Taking my cue from the late, great Joseph Campbell, I will state here that myths are important to people. In modern America, most of us would claim that we “aren’t into” myths; we deal in facts and reality. But then along come the foils, follies and foibles of real life, and we go running for our myths. We just don’t like to call them myths. We call them “therapy” or “philosophy” or “religion” or “literature” or “entertainment”. Or even “science”. At some point, all of these things depend upon assumptions that sound good but just can’t be proven, upon things we would like to believe, on leaps of faith. Some are just more honest about it than others.

The classic myths can inspire heroism, but also teach and explain why human beings often fall short. The Iliad and Odyssey tell of great battles and heroic efforts, but also of human blindness and foolishness; and also the fickle finger of fate. Some myths are simple, others long and complex. But at bottom, they help the reader to make some sense out of life even when it seems utterly senseless. Myths don’t always offer hope and redemption; sometimes they tell you “that’s just the way it is”. But at least they help you to resolve yourself to it.

My nutshell definition of a “myth” is a story that means something important, something very personal, to those who enjoy the story. Myths are important to young people, as to inspire adventure, courage, direction, and goals; i.e. to guide them in their many upcoming adventures in life. Myths are also important to older folk like me, but for a different reason; i.e., to help make sense of what has happened, to reconcile with all the failure, to bring some order out of chaos even if mostly “in the head”. (But again, even scientific objectivity is ultimately not objective).

So, what mythological story would I use to sum up my own life? Not long ago I was taking an evening walk, deep in thought about my past, trying to come up with an analogy, a way of making some greater sense out of it. I needed a story of some sort; it could be a factual story, a fictional story, whatever; just so long as it would serve as a personal myth.

Being a techno-geek with a bit of Aspie mixed in, I needed something modern, something technical and scientific, and yet something quite human, historic and even political. I was getting close to my house when the inspiration finally hit me; a mostly-forgotten story from the days of my youth. I.e., the US government’s manned space program, specifically the Gemini Program from the mid 1960s. Gemini came between the Mercury flights, famous for Alan Shepard’s first 15 minute vault into space and John Glenn’s subsequent three-orbit journey, and the Apollo moon landings, remembered for Neil Armstrong’s “one small step for man, one giant step for mankind” proclamation on the lunar surface. And also for the happy ending that the star-crossed Apollo 13 mission experienced, later memorialized by Hollywood and Tom Hanks. What does the average American, or even the average Baby Boomer (people who were alive at the time) remember about Gemini?

Probably not much. About the only cultural referent to the Gemini program that I can think of is the line in Barry McGuire’s song “Eve of Destruction”, complaining that “you can go up for 4 days in space, but when you return it’s the same old place”. McGuire was referring to the Gemini 4 mission in June 1965, the first manned spaceflight lasting more than a day. But as usual for the Gemini mission, he didn’t say the name. The Gemini spaceship was the stepping-stone between Mercury and Apollo, the means by which the US learned all of the tricks that would be needed to get men out to the moon and back safely. Gemini was a set of 9 spaceflights with varying levels of success. There were lots of interesting firsts accomplished by the Gemini astronauts, but there were also a lot of frustrating failures too (exhausted astronauts getting tangled up on hoses and wires during spacewalks, faulty maneuvering controls, fuel cells that didn’t work right, failed attempts to dock with other spacecraft, etc.).

But that was what Gemini was all about. They were trying new things, figuring out how to do things in an unfamiliar realm, i.e. space. The failures seemed discouraging, but in fact they were an important part of the learning process. You could accurately say that Gemini was a learning mission, a way of learning all of the things that would allow the Apollo program to be so successful in going to the moon and back. But for the most part, it has been confined to historical obscurity.

Yea, that sounds like my own life. I was raised according to deeply traditional social customs and mores, but had to face a time of accelerating and disorienting change, “Future Shock” as Alvin Toffler accurately described back in 1970. I tried to find and defend the best of those customs and mores that my parents taught, and yet be open to a range of people and ideas and possibilities and threats they couldn’t anticipate. I tried to find good ways to mix the technical, sentimental, intellectual, spiritual, and historical; to appreciate tradition and yet be open to the future, to different cultures, to information and educational possibilities that were unheard of when my parents were young.

I was given access to art, science, philosophy, critical thinking, things my parents could not appreciate. I wanted to be a part of the social response of the 1960s to racial injustice and unnecessary warfare (i.e., Vietnam). My Catholic background was challenged from within by the spirit of Vatican 2 and by without from my interaction with peoples of many different faiths (and non-faith). Yet I tried to adapt the best themes of my family, my community and my church in a world that was changing so quickly. Much of the career training that I gained in college (industrial engineering) became irrelevant as the USA stopped being a manufacturing nation.

Given all the change, I never settled down; I never found a community to call home, never raised a family, never established a track record of “achievement”. Despite my extensive education, I didn’t start a successful business venture, didn’t found a non-profit organization, didn’t get elected, didn’t get rich, didn’t publish a book, didn’t invent anything, didn’t save millions of lives — didn’t save any lives, actually. I was never quoted in the WSJ or Times or PBS Newshour. I couldn’t even start a blog that attracted more than a handful of readers (albeit, those readers are all very good people). Part of the problem was that my “social approach radar” has never worked right (the Aspie-thing in my life). Ah, how Gemini-like!

But as with Gemini, I stayed true to my mission. The failures were many, the successes were never groundshaking. But in my own way, I hope that I at least provided witness to the world around me that ways can be found to balance technology and emotion, to balance self-preservation and caring outreach, to balance intellectual sophistication and humility, to balance critical doubt and spiritual faith. My mission, like Gemini, was educational and developmental; I was to be “an eternal student of life”.

The Gemini program was anticipated thousands of years in advance by the book of Ecclesiasticus, specifically chapter 44: “And some there be, which have no memorial; who are perished, as though they had never been; and are become as though they had never been born . . .” As of this writing, I am not yet “perished”; I’m not here to write my eulogy, as I hopefully have some good years left.

But I am trying a mythology on for size. I believe that a good myth can help a person to accept their ultimate mortality, even if it is not impending yet (we hope). Humans expend so much psychic energy lugging around the threat of their demise, fighting off failure. Perhaps a good myth that allows for failure can lighten that baggage, allowing more energy for living in the present. Some of the Gemini missions were long-endurance flights, and some had to be ended early. But they all made their quiet contributions.

OH, one final thought: the Gemini capsule was a two-seater; so who is the co-pilot in my fantasy? Well, that remains a mystery. My ex-wife had the chance, but she took a pass after a few years. In my myth, do I imagine that the seat is empty? Well, perhaps not. I’d like to think that the second seat has been occupied by many different spirits over the years, by the many souls who inspire me even if not with their immediate presence. And ultimately — God is my co-pilot? Ah, someday in the fullness of time, after re-entry and splash-down, perhaps we shall know . . .