Let’s rewind to the day when I first heard rumors that the end times for good ol' planet Earth might be closer than we thought. I remember it vividly; the sun had just started peeking through the barracks windows, casting slivers of light across the cold, concrete floors. We were all groggily shuffling about, gearing up for another day filled with the usual humdrum routine. But this particular morning felt different right from the get-go and it wasn’t long before I discovered why.

  In the mess hall over breakfast, the chatter was louder than usual, dominated by the voices of the space nerds from my unit. They were practically tripping over their words, all fired up about some rare cosmic event that had the boffins buzzing and journals like Nature publishing papers about it. Turns out, there was a rogue asteroid barreling through space on an unusual trajectory – not following the usual paths that celestial bodies travel. This one was an interstellar traveler, having journeyed from the depths of outer space.

  These space buffs kept throwing around terms like “non-ecliptic” and “close-approach data,” but all I really gathered was that this massive chunk of rock from the cosmos was to make a close pass by Earth. Apparently, in astronomical terms, this was akin to a fastball just barely missing your nose – too close for comfort if you were the one in the batting cage.

  Even though these geeks reassured us that this floating mountain of doom would miss us by over 100 million miles, the way they talked gave everyone pause. You could see it in the eyes of everyone around the chow tables – a mix of curiosity laced with a hint of fear. After all, in the vast and unpredictable expanses of space, who truly knew what could happen?

  Grudgingly, I had to admit, those tech heads are crucial. Heck, most of us couldn’t even fix our Wi-Fi without calling one of them in. They might be annoying at times with their endless scientific babble and fuss over fictional space scenarios, but their knowledge was indispensable. Especially today, when they probably had more insight into the potential crisis at hand than any of us.

  So, there I sat, my fork paused mid-air, laden with a bite of the rubbery eggs I’d gotten used to in the mess hall. My brain was wrestling with the unsettling thought of our planet’s fragility in the cosmic shooting gallery. It’s a peculiar feeling, knowing that despite all our earthly strife, it could all be inconsequential under the indifferent gaze of the cosmos. It sort of puts things into perspective, in a gritty, unpolished way.

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  NASA and that space weed smoker guy were over the moon about launching a rocket to play tag with an asteroid. This massive rock floating in space had a 1-in-200,000,000 shot at hitting us, which seemed like pretty safe odds unless you're the one betting against it, right? The real kicker, though, was that all the brainy folks couldn't even figure out what this chunk of cosmic mystery meat was made up of. The spectral analysis, whatever that fancy term meant, was driving the scientists nuts because the asteroid wasn’t fitting into any of their neat little categories.

  This wasn't your run-of-the-mill space rock. Nah, this thing was like the stray dog of asteroids—nobody knew where it came from or what it was mixed with. And here NASA was, all jazzed up about sending a rocket to poke it with a stick, hoping to bring back some of its space-goop to Earth. The idea was to dissect it, run all sorts of tests, and maybe, just maybe, unveil some new secrets of our universe, or at least figure out why it was giving everyone headaches.

  It all sounded pretty wild to me, the idea of chasing after a rock hurtling through the empty cold of space just to see what it’s made of. But hey, I guess that's what those space cowboys live for—riding out on their metal steeds to lasso themselves a piece of the unknown. Kinda heroic, when you think about it, or maybe just a tad crazy. Either way, I couldn't help but be a bit pumped about the whole deal. It’s not every day you get to hear about humankind reaching out to touch a real-life shooting star.

  My paperwork was already submitted, and I release approved busy with this and other things, the idea of the asteroid fell straight out of my brain. When I got out of the army, my captain hooked me up with his brother's security company. The idea of guarding movie stars and rich moguls didn't appeal much, but I needed the cash. I had dreams of returning to my dad's old cabin in the Rocky Mountains—my real sanctuary. It was a humble place, made from rough logs and nails, nestled deep in the woods. The kind of place where you could hardly tell where nature ended and home began, especially with a stream so close to your front door you could cast a fishing line from your porch step during the spring thaw. That cabin, where my dad had brought me up to appreciate the quiet and the wild, it was calling me.

  Dad passed it on to me after his death, I was going Keep the fire burning,” It was more than a building; it was a legacy of solitude and survival, wrapped up in timber and moss.

  But before I could settle back into mountain life, I needed money—something in short supply with just my military pension there's no way I want it to be As poor as my folks where I needed some bit eggnest.

  So off I went to the Sunshine State, guarding the glitterati instead of the grizzlies, trading pine trees for palm trees. It wasn't the life I wanted, but it was the one that would get me back to my mountains.