Esquire publishes an excerpt from Chris Hadfield’s book, Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth, from Alpina Non-Fiction.
ISS commander who became an Internet star thanksthe cover version of David Bowie’s song “Space Oddity” and the video shot right at the station, Canadian Chris Hadfield spent almost 4,000 hours in space and is considered one of the most experienced and popular astronauts in the world.
When the three of us climbed to the top of the gangway, the technicians pushed us into a miniature elevator that rattled, lifting us up. Then we were pushed into a cramped booth with a hole in its side, resembling an Eskimo dwelling - a needle. We removed our white bedspreads and crawled one by one through the hatch into the orbital module. I was a pilot and had to sit to the left of the commander, and I entered first, because it was the most difficult to get to my place. After take-off, the orbital module will become, in essence, our living room, but now it was strange to see that it was almost up to the ceiling filled with all sorts of equipment and supplies.
There was still much to do before we could take off, and the most important was a leak test. We had to make sure that all the hatches of our ship were tightly closed. Checked: everything is in order. Then it was necessary to check the tightness of our Sokol spacesuits, so that in case of depressurization of the Soyuz, they could become, in fact, our individual ships and help us gain time to return to Earth. Without them, we die from a lack of oxygen quickly, but not painlessly. First, we closed and locked our helmets, reminding each other that we should hear two clicks. Then they used the regulators on the spacesuit to inflate our Falcons like balloons. It’s not a pleasant feeling - at the same time it puts a lot of ears in, but we know that we can rely on our spacesuits in a critical situation for about 25 seconds. We waited three minutes for the ground services to make sure that everything was in order, and then with a bang opened our helmets and turned off the oxygen supply. In the module, it was already enough - we did not need to increase the risk of a fire.
And outside at this time the platform was removed from our ship - a movable structure with a ladder, an elevator and a small room. About 40 minutes were left before take-off. Yuri asked us what songs we would like to listen to while we wait for the start. He chose several songs for us. He knew us very well. As soon as the music began to play, we smiled, understanding the special significance of each of these songs for us. For Tom, a classic guitar sounded. Tom is a good guitar player, and he planned to practice playing on the ISS. My brother Dave’s song “Big Smoke” was included for me, which connected the family, history, music and my current location, on top, which will soon turn into a huge smoking chimney. For Roman, the youngest of us, they launched something from rock music, some kind of catchy song that you want to dance to, even when you are fastened to the chair so tight that it’s difficult to move. I ordered the song “If You Could Read My Mind”, my favorite song by Gordon Lightfoot; sublime and light, she always gives me peace. And since we, if we follow the Mayan calendar, were only a couple of days away, I also asked for an accelerated version of the Great Big Sea song “It’s the End of the World as We Know It”. We also listened to U2 “Beautiful Day” and Depeche Mode “World in My Eyes”, which begins with the words:
Let me take you with me
On a trip around the world, back and forth
But you don’t have to move
Just sit still.
This is exactly what we were trying to do now - to sit still and remain calm, while the clock was counting minutes and the sun was lowering lower and lower to the horizon. According to the plan, the take-off was to take place immediately after sunset. We did not want our hearts to start popping out of our chest from excitement five minutes before the start. Under the suit, we were wearing something like a training bra with electrodes, through which information about our condition was transmitted to the ground services. None of us wanted to give cause for concern to the team of doctors who monitored every beat of our hearts. Especially to me - right now, after all that had to go before I was allowed to fly. In my checklist, I even wrote in pencil: “Keep calm. Medical parameters. ” The utmost attention to detail, but so that no one even notices the tension.
A few minutes before the start, under the Beatles song “Here Comes The Sun”, we opened the start page of our recordings: all the instructions for the entire process, from starting the engine to taking the ship off the earth, fit on just one page. In fact, it is unbelievable that a single page was enough to describe such a complex sequence of events, but we needed to follow the information boards with hawkish vigilance. In any case, it was implied that we know Boldface by heart. Yuri, saying goodbye, wished us a soft landing. We also wanted just that.
External, smaller engines started about 30 seconds before the start, so that the Control Center could make sure everything was ready and working normally before giving a command to start the main engines, which have sufficient power and can take our ship off the ground . So the risks were reduced at the start, and Tom and I allowed us to get used to the Soyuz a little bit. Unlike the launch of the shuttle with its rocking and the ringing sound of the engines, here we heard only a big roar.
Engines are mounted on the shuttle on one side of the ship, so when they are launched, the force they develop not only pushes the ship forward, but also tends to tilt it. On the Soyuz, the engines are located symmetrically relative to the center of gravity of the ship, therefore, although there is constantly increasing vibration, there is no lateral movement and there is no sudden explosive jerk of the ship, indicating that you are leaving the planet.
The roar of the engines became stronger and more insistent as we listened to the countdown in Russian in our headphones and, at the end, “Start”. Takeoff. The feelings were very different from those that I experienced during my launches on the shuttles. Now everything happened gradually and evenly as the fuel burned out, the engines gained power for separation. The sensations at the starting acceleration are not very different from those when you just sit on Earth. We understood that we were leaving the launch pad, thanks to the clock rather than a sense of speed.
From the point of view of outsiders, in the first 10 seconds after the start, everything happens painfully slowly. However, inside the ship, we focused not on fear, but on anticipating the development of events, ready for the equipment to do its job. You feel like a passenger of a huge locomotive, however, no one can pull the stop crane if necessary. To some extent, we could control the ship. The task was to understand whether it was necessary to take control of themselves, and if so, when. After a minute, we began to be pressed into the seats more and more. The initial climb seemed clearly directed, but smooth, as if you were sitting on the handle of a broom, which the invisible hand calmly directs a little to the left, then a little to the right, forward and backward. The rocket itself corrected its position in space as it took off and when the wind and engine thrust changed. However, the flight became less and less smooth. When the first-stage engines stopped working and the starting boosters separated from the rocket, there was a noticeable change in vibration and acceleration increased, and not just the speed, which was constantly growing. We were thrown forward, then we gradually returned back when the Soyuz, which had lost weight, continued to gain height with a roar. The same jerk, but weaker, was repeated when the second stage separated, and when the engines of the third stage began to work — the very ones that were supposed to accelerate the ship to orbital speed — we were thrown back with force. However, it was a good feeling, because only a year ago the third-stage engines on the Progress unmanned cargo ship did not start, and it crashed somewhere in the sparsely populated area of \u200b\u200bthe Himalayas. If such an accident occurred with our rocket, Soyuz would open its parachutes, after which it would take more than one day to find us.
We all took a survival course in winter conditions in remote areas to be prepared for such a scenario, so we had a good idea of \u200b\u200bhow difficult and miserable these days would be. At this time of the year, we undoubtedly would like Michelin costumes to be with us. Each time after the completion of the next important stage of the journey, we breathed easier. However, it cannot be said that this process got on the nerves. When approaching the next stage, we realized that the probability of some really bad turn of events was not ruled out, but at the same time we knew what actions should be taken by each of us in this case. We were on the alert and ready to act. If the situation had become catastrophic, for example, if the engines did not turn off in a timely manner, I should click the switch and press the two emergency buttons to light the pyro-bolts that would separate our module from the rocket.
I will have only five seconds to correctly assess the critical situation and perform the appropriate actions.
The three of us have repeatedly discussed who exactly should do this, who should give permission. We agreed that if event X does not happen within Y seconds, then I will activate the module separation. Sitting to the left of the ship's commander is actually the only one who can reach the necessary buttons. I lifted the covers that usually close these buttons, so I was ready to press them any second. And it was a wonderful moment when I closed these covers back.
It took nine minutes of the flight. The engines of the third stage were turned off, the Soyuz separated from the launch vehicle, and the antennas and solar panels of the ship turned around. Flight control was transferred from Baikonur to the Russian Mission Control Center, located in the suburbs of Moscow, the city of Korolev.
Each crew takes flight its own "g-meter" on a string, a toy or a figurine, which they hang in front of them to see when the ship is in zero gravity. Our “g-meter” was Klepa, a small knitted doll - the hero of a Russian children's television program, a gift from Anastasia, Roman’s nine-year-old daughter. When the thread on which the doll was hung suddenly loosened and the toy began to soar in the air, I experienced a feeling that I had never before experienced in space: I returned home.
The whole life of an astronaut consists of simulators, training, forecasting, attempts to develop the necessary skills and form the right way of thinking. But ultimately this is all pretense. And only after the engines are turned off and you are convinced that the course and speed of the ship are correct, you can admit: “We succeeded. We are in space. ” There seems to be something in common with the birth of a child when you constantly think about the “end result”; you read books and looked at photographs, you prepared a nursery and took courses according to the Lamaz method, everything was planned for you, and you thought you know what you are doing, and then suddenly you come face to face with a screaming baby, and everything turns out to be completely not as you expected.
In 1995, I was the only newcomer to our team. I did not want to be in space with this bewildered feeling of the first working day: “And what should I do now?” It was supposed that we would spend only eight days in space. I did not want to feel useless and, in fact, did not want to be useless for a single day. Therefore, on Earth, I thought through in detail what exactly will happen when we gain orbital speed, and compiled a list of actions that I should have performed. I’m not talking about high and obscure tasks like “demonstrate leadership skills”. I mean very specific actions, such as, for example, putting your gloves and checklists in a special pocket, then collecting the headrest foam from each of the seats and folding it into a “bone bag” used for unnecessary things.
When there is an action plan, including absolutely mundane and obvious ones, this gives an advantage when adapting in a completely new environment. For example, I have never been to zero gravity. It seems that I just imagined what the sensations would be there, thanks to my training and education, but it turned out that I knew absolutely nothing about it. I got used to the fact that gravity pulls me to the ground, but now it seemed to me that a certain force was pulling me to the ceiling. It’s one thing to sit in an armchair and watch all kinds of things fly around you, but it’s completely different to get up and try to move yourself. It was a very disorienting form of cultural shock, literally dizzying. If I turned my head too fast, my stomach turned inside and nausea rolled up. My to-do list gave me the opportunity to concentrate on something other than my disorientation. When I finished the first task from my list and everything worked out for me, and then the second and third, and again everything worked out, it helped me to find support. This gave me some impetus; I no longer felt so confused.
Obviously, important events in life - such as a space launch - need to be carefully planned. You cannot simply improvise here. It is less obvious that it is advisable to have the same detailed plan for the post-launch adaptation period. Physical and psychological addiction to a new environment, no matter on Earth or in space, does not pass instantly. There is always a time gap between arriving at a new place and the appearance of a feeling of comfort. Having a plan in advance, in which all your actions will be divided into small, concrete steps, is the best way that I know to painlessly skip this gap.
At Soyuz, one does not have to suffer for a long time to make such a list. As soon as we were in orbit, a lot of practical business affairs arose, and due to the extremely limited space we had to do everything very carefully and carefully. The first and most important thing is a leak test. As soon as we were convinced that the automatic systems were working and the fuel lines of the shunting engines were full, we turned off the oxygen supply and measured the pressure in the descent and orbital modules for an hour. If it had even decreased slightly, we would have to turn around and head to one of the reserve landing sites or, depending on the severity of the situation, try to land at least somewhere, hoping that we would not collapse in someone in the yard. Fortunately, our ship was airtight, so Roman opened the hatch connecting the descent module with the orbital module, and sailed there to take off his spacesuit. We had to wait our turn: there is too little space on the Soyuz for three adult men to simultaneously get out of their Sokolov. It is easier to take off the suit than to put it on, but it’s still inconvenient, including because by this moment of flight it becomes very sticky from the inside, like a rubber glove that you used to hang on your hand for a while. To dry the suit, you need to blow it with a fan for several hours.
The next thing to remove is the diaper. Pride makes me report that I have never used my own, but those who had to were extremely happy to take it off. Now we had only long underwear left - 100% cotton, because in the event of a fire it only charred, does not melt and does not burn. As a rule, astronauts remain in their warm pants until the moment of docking with the ISS. Yes, and after the docking, they change clothes reluctantly and only because there will be TV cameras, so that there will not be an expression of horror on the faces of other ISS crew when they are greeted by astronauts dressed up in dirty underwear. The approach to hygiene on the “Union” is the same as in a camping trip. The rules of decency are very arbitrary on a ship of this size; here, for example, there is no separate toilet, so if you need to go a little, your teammates just modestly turn away while you are handling a thing more like a handheld vacuum cleaner with a small yellow funnel attached to it. It is quite easy to use: turn the knob to the “ON” position, check that the air flow has started, and then keep it closer to yourself so as not to wet everything around. Then quickly wipe with a piece of gauze, and the funnel is already dry.
As soon as I got out of my Falcon, I immediately took the cure for nausea. A feeling of nausea is inevitable during the first day in space, because weightlessness completely confuses your body. The vestibular apparatus can no longer reliably determine where the top is and where the bottom is, and this leads to a loss of balance and malaise. In the past, some astronauts vomited during the entire flight; their body could not get used to the lack of gravity. I knew that I was gradually adapting, but I did not see the point of being unwell in the first few days, so I took the medicine and tried not to eat much.
In the early days, in addition, I tried not to stare at the window. Unlike the shuttle, which receives electricity from fuel cells, the Soyuz is powered by solar panels; to maintain the orientation of the solar panels relative to the sun, the ship rotates like a chicken on a spit. Therefore, through the porthole you see the Earth, which tumbles over and over, and it is difficult to look at it when your stomach is restless. I waited for us to correct the trajectory, after which the ship will get a more stable position, and only then admired the views.
Astronaut Chris Hadfield - the first Canadian ever - ISS commander to become an Internet star thanks to a cover version of David Bowie's song “Space Oddity” and shot right at the station clip , - appears on the pages of her book exactly the way the Soviet ideological machine probably wanted to see pioneers dreaming of becoming astronauts: capable, diligent, disciplined, modest, athletic, putting the interests of the collective above their own (Headfield calls this the “expeditionary behavior model”) Yes, and an exemplary family man and a great friend of Russia in addition. Hadfield sincerely wants to convince the reader that flying into space is cool, but proves that astronauts are not superheroes (such quarreling with everyone at the most crucial moment), but modest and diligent hard workers, most of whose lives are spent in hard but inconspicuous labors . During his 21-year career, Headfield has been in space three times, with only his last flight lasting long. All the other years of his work, he was engaged in various, sometimes very unexpected things on Earth.
What is the life of an astronaut
Ongoing training
The lucky ones who have passed a furious selection and become astronauts do not rest on their laurels, since they fall to the very bottom of the "cosmic pyramid." Even hard-working people know almost nothing about their new profession, since they do not teach it. Because of this, almost the main content of the work of an astronaut comes down to continuous training throughout his career. A man who will be sent into space must keep enormous amounts of information in his head and be ready in a critical situation to extract the necessary information from his memory within a couple of seconds. The stereotype of tough guys is collapsing: in fact, astronauts are eternal bespectacled students who do not even get out of textbooks even on weekends.
Detailed instructions around the world
A characteristic feature of the work of space agencies is a huge number of detailed instructions that relate to the smallest aspects of flight. Any actions of the astronaut, from starting the engines to communicating with the press, are thought out, recorded and modeled - the constant training of any flight-related processes directly follows from the previous paragraph. The point is that NASA is trying to exclude any improvisation: no matter how events develop, the astronaut should know what is prescribed to do in such a situation, and clearly follow the instructions. And for this all of them must be known by heart.
Death modeling
Since absolutely any possible situation in flight is preliminarily modeled on Earth many times, an important place in training is occupied by the so-called “modeling of unforeseen circumstances” - the death of an astronaut is politically correct. In the presence of the "dead man" everything is uttered: what to do with the corpse, how quickly it will decompose on the ISS, how to fight off journalists and how to report the tragedy to the astronaut’s wife. The wife of a potential deceased is usually also present at such a training session to heighten realism.
Survival Training
So that “unforeseen circumstances” do not occur, astronauts, in addition to thoroughly studying space work, regularly undergo so-called survival training - alpine expeditions, arctic crossings, and deep-sea dives. Future Earth representatives in space are taught survival and teamwork in the most extreme conditions, developing skills that can be useful if something is not taken into account in the detailed instructions.
Multitasking on Earth and in space
And yet, direct preparation for the launch is far from all the work of an astronaut. The principle of NASA is that careers do not go there in an ascending fashion: an astronaut who wakes up as a media star after a successful flight can become a simple instructor, an employee of one of the research departments, or at best, an understudy for a new crew. But in about five years he will again have a chance to return to the launch pad. During his career, Headfield was both an engineer and a communications operator (a person who speaks directly to the ISS crew from Earth) and NASA representative in Russia. Such multitasking once again trains teamwork skills and protects against star fever. Something similar happens in space - once Chris simultaneously performed two most important operations: he urgently helped open the hatch for his Russian colleagues to go into outer space and repaired a leaky toilet.
Family escort
When the crew goes into orbit, other astronauts are assigned to accompany the families of those who flew far from Earth. This means that they, in fact, fulfill the duties of personal assistants to wives, children and other relatives who have come to say goodbye, from ordering tickets for them to ensuring the desired temperature in hotel rooms. The time before the start, which the astronaut spends in concentrated preparation, is usually terribly hectic for his family: try to take a couple of dozens of American relatives to winter Kazakhstan. A family assistant takes care of and helps in the life of the family of his colleague, until he returns from orbit, and one day, perhaps, they will change roles.
A pair of enemas before starting
At least a week before the launch, astronauts live in quarantine - they are guarded, they cannot see anyone, and they communicate with relatives and the press through thick glass. This is done to protect them from any possible infections. A strict diet does not relieve astronauts of several enemas before the start, but finally, the author debunks the image of superheroes with a message that they are flying in diapers: for many hours they will not have any opportunity to leave their chairs.
Fads and traditions of Baikonur
After the American Space Shuttle program was completed in 2011, the only option left to get to the ISS was the Russian Soyuz departing from Baikonur. A trip to Kazakhstan for North Americans and their families becomes a special adventure. Headfield describes how the rejection of the cold and inhospitable steppe is replaced by enthusiasm for good conditions (more comfortable than on Cape Canaveral), parties with buckets of vodka and dancing on tables (of course, for relatives and not for astronauts themselves), explains that dumplings are Russian variety of ravioli, barbecue - barbecue, and cottage cheese - home-made cheese, and notes numerous traditions that are strange for Americans: drink a sip of rocket fuel with the designers of the ship, watch “The White Sun of the Desert” (“Russian film, the main character of which it reminds me of Laurence of Arabia ”) on the eve of departure, do not look at the ship in an upright position until launch day, sit on the track, stand under the blessing of a priest, get a kick in the ass from a senior official and urinate on the rear right wheel of a bus bringing astronauts to the rocket - according to legend, Yuri Gagarin did so in 1961.
Work in orbit
The ISS consists of four main modules - Russian, American, European and Japanese. The full crew of the station consists of 6 people, sometimes only three remain there - when some have already left, and the changers have not arrived yet. Representatives of different countries work in their compartments and may not meet for a couple of days, although, of course, all difficult tasks are solved together, and cosmonauts and astronauts prefer to spend their free time together. The work consists of numerous scientific experiments, many of which last for years, and constant care of the station. Sometimes you have to work in outer space - this happens infrequently, but it takes many days to prepare. Each crew of three spends on the ISS for several months.
Life in orbit
Due to weightlessness, any action in orbit is different from earthly. For example, the ISS does not take showers, since the drops would inevitably scatter in all directions, but only wiped off with wet rags. Any action with small waste, including going to the toilet (more precisely, flying), has to be done with the vacuum cleaner in your hand on. The inside of the station’s walls is covered with a fleecy part of Velcro and the items are hooked so that they can be attached to the wall, and this is the only way to keep something in place. True, astronauts still have to regularly clean the walls of jam, which flies from toasts, and other garbage. Since weightlessness requires much less muscle effort, there are sports simulators on the ISS to maintain their shape. Now the station has personal laptops and fast Internet - Headfield laid out video on YouTube, watched the Toronto Maple Leaves matches and talked with family directly from space. Astronauts sleep in sleeping bags attached to the wall, like butterflies in cocoons, but pillows and mattresses are not required: in a dream on the ISS, people continue to soar in the air in the same way.
- Publishing house Alpina non-fiction, Moscow, 2015
Christopher Hadfield is a true astronaut of our time. He not only fulfilled his dream and spent six months in orbit, but also did much to popularize space exploration. Christopher actively covered his flight on social networks and filmed videos for YouTube, which became incredibly popular. It was Hadfield who recorded in space the very cover of Bowie’s song that conquered the Internet. And, in addition, he wrote the book “Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth. What they taught me 4,000 hours in orbit. ” She became one of the few bestsellers who seriously motivates and forces her to do something to move forward.
For 20 years, children do not dream of becoming astronauts. The romance of space exploration, the launches of Soyuz, shuttles and work at the orbital station have become routine and take place in the news stories of central television channels somewhere between the increase in milk yield and the chronicle of another military conflict. Half a century ago, everything was completely different. From the covers of glossy magazines, smiling faces of space explorers looked at us, every launch of the spacecraft became a world-wide event, and the first cosmonauts and astronauts were a real role model for millions of boys around the world.
One of these boys was 9-year-old Christopher Austin Hadfield from Canada. July 21, 1969, he and his family went to the house of neighbors to watch the evening news. That night a great one sounded from the TV: “This is one small step for a man, but a giant leap for all mankind,” Neil Armstrong, the first man to set foot on the moon’s surface, said in a trembling voice. That evening, Chris Hadfield left the house and looked into the night sky full of stars: “I will become an astronaut!”, He decided, and his whole subsequent life was devoted to achieving this goal.
As a result, Chris Hadfield became a real astronaut, and at the end of his career he wrote the book “Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth. What they taught me 4,000 hours in orbit. ” And we strongly recommend that you read it.
Headfield talks in detail about his life path, about his family and career, and about the life principles that he formed for himself and which, ultimately, allowed him to achieve impressive success. This book is about willpower, about the difficulties that must be overcome in order to achieve one’s goal, and about a person who can do it.
At some point, you begin to catch yourself thinking that the Headfield book resembles such crafts as “5 Ways to Make a Million”, “How to Make 100500 Friends”, “Easy Way to Seduce a Beauty” and so on. But with each chapter you read, you understand that this is not at all the case. The author, who made a successful career in the most closed profession, the best pilot, the best astronaut, the best of the best in everything, just shares his life story and the principles by which he tried to build it. And the first lesson he gives - you really have to have principles and a plan for the future - only then can you achieve something on this planet and beyond.
Unlike other “motivational” books, Headfield will not call you a loser if your plans go to hell one by one. Several times he makes an important reservation: even if you were not able to achieve the planned maximum, be able to enjoy what you have. An astronaut’s career is a goal that is achievable in one case out of a million, so you always need to have a fallback and not rely entirely on your dream, the failure of which will completely depreciate your life.
Among useful moralizing and valuable life advice is a place and all the fun moments from the life of astronauts in space and on Earth. Yes, from this book you will also learn how space explorers go to the toilet on the ISS (both small and big), what will happen if you scattered cropped nails in zero gravity and how to put out a fire on the ISS. But you should not expect that the author will entertain you with all sorts of tales and jokes - the book is not about that. This is a real "guide", which should help to become a strong-willed and successful person in any area of \u200b\u200blife.
Headfield also tells in some detail the story of the very clip for the David Bowie song Space Oddity, which brought him worldwide fame. Moreover, you will find out that Headfield was a member of the world's only music band “Max Q”, which consisted entirely of astronauts. The book is generally replete with various examples from the musical world, which sometimes turn out to be very suitable. The music for Chris Hadfield is still more than just a hobby.
Christopher Hadfield has come a long way from flying school cadets to test pilots to become an astronaut. He is one of the first Canadians to enter NASA's space program and the first Canadian to enter outer space. Headfield made three space flights: two under the Space Shuttle program with a total duration of 20 days 2 hours 00 minutes 44 seconds (during the first he managed to visit the Mir station) and one as part of the long-term expeditions ISS-34 and ISS-35, which he headed (also the first Canadian commander on the ISS).
Hadfield's third flight lasted almost six months. Headfield is one of the most successful promoters of space exploration, he shot dozens of videos about the daily life of astronauts who have enjoyed great success with the public so far, read dozens of lectures in various audiences, and finally wrote this wonderful autobiographical book.
Here are a few “in life” tips from Hadfield, the rest can be found in his fascinating book:
The desire to be nobody
In space flight, the crew should act as a cohesive team, where everyone is responsible for their share of the work. This interaction is sometimes worked out for years, and is not limited to spaceflight alone: \u200b\u200bastronauts support each other on Earth, NASA even has such a “husband to replace” principle, when astronauts who are free from flights permanently help the families of their comrades who time frolic in zero gravity.
But the principles of a single team and “expeditionary thinking” are by no means limited to the space industry, on Earth we are constantly involved in some common business - be it your routine work or the organization of a family holiday. Headfield offers his model of behavior as part of such an expedition. Conventionally, he divides all people into three types: "-1", "0" and "+1". In the first case, a person interferes with the performance of a common task, mows and makes mistakes; in the second, he listens more and speaks less, acting strictly within his authority; Well, in the third, it goes beyond their scope and takes on part of the work of its colleagues. According to Hadfield, the most winning strategy seems to be "zero." At least when you get into a new team or start a new job: listen, remember and try not to make fatal mistakes. Only having gained 100% in this position can you move on and earn credibility by shifting some of the responsibilities of others to yourself.
The benefits of negative thinking
Most of their time, astronauts, of course, spend on Earth, and it is devoted to endless training. Over and over and over, thousands of times they work out all of their actions during the flight of the spacecraft, and most of these trainings are working out various emergency situations and accidents. Inventive instructors give critical inputs one after another, which ultimately turn the breakdown of some harmless switch into a failure of the life support system, a fire on board and an uncontrolled crash of the ship.
Astronauts are taught to always be alert and prepare for the worst case scenario. Headfield also calls on his readers to do the same. He gives several everyday examples: for example, when you drive a car along a busy highway, watch for that strange truck in front, as it is capable of inadequate maneuver that can cause a fatal accident. Do not be a pessimist, but always be prepared for the worst case scenario and prepare your reaction to them - this will save your life and succeed. Model a disaster every minute and figure out how to avoid it.
Attention to details
When Hadfield first worked in outer space, he faced a serious problem: something fell into his eye and he began to suffer unbearably. As you know, it’s impossible to put your hand under the helmet’s shield in outer space and remove the mote, it’s also impossible to wash it off with a tear, as we do it at home on Earth - because in zero gravity the tears do not drip anywhere, but are simply collected with a uniform film on the eyeball. For several hours, Hadfield suffered from terrible pain in his eyes, barely retaining the ability to continue working. If he needed medical help, the work would have to be curtailed, and this would jeopardize the entire mission of space flight. As a result, it turned out that the reason was the droplets of detergent, with which he carefully wiped the helmet shield from the inside before going into outer space. Since then, an important warning has appeared in the "red book" - a guide to all operations during space flight: point 11.23 Carefully wipe the helmet shield from the inside with a dry rag before going into outer space.
The safety of space flights depends on the million of the smallest little things that, if accumulated, can lead to truly catastrophic consequences. Exactly the same pattern applies on Earth. Headfield urges you to think over some important work in advance and prepare yourself more carefully for significant events in your life. Choose gifts for the anniversary of the month, get ready for the arrival of mother-in-law for the week, write a good resume right now - and then you can not be taken by surprise. When you several times drove the entire order of actions in your head, it will be much easier to complete the work. And yes, this also applies to exams at your university - preparation, it is preparation.
If someone is worthy to listen to his advice, this is the one who really managed to fulfill his dream at the cost of hard work and persistent pursuit of the goal. Christopher Austin Headfield - one of the few whose teachings do not cause rejection, but curiosity and acceptance - this man clearly knows what he is talking about.
Who is not interested in knowing how the ISS residential modules are arranged, how they brush their teeth in space, how they eat, sleep and go to the toilet? What do astronauts teach before flying and what are they guided by when recruiting a team? What skills are needed in orbit and why are they useful in everyday life on Earth? Chris Hadfield spent almost 4,000 hours in space and is considered one of the most experienced and popular astronauts in the world. His knowledge of space travel and his ability to talk about them are interesting and fascinatingly unique. However, this book is not only about what constitutes a flight into space and life in orbit.
This is the story of a man who dreamed of space from the age of nine - and was able to realize his dream, although, it would seem, there were no chances for this. This is a real life textbook for those who have a dream and a desire to realize it.
Book Features
Date written: 2013
Title:. What 4000 hours in orbit taught me
Volume: 360 pages, 1 illustration
ISBN: 978-5-9614-3905-2
Translator: Dmitry Lazarev
Credit: Alpina Digital
Preface to the book "Astronaut's Guide to Life on Earth"
Through the windows of the spaceship in passing, you observe miracles. Every 92 minutes there is a new dawn that looks like a layer cake: the first layer is orange, then blue is wedged in and finally saturated, dark blue, decorated with stars. Hidden patterns of our planet from here at a glance: clumsy mountains, towering among the neat plains; green spots of forests framed by snow; rivers sparkling in the sun, spinning and twisting like silver worms; sprawling continents surrounded by islands scattered across the ocean, like fragile pieces of broken eggshells.
When I was floating in weightlessness in the lock chamber before my first spacewalk, I knew that I was one step away from an even more magnificent beauty. It is enough to swim out to find yourself in the midst of the grand scenery of the Universe, while being tied to a ship that rotates around the Earth at a speed of 28,000 km / h. I dreamed about this moment, I worked for it almost all my life. But just a step away from a great achievement, I ran into a ridiculous problem: how to take the last step and get out of the gateway? The hatch is small and round, and I am square with all my tools fastened with straps on my chest and a huge satchel with oxygen tanks and electronics on my back. Square astronaut, round hatch.
Ever since I became an astronaut, I imagined going out into outer space as a scene from a movie: solemn music sounds, the volume rises, I elegantly push off the ship and go out into tar-black infinite space. But everything went not too romantic. I was forced to be patient and clumsyly squeeze through the hatch, leave sublime feelings and concentrate on the routine: try not to peel off my spacesuit and not get confused in the safety tether so as not to appear stiff like a calf in front of the Universe.
I timidly pushed myself out of the hatch head first to see the world as it was seen by only a few dozen people. Behind me was a healthy satchel with a joystick-controlled engine system. Using these compressed nitrogen engines, I could return to the ship if there were no other ways. Top of skill in an emergency.
Square astronaut, round hatch. This is the story of my whole life. The eternal desire to figure out how to get to where I want, when it is impossible to enter through the door. On paper, my career seems to be predetermined: engineer, fighter pilot, test pilot, astronaut. A typical way for anyone who has embarked on these professional tracks is straight as a ruler. But in life, everything is not like on paper. In life there have been sharp turns and dead ends. I was not destined for the fate of an astronaut. I had to make myself an astronaut.
* * *
It all started when I was 9 years old. My family spent the summer in our cottage on Stag Island in Ontario. His father worked as a civil aviation pilot, and due to frequent flights, he was almost never at home. But mom was always there. She spent every free minute running behind us five in the shadow of a tall oak reading. My older brother Dave and I were real fidgets. In the mornings, water skiing, and during the day they dodged homework and, secretly making their way to the canoe, swam along the river. There was no television in the house, but our neighbors had it.
Late in the evening of July 20, 1969, my brother and I crossed the large field on foot, which separated us from the neighboring house, and squeezed ourselves into the living room, in which almost all the inhabitants of the island had already gathered. Dave and I sat higher, on the back of the sofa, and, stretching out our necks to see at least something, stared at the screen. A man slowly, methodically descended the support of the spacecraft and carefully stepped on the surface of the moon. The image on the screen was blurry, but I understood exactly what we saw: the impossible became possible. The room was filled with glee. Adults shook hands, and the children squealed and screamed for joy. Somehow, we all felt as though we ourselves were with Neil Armstrong and changed the world together.
Later, returning home, I looked at the moon. She was no longer a distant, unknown heavenly body. The moon became a place where people walked, talked, worked and even slept. At that moment, I realized what I want to devote my life to. I decided to follow in the footsteps that a man so bravely left just a few minutes ago. Traveling on a rocket with roaring jet engines, exploring space, expanding the boundaries of human knowledge and capabilities - with absolute clarity, I realized that I wanted to become an astronaut.
However, like any child in Canada, I knew this was impossible. The astronauts were Americans. NASA accepted applications only from US citizens, and Canada did not even have its own space agency. But ... just yesterday it was impossible to walk on the surface of the moon, but Neil Armstrong did not stop it. Maybe someday I will have a chance to walk on the moon, and when that day comes, I should be ready.
I was already old enough to understand that training an astronaut had nothing to do with spaceflight games, which we were fond of with the brothers in our bunk bed under a huge poster National geographic with the image of the moon. But at that time there was not a single educational program that I could get into, there was no manual that I could read, and even I had no one to ask questions. I decided that there is only one way. I had to imagine, think out what a future astronaut should do when he was only 9 years old, and do the same, then I could start training immediately. What would an astronaut choose: fresh vegetables or potato chips? Would the future astronaut sleep late or get up early to read a book?
Astronaut Guide to Life on Earth - Christopher Headfield (download)
(introductory fragment of the book)
What 4000 hours in orbit taught me
Dedicated to beloved Helen.
My dreams have come true thanks to your faith, support and invaluable help
Foreword
mission Impossible
Through the windows of the spaceship in passing, you observe miracles. Every 92 minutes there is a new dawn that looks like a layer cake: the first layer is orange, then blue is wedged in and finally saturated, dark blue, decorated with stars. Hidden patterns of our planet from here at a glance: clumsy mountains, towering among the neat plains; green spots of forests framed by snow; rivers sparkling in the sun, spinning and twisting like silver worms; sprawling continents surrounded by islands scattered across the ocean, like fragile pieces of broken eggshells.
When I was floating in weightlessness in the lock chamber before my first spacewalk, I knew that I was one step away from an even more magnificent beauty. It is enough to swim out to find yourself in the midst of the grand scenery of the Universe, while being tied to a ship that rotates around the Earth at a speed of 28,000 km / h. I dreamed about this moment, I worked for it almost all my life. But just a step away from a great achievement, I ran into a ridiculous problem: how to take the last step and get out of the gateway? The hatch is small and round, and I, with all my tools fastened with straps on my chest, and a huge satchel with oxygen tanks and electronics on my back, is square. Square astronaut, round hatch.
Ever since I became an astronaut, I imagined going out into outer space as a scene from a movie: solemn music sounds, the volume rises, I elegantly push off the ship and go out into tar-black infinite space. But everything went not too romantic. I was forced to be patient and clumsyly squeeze through the hatch, leave sublime feelings and concentrate on the routine: try not to peel off my spacesuit and not get confused in the safety tether so as not to appear stiff like a calf in front of the Universe.
I timidly pushed myself out of the hatch head first to see the world as it was seen by only a few dozen people. Behind me was a healthy satchel with a joystick-controlled engine system. Using these compressed nitrogen engines, I could return to the ship if there were no other ways. Top of skill in an emergency.
Square astronaut, round hatch. This is the story of my whole life. The eternal desire to figure out how to get to where I want, when it is impossible to enter through the door. On paper, my career seems to be predetermined: engineer, fighter pilot, test pilot, astronaut. A typical way for anyone who has embarked on these professional tracks is straight as a ruler. But in life, everything is not like on paper. In life there have been sharp turns and dead ends. I was not destined for the fate of an astronaut. I had to make myself an astronaut.
It all started when I was 9 years old. My family spent the summer in our cottage on Stag Island in Ontario. His father worked as a civil aviation pilot, and due to frequent flights, he was almost never at home. But mom was always there. She spent every free minute running behind us five in the shadow of a tall oak reading. My older brother Dave and I were real fidgets. In the mornings, water skiing, and during the day they dodged homework and, secretly making their way to the canoe, swam along the river. There was no television in the house, but our neighbors had it. Late in the evening of July 20, 1969, my brother and I crossed the large field on foot, which separated us from the neighboring house, and squeezed ourselves into the living room, in which almost all the inhabitants of the island had already gathered. Dave and I sat higher, on the back of the sofa, and, stretching out our necks to see at least something, stared at the screen.