I get goosebumps and profound oneness with the universe thinking about the tiny human creations made by the yearnings of our soft fleshes, crawling around Mars carrying the desperate human questions.
We are star stuff, our elements made in the Big Bang and excreted by turbulent stars, we are the Star Stuff. We are not going, but returning to it.
They say all the universe and all in it is just one thing sloshing around a bit, for a little bit. It's not even sloshing that much, it just is. If that is true we are not really traveling to outer space, we are going inwards, into ourselves.