that bold adventures are usually built on a mountain of hard-earned knowledge.

And that applies whether you are orbiting the moon or heading to a state park with one bar of cell service.

So before your own moonshot, do the unsexy stuff:

• Check the weather

• Practice the knots

• Bring the map

• Tell someone where you are going

• Learn the route

• Pack the headlamp

That is not overthinking it. That is how you earn your confidence.

Fear and wonder often share a trailhead

Maybe that is the lesson I keep coming back to.

I do not want to go to space, not even a little. But I respect those who do because they remind me that growth usually starts in the same place for all of us: right at the edge of what feels manageable.

You can stand there and back away. Plenty of people do. Or you can take one step farther than you have before. Your moonshot might not roar off a launchpad. It might be quieter than that. It might be a solo campout. A first climb. A first backpacking trip. A first real yes to something you have been avoiding because it scares you.

It still counts.