On the early evening of September 27, 1987, my mother nudged me to turn the TV over to CityTV to watch the inaugural 2-part episode of some show called Star Trek: Not-the-Kirk Enterprise Show, or something like that. Not being a huge fan of the campiness of the original series, I reluctantly conceded and surrendered two hours of my life to see what sort of mess this was going to be.

As always, my mother knew me better than I knew myself. Within the first hour, I was hooked.

There I was, watching an aging, balding French, or was he British, man lead a crew of questionably dressed space explorers across the galaxy. And somehow, I was completely captivated. It wasn’t just the ship, as beautiful as it was, or the promise of exploring the farthest reaches of the universe. It was the idea that people could come together, pursue work they loved, embrace the unknown, and use science, curiosity, and cooperation to make life better for everyone. That differences didn’t have to divide us. That the future could be something we built together.

At the helm was Captain Jean-Luc Picard, brought to life by Patrick Stewart. He was thoughtful, introspective, principled, and firm when he needed to be, but always capable of profound compassion. He led with reason rather than ego, listened before judging, and understood that strength wasn’t measured by how much power you wielded, but by how responsibly you used it.

For seven years, I was obsessed with the show. I’ll admit that I initially fell for Riker’s swagger, but as I grew older, it was Picard’s wisdom that stayed with me.

As I moved from city to city and school to school, the Enterprise became a kind of home. Picard and his crew were a touchstone, a constant in the lonely stretches between finding new friends and building a new sense of belonging. Looking back, I realize that Star Trek: TNG and its cast were among my greatest teachers. In some ways, they taught me more than the teachers I encountered in the real world ever did. They taught me to be curious, to question what I thought I knew, and to meet the unfamiliar with an open mind rather than fear. They taught me to reason, to love, to find community, and to stand up for people who didn’t have the power or means to stand up for themselves. They taught me that the measure of a society isn’t how well it serves the powerful, but how it treats the vulnerable.

And Patrick Stewart, through Picard, taught me something else: how to sit with loss, how to face uncertainty, and how to find your footing when the future feels frightening and the answers aren’t immediately clear. These values were best demonstrated in episodes like The Inner Light, Darmok, Disaster, Chain of Command (Part I and II), Measure of a Man, Tapestry, Family, Lesson, and All Good Things.

It wasn’t until the advent of social media that I discovered more of the man behind the captain: his extraordinary sense of humour, his advocacy for the gay, queer, and trans communities, and his willingness to use his platform to make the world a little more compassionate. It was wonderful to discover that the man who had helped bring such decency and humanity to a fictional captain carried so much of that spirit into the real world, too.

I know that people grow old. I know that journeys end. And I know that, eventually, even the people whose voices have guided us from a screen must take their final bow. But knowing that doesn’t make the prospect any easier.

Today, I’m struggling to find the words. There’s a particular kind of grief that comes with losing someone who never knew you existed, but who nevertheless helped shape the person you became. Someone whose voice was a familiar presence through years of change, who helped you make sense of the world when the world itself didn’t always make sense.

I will do my best to draw on the lessons Picard taught me. To meet this sadness with grace. To accept what I cannot change. To remain curious, compassionate, and hopeful, even when hope feels difficult to find. And to carry that voice forward, not simply by remembering the man who spoke the words, but by trying to live by the principles he helped teach me.

Make it so.

Thank you, Sir Patrick, for the lessons, the laughter, the wisdom, and the company across all those years. You helped make the universe a little less lonely.

Rest Well, Captain.

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