A Future We Deserve
Bree rides home on the DC Metro - May 23rd 2025
On Friday, through tears, the Enterprises came home.
There are only a few moments in life that truly change everything. One of mine came when I was nine or ten, sitting with a friend who insisted I watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. My dream of being a paleontologist shifted to being an astronautical engineer. I wanted to be Geordi La Forge. I wanted to keep the warp engines humming, help humanity expand into the stars, and to boldly go.
But it was more than warp cores and fighting the Borg. What I didn’t realize at the time is that I was absorbing the culture I needed to see: a future where diversity wasn't just accepted, it was essential. The crew came from different worlds, literally and figuratively, and yet they tackled the universe’s hardest problems. Star Trek isn’t about a utopia immune to struggle, it’s about striving to be better, together. Even in the darkest time, empathy, cooperation, and relentless hope would see the crew through.
That message stayed with me. Through every iteration of the series, that vision of collective strength and wisdom, exploration, and perseverance remained. Whether you're aboard the Enterprise or spinning through space on this pale blue dot we call Earth, we’re in this together.
Before I started my first assignment at U.S. Space Force Headquarters, I bought this plaque of the Enterprises. It was a quiet reminder of the future we were trying to build: a 21st-century military culture capable of reaching a 24th-century ideal. Our core values—courage, character, connection, commitment—were meant to foster authenticity, inclusion, and innovation. To help us boldly go where no military service had gone before. For me, it was a dream come true. And the Enterprises proudly hung on my wall as inspiration.
But now, for me and many others, that dream is ending—in a nightmarish way. In less than two weeks, I’ll be forced to take off the uniform. Not because I can’t do the job. Not because I lack the will or the skill. But because of who I am. I've been told I’m no longer worthy of being part of the crew.
That kind of rejection is soul-crushing. But it’s not the first time I’ve had to pivot, and I know it won’t be the last. I’ll be okay. What keeps me up at night isn't just what this means for me—it's what it means for the culture we were trying to build. Can we still attract the best and brightest to serve in one of the most technically demanding missions our nation has? If they come, will they find a culture that sees them, supports them, develops them?
For now, the Enterprises hang in my home office. Not as a relic of what’s lost, but as a promise of what’s still possible. Of where we need to go. Of who we still can be. I still believe in a bright future—but we won’t reach it by clinging to a sanitized version of a less than idyllic past. The past, with its flaws included, is there to inspire us to a better future. We won’t get there by bullying our way there or by fearmongering directed at the most vulnerable. That future must be for everyone. I’m hopeful it will be.
Hope isn't naïve optimism; it's the discipline to choose the good, even when it's hardest, and the courage to face the consequences when we fall short. It’s standing firm in the darkness and refusing to let go of the light. Star Trek pursued hope not by avoiding the abyss, but by confronting it—and then choosing to climb out while guided by the better angels of our nature.
Though I may very soon no longer wear the uniform, I hope you’ll join me in confronting the darkness. I hope one day those Enterprises will once again hang in a public place… where they can remind others, as they reminded me, that our best future is still out there.
And it’s worth fighting for.
There are only a few moments in life that truly change everything. One of mine came when I was nine or ten, sitting with a friend who insisted I watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. My dream of being a paleontologist shifted to being an astronautical engineer. I wanted to be Geordi La Forge. I wanted to keep the warp engines humming, help humanity expand into the stars, and to boldly go.
But it was more than warp cores and fighting the Borg. What I didn’t realize at the time is that I was absorbing the culture I needed to see: a future where diversity wasn't just accepted, it was essential. The crew came from different worlds, literally and figuratively, and yet they tackled the universe’s hardest problems. Star Trek isn’t about a utopia immune to struggle, it’s about striving to be better, together. Even in the darkest time, empathy, cooperation, and relentless hope would see the crew through.
That message stayed with me. Through every iteration of the series, that vision of collective strength and wisdom, exploration, and perseverance remained. Whether you're aboard the Enterprise or spinning through space on this pale blue dot we call Earth, we’re in this together.
Before I started my first assignment at U.S. Space Force Headquarters, I bought this plaque of the Enterprises. It was a quiet reminder of the future we were trying to build: a 21st-century military culture capable of reaching a 24th-century ideal. Our core values—courage, character, connection, commitment—were meant to foster authenticity, inclusion, and innovation. To help us boldly go where no military service had gone before. For me, it was a dream come true. And the Enterprises proudly hung on my wall as inspiration.
But now, for me and many others, that dream is ending—in a nightmarish way. In less than two weeks, I’ll be forced to take off the uniform. Not because I can’t do the job. Not because I lack the will or the skill. But because of who I am. I've been told I’m no longer worthy of being part of the crew.
That kind of rejection is soul-crushing. But it’s not the first time I’ve had to pivot, and I know it won’t be the last. I’ll be okay. What keeps me up at night isn't just what this means for me—it's what it means for the culture we were trying to build. Can we still attract the best and brightest to serve in one of the most technically demanding missions our nation has? If they come, will they find a culture that sees them, supports them, develops them?
For now, the Enterprises hang in my home office. Not as a relic of what’s lost, but as a promise of what’s still possible. Of where we need to go. Of who we still can be. I still believe in a bright future—but we won’t reach it by clinging to a sanitized version of a less than idyllic past. The past, with its flaws included, is there to inspire us to a better future. We won’t get there by bullying our way there or by fearmongering directed at the most vulnerable. That future must be for everyone. I’m hopeful it will be.
Hope isn't naïve optimism; it's the discipline to choose the good, even when it's hardest, and the courage to face the consequences when we fall short. It’s standing firm in the darkness and refusing to let go of the light. Star Trek pursued hope not by avoiding the abyss, but by confronting it—and then choosing to climb out while guided by the better angels of our nature.
Though I may very soon no longer wear the uniform, I hope you’ll join me in confronting the darkness. I hope one day those Enterprises will once again hang in a public place… where they can remind others, as they reminded me, that our best future is still out there.
And it’s worth fighting for.
