If one of the experts at Mission Control suggested the crew do X, I would be aware of some of the logistical difficulties that someone who’d never been up there might not consider; similarly, the crew knew I could empathize with and understand their needs and challenges because I’d been to space myself. The capcom is less a middleman, though, than an interpreter who is constantly analyzing all changing inputs and factors, making countless quick small judgments and decisions, then passing them on to the crew and the ground team in Houston. It’s like being coach, quarterback, water boy and cheerleader, all in one. — 30: 351-356
See, a funny thing happened on the way to space: I learned how to live better and more happily here on Earth. Over time, I learned how to anticipate problems in order to prevent them, and how to respond effectively in critical situations. I learned how to neutralize fear, how to stay focused and how to succeed. — 35: 419-422
Competence means keeping your head in a crisis, sticking with a task even when it seems hopeless, and improvising good solutions to tough problems when every second counts. It encompasses ingenuity, determination and being prepared for anything. — 36: 430-432
A certain personality type that was perfectly acceptable, even stereotypical, in the past—the real hard-ass, say—is not wanted on the voyage when it is going to be a long one. — 40: 473-475
Feeling ready to do something doesn’t mean feeling certain you’ll succeed, though of course that’s what you’re hoping to do. Truly being ready means understanding what could go wrong—and having a plan to deal with it. — 54: 643-645
We go from wanting to bolt for the exit to wanting to engage and understand what’s going wrong, then fix it. — 55: 654-655
Preparation is not only about managing external risks, but about limiting the likelihood that you’ll unwittingly add to them. — 65: 797-797
A lot of people talk about expecting the best but preparing for the worst, but I think that’s a seductively misleading concept. There’s never just one “worst.” Almost always there’s a whole spectrum of bad possibilities. The only thing that would really qualify as the worst would be not having a plan for how to cope. — 69: 850-852
Occasionally the criticism is personal, though, and even when it’s constructive, it can sting. Prior to my last mission, my American crewmate Tom Marshburn and I were in the pool for a six-hour EVA evaluation, practicing spacewalking in front of a group of senior trainers and senior astronauts. Tom and I have both done EVAs in space and I thought we did really well in the pool. But in the debrief, after I’d explained my rationale for tethering my body in a particular way so I’d be stable enough to perform a repair, one of our instructors announced to the room, “When Chris talks, he has a very clear and authoritative manner—but don’t let yourself be lulled into a feeling of complete confidence that he’s right. Yes, he used to be a spacewalking instructor and evaluator and he’s Mr. EVA, but he hasn’t done a walk since 2001. There have been a lot of changes since then. I don’t want the junior trainers to ignore that little voice inside and not question something just because it’s being said with authority by someone who’s been here a long time.” At first that struck me as a little insulting, because the message boiled down to this: “Mr. EVA” sounds like he knows what he’s doing, but really, he may not have a clue. Then I stopped to ask myself, “Why is the instructor saying that?” Pretty quickly I had to concede that the point was valid. I don’t come off as wishy-washy and I’m used to teaching others how to do things, so I can sound very sure of myself. That doesn’t mean I think I know everything there is to know; I’d always assumed that people understood that perfectly well and felt free to jump in and question my judgment. But maybe my demeanor was making that difficult. I decided to test that proposition: instead of waiting for feedback, I’d invite it and see what happened. After a sim, I began asking my trainers and crewmates, “How did I fall short, technically, and what changes could I make next time?” Not surprisingly, the answer was rarely, “Don’t change a thing, Chris—everything you do is perfect!” So the debrief did what it was supposed to: it alerted me to a subtle but important issue I was able to address in a way that ultimately improved our crew’s chances of success. — 78: 970-986
the organizational culture focuses so explicitly on education, not just achievement, it’s even easier to frame individual mistakes as teachable moments rather than career-ending blunders. — 80: 994-995
Even the most gifted person in the world will, at some point during astronaut training, cross a threshold where it’s no longer possible to wing it. The volume of complex information and skills to be mastered is simply too great to be able to figure it all out on the fly. Some get to this break point and realize they can’t continue to rely on raw talent—they need to buckle down and study. Others never quite seem to figure that out and, in true tortoise-and-hare fashion, find themselves in a place they never expected to be: the back of the pack. They don’t know how to push themselves to the point of discomfort and beyond. Typically, they also don’t recognize their own weaknesses and are therefore reluctant to accept responsibility when things don’t turn out well. They’re not people you want on your crew when you’re laboring in wicked environmental conditions with very specialized equipment and a long list of goals to accomplish in a short period of time. They go from being considered rock stars to having a reputation as people you can’t count on when things are going badly. — 100: 1267-1274
To instill and reinforce expeditionary behavior—essentially, the ability to work in a team productively and cheerfully in tough conditions—astronauts do survival training, on water and on land. — 104: 1313-1315
The lesson: good leadership means leading the way, not hectoring other people to do things your way. Bullying, bickering and competing for dominance are, even in a low-risk situation, excellent ways to destroy morale and diminish productivity. — 105: 1328-1329
For me, the takeaway from all my survival training is that the key question to ask when you’re part of a team, whether on Earth or in space, is, “How can I help us get where we need to go?” — 106: 1335-1336
I hit on something during that Quebec expedition that I’ve used subsequently as a distraction when the going gets tough: suggesting that one by one, we each describe how we got engaged to our spouses. Everyone liked telling his or her own version. I liked hearing other people’s stories, too, because most of the other astronauts were older than I was when they got engaged, and their proposals were considerably better orchestrated than my own. — 107: 1352-1355
My dad could be a stern taskmaster and on principle didn’t believe children should complain, but he also disapproved of whining because he understood that it is contagious and destructive. Comparing notes on how unfair or difficult or ridiculous something is does promote bonding—and sometimes that’s why griping continues, because it’s reinforcing an us-against-the-world feeling. Very quickly, though, the warmth of unity morphs to the sourness of resentment, which makes hardships seem even more intolerable and doesn’t help get the job done. Whining is the antithesis of expeditionary behavior, which is all about rallying the troops around a common goal. It’s easy to do — 108: 1367-1372
I didn’t waste a second thinking about why I’d passed out. In a crisis, the “why” is irrelevant. I needed to accept where I found myself and prioritize what mattered right that minute, — 120: 1512-1513
“Boldface” is a pilot term, a magic word to describe the procedures that could, in a crisis, save your life. We say that “boldface is written in blood” because often it’s created in response to an accident investigation. It highlights the series of steps that should have been taken to avoid a fatal crash, but weren’t. — 120: 1519-1521
Tristan was the first close pilot friend of mine who died doing his job; after that, however, I lost a pilot friend almost every year. It’s a part of flying fighters, we all know that going in, but you never get used to it. Each loss is a sharp shock, followed by a wave of grief. I never felt that an airplane had snuffed out a friend’s life, though; rather, a set of unusual circumstances was to blame. So the cumulative impact was not to make me afraid to fly, but to make me even more determined to understand what could be done to enable me and other pilots to work tough problems. — 122: 1545-1550
“There’s nothing more important than what you’re doing right now” is a standard astronaut adage that’s never more true than when an engine is firing. — 175: 2201-2202
One benefit of aiming to be a zero: it’s an attainable goal. Plus, it’s often a good way to get to plus one. If you’re really observing and trying to learn rather than seeking to impress, you may actually get the chance to do something useful. — 186: 2324-2326
nothing went as we’d planned, but everything was within the scope of what we prepared for. — 192: 2392-2393
But if you are confident in your abilities and sense of self, it’s not nearly as important to you whether you’re steering the ship or pulling on an oar. Your ego isn’t threatened because you’ve been asked to clean out a closet or unpack someone else’s socks. In fact, you might actually enjoy doing it if you believe that everything you’re doing contributes to the mission in some way. Still, I’m — 194: 2420-2423
If you start thinking that only your biggest and shiniest moments count, you’re setting yourself up to feel like a failure most of the time. Personally, I’d rather feel good most of the time, so to me everything counts: the small moments, the medium ones, the successes that make the papers and also the ones that no one knows about but me. The challenge is avoiding being derailed by the big, shiny moments that turn other people’s heads. You have to figure out for yourself how to enjoy and celebrate them, and then move on. — 267: 3312-3316
one more amazing event to revel in now and try to figure out later. — 276: 3425-3426
I feel a sense of mission about this that I didn’t have before I went to space, and people who know me sometimes find it exasperating. Recently a friend got frustrated with me because while we were out for a walk, I kept stopping to pick up trash, which slowed our progress considerably. This turns out to be one of the little-known aftereffects of space flight: I now pick gum wrappers up off the street. — 278: 3459-3462
Still, I also know that most people, including me, tend to applaud the wrong things: the showy, dramatic record-setting sprint rather than the years of dogged preparation or the unwavering grace displayed during a string of losses. Applause, then, never bore much relation to the reality of my life as an astronaut, which was not all about, or even mostly about, flying around in space. It was really about making the most of my time here on Earth. — 279: 3464-3467
The whole process of becoming an astronaut helped me understand that what really matters is not the value someone else assigns to a task but how I personally feel while performing it. That’s why, during the 11 years I was grounded, I loved my life. — 279: 3472-3474
Endings don’t have to be emotionally wrenching if you believe you did a good job and you’re prepared to let go. — 281: 3491-3492