Honestly? Nothing. Not a dime, not a penny, not even a coupon. The idea of paying to go to the moon feels more like a punchline than a plan. I have nothing to look for up there — no lost keys, no secret recipe, no emotional closure waiting in a crater. It’s kind of funny when you think about it. People spend millions chasing a view that, for me, doesn’t hold meaning. I’d rather spend that money on something that actually touches my life.
There’s something surreal about the idea of moon tourism. I get it — the adventure, the prestige, the Instagram post from orbit. But for me, that kind of thrill doesn’t resonate. I find more joy in a well-seasoned sauce, a quiet morning routine, or helping someone navigate their budget. That money could fund a food store rooted in nourishment, or support a wellness series that actually helps people feel grounded. The moon? It’s beautiful, sure. But it’s not my destination.
I admire the people who dream of space. Their courage, their curiosity — it’s impressive. If someone I know ever goes, I’ll cheer them on from Earth with a warm meal and a camera ready for their return. I’ll be the one saying “great job” when they land, laughing at the wildness of it all. I’ll look at the pictures, maybe squint at the stars a little differently, but I won’t feel the pull to follow.
Because here’s the thing: I don’t need to leave the planet to feel awe. I find it in parsley and garlic, in the rhythm of seasons, in the quiet power of boundaries and belonging. My moon is here — in the kitchen, in my blog, in the way I show up for myself and others. That’s where my investment goes. That’s where the real exploration happens.
So how much would I pay to go to the moon? Nothing. But I’d pay attention to the people who do. I’d celebrate their journey, honor their story, and then come back to mine — rooted, intentional, and very much Earth-bound.
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