Sharing Space

Sharing Space Plot Summary

Introduction

In the silent darkness of the International Space Station, Cady Coleman floated in the Cupola, Earth's luminous curve filling her view. As she gazed at the tapestry of city lights, azure oceans, and russet deserts 250 miles below, she experienced a profound shift in perspective. Moments like these, where an astronaut sees our planet as a fragile home suspended in the vast blackness of space, can transform not just how they see the world, but how they understand humanity's place within it. For Coleman, a chemist turned astronaut, these moments of cosmic awe were balanced with the remarkably human experiences of daily life in zero gravity – the challenges of eating, sleeping, working, and even using the bathroom in an environment where nothing stays put. Cady Coleman's journey represents more than just a personal achievement of reaching space. It embodies the evolution of space exploration itself – from the days when astronauts were exclusively white men with military backgrounds to a more inclusive era where scientists, women, and people from diverse backgrounds could contribute their unique perspectives to humanity's greatest adventure. Through her experiences breaking gender barriers, conducting groundbreaking science experiments, capturing satellites with robotic arms, and navigating the complex dynamics of international crews, Coleman shows us what it means to pursue a mission larger than oneself while remaining authentically human. Her story reveals both the breathtaking wonders of space exploration and the very earthly challenges of balancing family life, overcoming biases, and finding one's place in a world that wasn't designed with you in mind.

Chapter 1: From Chemistry to Space: The Path to NASA

The exact moment when Catherine "Cady" Coleman's life trajectory changed is still vivid in her memory. It was 1982, and she was hurrying down MIT's "Infinite Corridor" when a poster caught her eye – Sally Ride, one of America's first female astronauts, would be giving a talk on campus. As a junior studying chemistry, Coleman had never seriously considered becoming an astronaut. The images she'd grown up with from the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo programs had featured exclusively white male astronauts with military backgrounds and test pilot experience – nothing like herself. When Coleman attended Ride's presentation, something profound shifted in her perspective. Here was Sally Ride – a scientist with wavy brown hair, wearing a blue flight suit – appearing so remarkably capable yet surprisingly relatable. After the talk, Coleman joined the line to meet Ride, and when they shook hands, a powerful realization dawned: if Sally could be an astronaut, maybe she could too. It wasn't explicit permission, but rather the simple, powerful act of representation that made something previously unimaginable suddenly seem possible. Coleman continued her education, earning a PhD in polymer chemistry from the University of Massachusetts before beginning her service in the Air Force, which had funded her undergraduate education through ROTC. At the Air Force Research Laboratory in Dayton, Ohio, she worked developing new materials for aircraft while completing her dissertation in her spare time. To build the operational experience that might strengthen a future NASA application, she learned to fly planes and volunteered for the Air Force's human centrifuge testing program, where participants endured the extreme G-forces that astronauts and fighter pilots experience during flight. In 1992, Coleman's persistence paid off when she received a phone call from Don Puddy at NASA: "Would you still like to come and work with us?" She had been selected as part of NASA's 14th astronaut class, one of only three women in a group of nineteen Americans. The selection validated years of hard work and preparation, proving wrong everyone who had ever underestimated her – including herself at times. Coleman's path demonstrated that determination, coupled with scientific excellence and a willingness to step outside her comfort zone, could overcome the boundaries of conventional expectations. From that chemistry student captivated by a poster to an astronaut preparing for space, Coleman had transformed not just her career trajectory but her sense of what was possible.

Chapter 2: Breaking Gender Barriers in Space Exploration

When Cady Coleman arrived at NASA in 1992, female astronauts were still a rarity. Only a handful of women had flown in space, and the culture remained heavily influenced by its military and test pilot origins. As she embarked on the intensive training required of all astronaut candidates, Coleman quickly discovered that many aspects of space exploration simply weren't designed with women in mind – from spacesuits to scheduling systems to cultural expectations. The spacewalk training presented perhaps the most significant physical challenge. After training initially in a properly fitting small-sized EVA (Extravehicular Activity) suit, Coleman learned that NASA had made a "programmatic decision" to eliminate both the small and extra-large suit sizes to cut costs. This meant that she – along with any astronaut her size or smaller – would have to train in a medium suit that was far too large. "When someone asks you what size suit you wear," advised experienced spacewalker Tom Akers, "you tell them a medium will be no problem." The elimination of the small suit effectively removed eight women – nearly one-third of the female astronaut corps at the time – from spacewalk eligibility and thus from long-duration space station missions. Rather than complain about the ill-fitting equipment, Coleman adapted. She added extra padding to stabilize herself inside the oversized suit and worked diligently to master the physically demanding tasks of spacewalking. Every training session left her covered in bruises and abrasions where the suit had chafed against her body, but she maintained a cheerful, competent demeanor throughout. "I knew that this was essential," she recalls, "especially for someone like me, who wasn't pegged as a 'promising' spacewalker from the start, because of my size and gender." The challenges weren't limited to physical equipment. Cultural barriers persisted as well. Coleman noticed that her male colleagues could easily announce they needed to leave early for childcare responsibilities without consequence, while women astronauts carefully avoided such requests for fear their fundamental competence might be questioned. During her training for the International Space Station, Coleman worked with a Russian commander who initially struggled to view her as a competent crewmate rather than a female passenger. Despite her extensive flight experience – having already completed two shuttle missions – she had to repeatedly prove her worth. Throughout her NASA career, Coleman employed a strategic approach to gender barriers. Sometimes she chose to directly advocate for change, as when she insisted on bringing female perspectives into NASA's public outreach efforts. Other times, she worked within the constraints of the system, finding ways to excel despite the obstacles. Her success helped pave the way for future generations of female astronauts – including those who would eventually perform the first all-female spacewalk in 2019. Coleman's persistence demonstrated that breaking barriers isn't always about dramatic confrontation; sometimes it's about the daily determination to perform excellently in an environment that wasn't designed for you, while simultaneously working to make that environment better for those who follow.

Chapter 3: Life in Zero-G: Everyday Challenges and Triumphs

Floating out of her sleeping bag each morning aboard the International Space Station, Cady Coleman would often awaken disoriented, momentarily unsure which way was "up." Her tiny sleeping compartment, not much bigger than a bathroom stall, had soft white panels on all sides that offered few visual cues about orientation. After a quick assessment, she'd unzip her sleeping bag, push off gently, and begin her day flying through the station's interconnected modules – a daily commute unlike any on Earth. This sense of disorientation followed by adaptation became a familiar rhythm during Coleman's six-month mission aboard the ISS. Simple tasks that earthbound humans take for granted required creative rethinking in the microgravity environment. Brushing teeth meant swallowing toothpaste rather than spitting it out, since in zero gravity, spat toothpaste becomes a messy projectile. Showering was impossible, replaced by sponge baths using moist towelettes. The bathroom – officially called the Waste Collection System – functioned like a specialized vacuum cleaner, using air flow to direct waste where it needed to go in the absence of gravity. Food presented its own unique challenges and pleasures. The ISS menu rotated on a nine-day cycle, with meals ranging from rehydratable scrambled eggs to packaged chicken soup. While certainly not gourmet cuisine, meals became important social occasions and opportunities for cultural exchange. Coleman would trade her American steaks for Russian borscht, and the cosmonauts would reciprocate with their own specialties. Special treats sent up on supply ships – like chocolate spheres wrapped in Earth-shaped foil or Swedish Fish candies – provided welcome variety and moments of childlike joy as they floated freely about the cabin. Among the countless adaptations to weightlessness, sleeping arrangements proved surprisingly comfortable. Without the pressure of a mattress against their bodies, many astronauts reported sleeping better in space than they did on Earth. Coleman preferred to sleep untethered, curling into a ball inside her sleeping bag and simply floating freely in her cabin. "It's the ultimate waterbed," she jokes, "except without the water, and without the bed." Perhaps the most profound adaptation was the changed relationship to three-dimensional space itself. On Earth, humans instinctively navigate in two dimensions, rarely considering the space above their heads. In zero gravity, every cubic inch becomes usable space. Moving through the station meant flying rather than walking, with astronauts pushing off surfaces to propel themselves in any direction. This freedom of movement brought unexpected joy. "This weightless freedom is truly one of the most magical feelings I've ever had," Coleman reflects. "In space, the lightest touch of a finger can propel you across a module." Despite the challenges, or perhaps because of them, daily life aboard the ISS fostered a deep appreciation for the extraordinary privilege of living in space. Coleman would often find herself lingering in the Cupola – the station's seven-windowed observation dome – gazing at Earth below or playing her flute in the silence after her crewmates had gone to sleep. These quiet moments of wonder, combined with the satisfaction of adapting to such an alien environment, created an experience she describes as "magical" – one that felt surprisingly like home.

Chapter 4: Building Trust Across Boundaries: International Collaboration

When Cady Coleman was assigned to the International Space Station, she found herself training to live and work with crewmates from around the world. Her primary crew for launch consisted of herself, Italian astronaut Paolo Nespoli, and Russian cosmonaut Dmitri "Dima" Kondratyev – "an Italian guy, a Russian guy, and an American woman," as leadership trainer John Kanengieter joked, "like the beginning of one of those 'walked into a bar' jokes." This diverse trio would need to form a cohesive team despite significant differences in language, culture, and personal background. Building trust with Dima proved particularly challenging. As a fighter pilot accustomed to working alone, he initially seemed to struggle with the concept of crew collaboration, especially with a female astronaut. During a critical landing simulation, when Coleman offered to help calculate burn times, Dima brushed aside her input – leading to a simulated crash. In the debrief, when he discovered her calculations had been correct, he reluctantly acknowledged her capabilities with a simple "You'll do the calculating." Coleman recognized this as a small but significant breakthrough, what she came to call a "boy apology" – not the full acknowledgment she might have wanted, but an important step toward mutual respect. Rather than confront Dima directly about his attitudes, Coleman sought ways to demonstrate her competence while also connecting on a human level. A turning point came when she asked about his son, and his entire demeanor changed as he proudly showed photos. "It often helped me to remember that this person was Dima too," she reflects. The crew also participated in a leadership training retreat where they shared personal stories about their paths to becoming astronauts, helping each understand the different worlds they came from. Once in space, the crew discovered that shared experiences – both wondrous and challenging – could bridge many differences. When Paolo's mother passed away during their mission, the entire crew gathered in the Cupola as they flew over Italy during her funeral, supporting their crewmate in his moment of grief. When they witnessed the devastating 2011 tsunami in Japan from orbit, they worked together to take photographs that might help with recovery efforts and created origami cranes as symbols of hope for their Japanese colleagues. These moments of shared humanity strengthened their bonds despite their differences. Coleman also found that food served as a universal language that transcended cultural boundaries. The simple act of trading meals – her American steak for Russian borscht – created connections when words might fail. Similarly, music became another bridge. During their mission, Coleman coordinated a space-Earth duet with Jethro Tull's Ian Anderson to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of human spaceflight, demonstrating how art could unite people across vast distances. Through these experiences, Coleman learned that while trust is essential in space, friendship is optional. "You don't need to be best friends with your crewmates," she explains, "but you do need to trust them with your life." This insight applied not just to her relationship with Dima but to all her collaborative endeavors. By focusing on the shared mission rather than personal differences, they developed the trust necessary to work effectively together. This lesson – building trust across boundaries of nationality, culture, and personal style – proved as valuable on Earth as it was in space, demonstrating how diverse teams can accomplish extraordinary things when united by a common purpose.

Chapter 5: Balancing Family and Space: A Mother in Orbit

When Cady Coleman received the call assigning her to a six-month mission aboard the International Space Station, she faced a profound personal challenge. As the mother of a seven-year-old son, Jamey, she would need to leave him behind for an extended period – not just during the mission itself, but for long stretches of the three-year training period that preceded it. "How can I do this and still be a good mom?" she wondered, a question that pulled at her deeply. Coleman's family situation was already unconventional. She and her husband, glass artist Josh Simpson, maintained a long-distance relationship between Houston and their home in western Massachusetts. While Coleman worked at NASA's Johnson Space Center, Josh remained in Massachusetts with his established studio and shared custody of his son from a previous marriage. They had navigated this arrangement for years, with Coleman commuting between the two locations. Adding a space mission to this already complex juggling act seemed daunting. After careful consideration with Josh, Coleman concluded: "This is who Jamey's mom is. Part of my identity is that I'm an astronaut." She recognized that one of the best examples she could set for her son was showing him the importance of pursuing a mission she was passionate about. They prepared Jamey carefully, explaining that she wouldn't be going while he was in first, second, or third grade, but when he reached fourth grade, she would live on the space station. This concrete timeline helped him understand the plan. The demands of balancing motherhood with her astronaut career required an extensive support network – what Coleman calls her "ground crew." Josh's mother moved to their town to help with Jamey while Coleman was in space. Neighbors, friends, and family all pitched in with childcare, school pickups, and airport handoffs during the complex logistics of training around the world. "We'd never have survived without our Massachusetts village," Coleman acknowledges. While on the ISS, Coleman maintained connection with Jamey through weekly video conferences and almost daily phone calls. They often did math homework together, with Coleman having photographed his textbook to bring with her. Their beloved Maine Coon cat, Fang, would join these calls, providing a sense of normalcy and continuity. For special occasions, Coleman would arrange to pass over their Massachusetts home at times when Josh and Jamey could wave up at the "brightest star" crossing the sky – the space station carrying his mom. Upon returning to Earth, Coleman had to navigate yet another transition. Due to medical tests and debriefings, she couldn't immediately return to Massachusetts with Josh and Jamey after landing. This unexpected separation was difficult, especially for a young boy who had waited six months to have his mother back. The experience highlighted the sacrifices that space exploration demands not just from astronauts but from their families. Looking back, Coleman acknowledges that her unorthodox family arrangement had both challenges and benefits. While the separations were difficult, Jamey developed remarkable resilience and self-reliance. He became an accomplished photographer and journal keeper – storytelling skills he developed to help knit his worlds together. "Function matters much more than form when it comes to family," Coleman reflects. "Family doesn't have to look any particular way to function beautifully. But it takes courage to write and stand up for your own family playbook when the people around you can't imagine how a family could work if it looks different from theirs."

Chapter 6: Robotics, Telescope Launches, and Critical Missions

On a critical morning aboard the International Space Station, Cady Coleman and her crewmate Paolo Nespoli floated in the station's Cupola, surrounded by control panels and computer screens. Their mission: to capture an uncrewed Japanese supply vessel named Kounotori ("White Stork") using the station's 58-foot robotic arm. With the massive cylindrical spacecraft approaching at 17,500 miles per hour – the same speed as the station itself – Coleman would have one chance to grapple it successfully. A miscalculation could result in a catastrophic collision. This high-stakes maneuver represented the culmination of Coleman's extensive training in robotics and her natural aptitude for precise, delicate operations. As the supply ship moved into position, Coleman methodically guided the robotic arm toward its target, adjusting for slight drifts while maintaining constant communication with Paolo. When the arm successfully captured Kounotori, securing 8,500 pounds of essential supplies and equipment, the achievement marked only the second such capture in the station's history. Coleman's expertise with complex mechanical systems had been evident throughout her NASA career. On her second shuttle mission, STS-93, she had been assigned the critical task of deploying the Chandra X-ray Observatory – a $1.6 billion telescope designed to study black holes and other high-energy phenomena. As the astronaut responsible for operating the controls, Coleman would initiate the sequence that released Chandra from the shuttle's payload bay and sent it on its journey to orbit. The deployment presented unique challenges. Once Coleman rotated the telescope to its deployment position, the power cables connecting it to the shuttle would disconnect – a point of no return. If something went wrong after that point, the telescope couldn't be reconnected and would likely be lost. Despite communication issues that briefly interrupted the final "GO" for deployment, Coleman maintained her focus. When the moment came, she unlocked and engaged the deploy lever, watching as the telescope gracefully separated from the shuttle and sailed into space. Coleman's scientific background proved invaluable during her missions. On her first shuttle flight, STS-73, she served as part of the science crew conducting experiments in microgravity. For sixteen days – the longest shuttle mission ever planned at that time – Coleman and her crewmates performed dozens of experiments in the Spacelab module, studying everything from fluid dynamics to crystal growth to plant development. These experiments not only advanced scientific understanding but also served as pathfinders for how science would later be conducted on the International Space Station. When disaster struck NASA with the Columbia accident in 2003, Coleman contributed her materials science expertise to the recovery efforts. Working on a team developing an adhesive "goo" to repair damaged shuttle tiles, she brought scientific rigor to the project, recruiting specialists from academia and industry. To demonstrate the challenges of applying the material to crumbling tiles, she famously brought a sheet cake and frosting to a team meeting, having everyone practice "repairs" that mirrored the real-world challenges they would face. Throughout these varied assignments, Coleman demonstrated that effective astronauts must combine technical mastery with adaptability and calm under pressure. Whether deploying multi-billion-dollar telescopes, conducting cutting-edge science, or capturing massive supply ships with robotic precision, she approached each mission with the same methodical focus. These technical achievements, while less visible to the public than spacewalks or moonwalks, represent some of space exploration's most valuable contributions – advancing our understanding of the universe while developing technologies that improve life on Earth.

Chapter 7: Landing and Legacy: Making Space for Everyone

After six months aboard the International Space Station, Cady Coleman found herself strapped into a Russian Soyuz capsule alongside Paolo and Dima, beginning the journey home. Saying goodbye to the station had been bittersweet – she'd grown to love living in space and could have happily stayed longer, yet she eagerly anticipated reuniting with her family. As their small spacecraft detached from the ISS, they paused to capture historic images of the station with the docked space shuttle Endeavour – a sight no astronaut had ever seen before and one that represented the culmination of fifteen nations' collaborative efforts. The return to Earth was as dramatic as the ascent had been. Reentry brought the surreal sight of fragments of the spacecraft's heat shield flying past their windows as it ablated in the intense heat. When the main parachute deployed, it jerked the capsule to an abrupt halt, followed by wild spinning. Finally, the capsule touched down on the Kazakh steppe with a solid thud, kicking up a cloud of dust. Coleman's first thought upon landing: "Gravity sucks!" After six months of weightlessness, even lifting her arm felt exhausting. Readjusting to life on Earth presented physical and emotional challenges. While her body quickly adapted to gravity again, Coleman experienced a sense of emotional distance from the bustling world around her. Having spent months in the intimate confines of the space station with just her crewmates, she found herself wanting to avoid crowds and struggling to explain her experiences to those who hadn't shared them. Fortunately, she felt immediately needed and valuable back at NASA, where she was assigned to help coordinate the emerging commercial cargo missions to the space station. Over time, Coleman's mission evolved beyond flying in space to include sharing the space experience with others – particularly those who had historically been excluded from the space program. She became a dedicated advocate for inclusion in space exploration, working to ensure that women and people of color were represented in NASA's public communications. When CNN asked her to narrate eclipse coverage, she insisted on including local Girl Scouts in the broadcast, knowing the impact of seeing young women actively participating in science. Coleman also became an adviser to AstroAccess, an organization working toward disability inclusion in space exploration. Coaching participants with disabilities during zero-gravity airplane flights, she witnessed Paralympic gold medalist CeCe Mazyck, who uses a wheelchair, experience the freedom of weightlessness. "Cady, I can go ANYWHERE up here!" Mazyck exclaimed – a moment that made Coleman rethink assumptions about who belongs in space. Perhaps Coleman's most profound legacy comes from the perspective she gained orbiting Earth every 90 minutes. From that vantage point, national borders disappear, and humanity's shared home becomes strikingly apparent. "Earth itself is like a spaceship, sailing along in our universe, and we are its crew," she reflects. "When I lived on the space station, it was clear that the six of us on board were the only ones in sight who could carry out the mission. If something needed to be done, it was indisputably up to us." This realization drives Coleman's current mission – helping others understand that we are all crewmates on "Spaceship Earth," with shared responsibility for our planet's future. By sharing her unique perspective and creating opportunities for diverse voices to be heard, she works to expand the circle of inclusion, both in space exploration and on Earth. Her story demonstrates that the journey to space isn't just about technological achievement but about bringing humanity's full spectrum of talents, experiences, and perspectives to our greatest adventure.

Summary

Cady Coleman's remarkable journey from chemistry student to astronaut embodies a profound truth about human potential: our limitations are often self-imposed or dictated by societal expectations rather than actual capabilities. Throughout her career, Coleman repeatedly challenged assumptions about who belongs in space, demonstrating that determination, adaptability, and a willingness to ask for help can overcome seemingly insurmountable barriers. Her experiences – from training in ill-fitting spacesuits to building trust with initially skeptical crewmates to maintaining family bonds across 250 miles of space – offer valuable lessons about perseverance in the face of systemic challenges and the importance of making space for diverse contributions. Perhaps the most powerful legacy of Coleman's journey is the perspective it provides on our shared humanity. From orbit, the artificial boundaries that divide us disappear, revealing a single fragile planet that we all call home. This cosmic viewpoint reminds us that we are, in a very real sense, crewmates on "Spaceship Earth" – collectively responsible for its care and future. Whether contemplating career obstacles, family challenges, or global crises, Coleman's story encourages us to approach problems with an astronaut's mindset: focusing on the mission rather than personal differences, adapting creatively to constraints, building trust across boundaries, and recognizing that our unique contributions matter to the larger whole. For anyone facing seemingly impossible challenges or working to create more inclusive communities, Coleman's journey offers both inspiration and practical wisdom from someone who has truly seen the big picture.

About Author

Loading...

Cady Coleman

Read more