Still Inspired by Star Trek

Winter solstice light over Angra do Heroísmo, quiet and overcast.

I’ve long been aware of how influential my father was in my life, as well as many great and caring teachers who shaped the way I think, listen, and lead. What surprises me now, at this later stage of my life, is realizing how influential Star Trek was as well—quietly, steadily, and over time—in shaping my beliefs about leadership, learning, and what it means to act with integrity.

This past week, as we approached the solstice, I found myself watching Picard and loving it more than I expected. The timing felt right. The solstice has always felt like a pause point to me—a moment to reflect on what has been carried through the dark, and what is slowly beginning to return. While watching, I started capturing notes from scenes and lines that resonated deeply. Not because they were dramatic, but because they were thoughtful. Humane. Earned.

I suspect I’m not alone in this, so I’m sharing these reflections in the hope that they might spark recognition or connection. Perhaps you, too, carry stories that helped shape who you became—sometimes in ways you only recognize years later.

What strikes me most, looking back, is how Star Trek modeled a form of leadership that was never loud or simplistic. Leadership was relational and ethical, grounded in dialogue, patience, and moral restraint. Decisions were rarely easy, and certainty was never guaranteed. Yet there was an unwavering commitment to dignity, curiosity, and the collective good.

These ideas settled into me early, without my fully realizing it. The belief that leaders do not act alone—that they are only as strong as the people around them. That a crew doesn’t simply support a leader; they shape and complete them. That progress is not about preserving what already exists, but about adding—new voices, new understandings, new possibilities.

That perspective feels especially relevant now, in education and leadership more broadly. We live in a time that often rewards speed, confidence, and performance. Star Trek offered something different: leadership as stewardship, and learning as a lifelong moral practice. Power was consistently tempered by reflection.

One theme that stayed with me while watching Picard was the role of finitude. Again and again, the series reminds us that our time is limited—and that this is not a weakness, but a source of meaning. Knowing that time is finite sharpens our appreciation for love, beauty, and relationship. It asks us to choose carefully, to teach and lead with intention, and to recognize that what we pass on—to students, to children, to one another—will include not only strengths and wisdom, but also flaws and unfinished work.

As educators and leaders, this can be both humbling and freeing. We are not fully in control of what others inherit from us. But we are responsible for how we show up, for the questions we ask, and for the values we model along the way.

Another idea that surfaced repeatedly was hope—not as optimism, but as dedication. There are moments when situations feel bleak or unwinnable. In those moments, hope is not found in outcomes, but in steadfast dedication to one another. In refusing to fragment or abandon the collective when things are hardest. That lesson feels as relevant in classrooms and communities as it does on the bridge of a starship.

And then there is change. Star Trek never pretended that change comes easily or quickly. More often than not, it comes later than we think it should. History’s darkest moments can become tipping points—but never guarantees. This perspective invites patience without passivity, and action without illusion.

Perhaps that is why watching Picard during the solstice felt so fitting. The solstice marks both an ending and a beginning. Light returns gradually, almost imperceptibly at first. Leadership and learning often work the same way. Growth is slow. Evolution is additive. Progress depends on our willingness to keep adding—to understanding, to compassion, to who belongs.

I don’t write this as a critic or a scholar, or even particularly as a fan. I write as someone who is noticing, with gratitude, how stories can accompany us across a lifetime—how they can shape our moral imagination, and quietly teach us who we want to be.

If Star Trek influenced you too—whether in leadership, learning, or simply in how you see the world—I’d love to hear about it. These reflections feel less like conclusions and more like an opening. A conversation. A shared memory.

As the light slowly returns, this feels like a good moment to notice the stories that helped carry us here—and to consider what we hope to pass on next.