How distance reveals what proximity conceals
Last week, I interviewed Tuva Atasever, a Turkish astronaut, as part of my PhD research at Oxford. While Atasever detailed the rigorous selection and training, his tone shifted when he recalled crossing the Kármán line. He spoke with fond nostalgia about floating in microgravity, describing it as a meditative and spiritually exhilarating experience.
In moments like that, astronauts often experience what space philosopher Frank White called the “overview effect”. White describes it as a sudden realisation of interconnectedness, fragility, and unity of seeing our planet as a small, borderless sphere suspended in the void. From that vantage point, national borders vanish, politics dissolve, and our all-consuming problems seem trivial.
Preparing to be an astronaut is not for the faint-hearted. It takes years of rigorous training, both physical and psychological, to qualify for a mission. Candidates must endure extreme G-forces in centrifuges, learn to operate complex spacecraft systems under immense pressure, and pass gruelling wilderness survival simulations in case of off-course landings. This intense preparation is what makes the spiritual and meditative release of microgravity, as Atasever described, so profound. It’s a reward earned by pushing human limits, a perspective shift that comes only after immense discipline and sacrifice.
While most of us will never venture into space, we can and should carve out our own version of the overview effect in daily life. The key lies in stepping away from our here and now. By this, I don’t mean just taking a break or going out with friends; I mean doing something that inculcates a sense of wonder and awe. This shift is often achieved through a conscious retreat from our familiar routines, creating the space needed for quiet reflection and close observation.
In the mid-19th century, as America’s industrial rush rapidly changed the pace of life, the philosopher and writer Henry David Thoreau retreated to a simple, self-built cabin at Walden Pond to live deliberately and strip life down to its essentials. By consciously stepping away for a short period of time, he created space for deep reflection and for examining life through a lens of close, quiet observation. His two years of solitude, chronicled in his book Walden, produced insights into self-sufficiency, the intricate beauty of nature, and the human condition, which continue to resonate nearly two centuries later.
This practice of strategic withdrawal is about gaining the perspective necessary to handle responsibility wisely. Abraham Lincoln understood this deeply. Known for his “hot letters,” Lincoln would draft scathing responses when angry or frustrated, pouring his emotions onto paper and then deliberately set them aside unsent. That pause, that stepping back, transformed potentially destructive impulses into measured wisdom. The distance allowed him to see situations for what they truly were.
We’ve all experienced how differently problems appear depending on our proximity to them. In the thick of a crisis, everything feels urgent, impossible, overwhelming. Emotions run high. Solutions seem nonexistent. We grow angry, defensive, or paralysed. But when we create some space, the same situation often appears manageable, even obvious in its solution.
Essentially, the overview effect is about zooming out to zoom in. It can, of course, help us make sense of tricky situations, but more importantly, it opens us up to new experiences. How does it do that? Simply by teaching us what to pay attention to, when, and how. Or as Wayne Dyer put it, “When you change the way you see the world, you change the world you see.”