At the age of 90, I had the unique honor of traveling to the edge of space on the Blue Origin rocket. It was an emotional and profoundly meaningful experience for me—one that felt like a culmination of the incredible journey my life has been. As I sat in that capsule, hearing the roar of the rocket beneath me, I couldn’t help but reflect on the long and winding road that brought me to this moment.
The launch itself was unforgettable. Imagine sitting atop what feels like a controlled explosion. When the rocket ignited, it didn’t just start; it roared, and for a split second, it sounded more like an explosion than ignition. It scared the living daylights out of me. Then, when the booster separated, the explosive bolts detonated just below my seat, adding another jolt to the surreal intensity of the moment. For a seasoned test pilot with 9,000 hours of flight experience, you might think I’d be immune to fear. But this was different. It was raw, visceral, and humbling. It made me think, “Oh, so this is how it feels.”
That moment, and the entire journey, was deeply personal for me. It wasn’t just about crossing a boundary of altitude. It was about reclaiming a dream that had been deferred for decades. In the 1960s, I had the chance to train as an astronaut. President John F. Kennedy himself had a vision of me—a Black man—breaking barriers as the first African American astronaut. But the times and the forces of racism were against me. After JFK’s assassination, those dreams were systematically dismantled. I left the Air Force under the shadow of threats and disappointments, uncertain of what my legacy might ultimately be.
But my story didn’t end there. My mother, Georgia, always believed in my potential, even when the world seemed determined to limit me. She instilled in me a deep sense of resilience and curiosity. From the time I was a small boy in 1930s Kansas, she worked tirelessly to prepare me for a world that wasn’t ready for someone like me. She would rub my head each night, telling me I was “the greatest little specimen on Earth,” building my confidence in ways that shielded me from the harsh realities of segregation and prejudice.
That foundation carried me through countless challenges. It gave me the strength to excel in a segregated Catholic high school, where my sister and I became the first Black students to integrate the institution. It propelled me into an unexpected art career years later, where I channeled my frustrations and hopes into sculptures that celebrated the often-overlooked contributions of Black Americans. Over the course of 40 years, I created over 18,000 gallery pieces and 130 monuments, works that are displayed in places like the Smithsonian and public spaces across the United States.
And now, decades later, I found myself looking at Earth from the edge of space. The view was breathtaking. Even with my failing eyesight, I could see enough to be moved to tears. From up there, Earth looked so delicate, so unified, without the divisions that people have drawn on maps. It made me wonder why humanity continues to harm such a fragile and beautiful place with conflict and environmental neglect. I wanted to shout down from space, “Stop tearing this place apart. Protect it so future generations can thrive.”
This journey wasn’t just about me. It was for all the people who’ve faced barriers and been told they couldn’t achieve their dreams because of who they are. My mother used to tell me that my life wasn’t just for me—it was for the contribution I could make to others. And she was right. In taking this flight, I wasn’t just fulfilling a personal ambition; I was helping to close a loop on a dream that began in the 1960s. It was a moment of healing, of reclaiming, and of hope.
When I returned to Earth, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. It had taken me over 60 years to reach the edge of space, but the wait was worth it. Life has taught me that dreams don’t have an expiration date. And as I look back on my journey, I see not just the challenges and setbacks but also the triumphs and the resilience that made them possible.
To anyone who dares to dream, my message is simple: Stay curious. Keep an open mind. You never know where your journey will take you.
