In March of 1965, astronaut Alexei Leonov found himself in a precarious predicament. Floating tranquilly in the vast expanse of space, his pressurized suit malfunctioned, causing oxygen to rapidly seep out. Suspended in space with the breath taken out of his lungs, Leonov’s attempts to survive seemed increasingly impossible. Mozart’s Requiem began playing on state radio.

Then, something amazing happened. Leonov, drenched in sweat, summoned just enough energy to wedge himself back into the space capsule. As the life in his lungs threatened to dwindle, he replenished his creative vitality. He picked up colored pencils, and made space art.

I first heard this story through "The Anthropocene Reviewed," which remains my favorite podcast of all time. John Green shares this story to explore why we make art. He says, “For me, art is a kind of landing site in the wilderness. Art is where I go when I do not know where else to go. Through art, paradoxes of consciousness resolve for me. I see what I will never see. I know what I will never know. And I survive what I will not survive.”

Indeed, art has reflected the human condition for as long as homo sapiens have occupied planet Earth. Prehistoric societies across cultures all shared a desire to create, from the Bhimbetka Rock Shelters in India and the Nabta Playa Stone Circle in Egypt to the Çatalhöyük Wall Paintings in Turkey and the Cave Paintings in Lascaux. Before we had infrastructure, before we had engineering, before we had politics, before we had written language: we had art. Leonov’s painting, created in a moment of life and death speaks deeply to the universality of art. Human experiences shape art, and art shapes the human experience.

I’ve been thinking a lot about universality lately. This weekend, I attended the US Presidential Scholars 60th reunion in DC. The program was started by Lyndon B Johnson in 1964; since then, the White House has upheld its tradition of honoring one male and one female graduating senior from every state every year.

Surrounded by people from every decade, interest, and geographic origin, I was struck by our differences. And yet, I couldn't help but notice our universality: our ambitions, desires, anxieties, and insecurities. The world felt deeply connected and cosmically small.

As it happens, the word “universal” is of late Middle English origin, derived from Old French, or the Latin universalis, from universus, meaning “universe.” Several astronauts, including Alexei Leonov, have described feeling a profound sense of unity looking at the Earth from outer space. Leonov spoke of space irrevocably altering his perception of space and time, Mae Jemison spoke of her newfound connection to the universe, and Neil Armstrong remarked, “It suddenly struck me that that tiny pea, pretty and blue, was the Earth. I put up my thumb and shut one eye, and my thumb blotted out the planet Earth. I didn't feel like a giant.” Which segues, finally, into my I-met-a-film-producer-who-met-Neil-Armstrong story.

One of the keynote speakers at the reunion was Dr. Anisha Abraham, a pediatrician, academic, Presidential Scholar alumni, and a consultant for all things teen/family life. She also recently produced the film “One Small Visit,” which was screened at the event.

“One Small Visit” is based on a serendipitous true story from Dr. Abraham’s life, in which her immigrant Indian family unexpectedly passed through the tiny Midwest hometown of Neil Armstrong in 1969 and ended up meeting Neil Armstrong and his family in his childhood home.

The beginning of the film is marked by contrast. The expansive, rolling hills and the suave, vintage car of America are a stark departure from the bustling city and modest Indian residence. And yet, as the film progresses, the two worlds begin to unite. Anisha’s grandmother and the Midwestern diner waitress share their love for ice cream and pop culture. Ohio residents and Indian families unite over their fascination with space discovery. And, in a poignant scene where the Armstrongs share a personal story with the Abrahams, they momentarily unite in their experience of death, grief, and loss.

After the movie, I had the chance to speak to Dr. Abraham’s father, O.C, about his experience of meeting Neil Armstrong. He emphasized how space travel fostered a sense of universality, remarking, “At the end of the day we all want to explore, discover, and strive forward. In this sense, the moon landing represented shared, essential aspects of the human ethos.” Neil Armstrong himself noted of universality (paraphrased), “In space, you can’t see borders. It is possible for the Earth to exist without them, for I have seen it as so.”

What do we do, then, when we know our world began as one but we feel the tectonic plates shifting beneath our feet? I certainly wouldn’t claim that everything is—or should be—universal. Cultural and interpersonal diversity gives life its depth, its learning opportunities, its distinctiveness. I suppose I simply wonder what our world would look like if we thought about universality more often. If more conversations about race could be both critical and hopeful. If more news stories mentioned both division and unity. I wonder how we’d behave differently if we remembered that even when miles apart, every person sleeps under the same sky, gazing up at the same sun, moon, and stars. Perhaps, like Amstrong, we’d more sincerely appreciate our universe. Perhaps, like Jamison, we’d realize the limited time we have in it. And perhaps, like Leonov, we’d make art.

Footnotes:

• This post draws heavily from the “Orbital Sunrise” episode of the Anthropocene Reviewed. Check out the episode here:

• To learn more about the amazing Dr. Abraham, click here:

• To learn more about her movie, One Small Visit, click here