Ground Control to Major Tom

A colleague has just become the proud grandmother of an "Oops" baby, and I am already utterly tired of hearing about it. I did my best to make all the right noises at the appropriate times when the news was announced. Of course, it's lovely for her, and she's thrilled and all that, but I really feel as if I have now used up my alloted amount of good will to others who effortlessly achieve what I cannot. I don't want to discuss the baby's name, or coo over pictures, or interrupt my insane work schedule to chat about the details of the birth.

I was grumbling quietly to E. about this on the phone the other night. And as usual, he doesn't get it. You know, why can't I be happy for her, isn't that a nice thing that has happened, blah fucking blah blah blah.

What is it with some men, I thought as I slammed the receiver down and went to investigate if there was any Christmas chocolate still stashed away at the back of the cupboards. Do they have some gene which overrides the jealousy emotion? Or do they lack the appropriate framework to enable them to emphasise fully with the situation?

As I rummaged through the boxes of old pasta noodles and rice cakes in the hunt for a leftover After Eight mint, it occured to me that it might help if I could give E. a working analogy of how I felt. An analogy framed in an appropriately manly sphere. Mmm, what do men get het up about? Careers, right? Competitiveness at work? At which point I had a thought.

Supposing you, Man, had a lifelong ambition to become an astronaut (a suitably macho pursuit, no?) Your whole life, you dreamed of rocket ships, outer space, and walking on the moon. The walls of your childhood bedroom are lined with posters of the solar system, of photographs of NASA launches. You beg your parents to send you to Space Camp. You read everything ever written about the space programme. You watch films like "The Right Stuff" and "Apollo 13" until you could quote the dialogue in your sleep. In the summertime, you lie on your back in the backyard of your house, watching the shooting stars.

You choose your college courses based on the ones most likely to help you get accepted as a NASA astronaut. You keep your hair cut short, nose clean and your collars buttoned high. You get top marks, and great recommendations. But even after working your ass off to get a pilot's license and a Ph.D in astrophysics, NASA still aren't quite sure about you. They offer you a job, but as a member of the astronaut support team. They tell you if you work really hard, and re-apply every month, they will one day let you become a fully fledged astronaut. You figure that it's better than nothing, a foot in the door. So you go for it. What have you got to lose?

You like the job well enough, since you get to be around real live astronauts. OK, so you mostly find yourself cleaning up after them, and doing all the grunt work to prepare for the missions. But at first, you don't mind. It's kind of interesting hearing their all their war stories of missions and spaceflights. All of that will come in handy when you yourself take to the stars! You have been applying faithfully every month, just as requested, and one day, the Board is bound to agree that it's your turn.

But the months go by, and you are continually rejected. You are beginning to be a bit puzzled, since on paper you are the ideal candidate. You make some discreet inquiries with Human Resources, and find out that there is no reason why you shouldn't be accepted as an astronaut. Hell, they think you have a great chance- just keep trying. Don't worry about it too much, it's bound to happen.

A couple years go by, and you're still a lowly support team member. Pretty soon you start to notice other people, newer people, being accepted onto the astronaut program. Some of them are less qualified than you. Some, in your opinion, are disasters waiting to happen. That new guy, he keeps on pushing the red button. Everybody knows you never push the red button!!! You become quietly baffled and confused.

Then one day, you are sitting in the locker room having just finished your shift picking up a pile of someone else's smelly flight socks. You reach in your pocket and open this month's envelope from the NASA Board. This time, they haven't even bothered being polite about it. All it says, in big black letters in the middle of the page is NO. The answer is NO.

You're about to crumple it up and throw it away when the door opens. One of the new astronauts comes in, back from the test flight you had hoped to be part of. He's a little drunk, and you wonder if he's been sipping that whiskey on the job again.

He flops down on the bench beside you, loudly complaining about another mission tomorrow. He had been hoping to get out of it, since he has a hot date with an airline stewardness tonight. He nudges you in the ribs as he says it, notices your rejection letter. Hey, what's that? Another big fat no? Ah, don't worry about it. Just relax, it'll happen one day. Hell, he got in on the first try. Although he wasn't sure if he even wanted to be an astronaut, cause the money is so much better in corporate finance. He'd love to quit, actually- hey, do you think you could cover for him if he doesn't show up tomorrow? Thanks, pal.

You sit there after he leaves, having thrown his helmet and suit in a crumpled heap on the floor. You suddenly realise the truth, that you may never get to where he is. Sure, there may be other great jobs for you, important, fulfilling jobs. But all you ever wanted in your whole life was to fly to the stars, orbit the earth, floating weightless.

All you ever wanted was to be an astronaut.