Star Trek: The Next Generation Life Lessons That Still Hurt in My 40s
- Julian Vane
- Jun 17
- 5 min read
Yes, I still watch Star Trek: The Next Generation. Yes, I take it personally when Commander Riker learns emotional maturity faster than I did. And yes, I’m aware these characters aren’t real. But my feelings are.
Why TNG Still Hits Harder Than My Therapist
Let me explain something: I’ve tried therapy. I’ve journaled. I’ve stared into the abyss of my own mind at 2 a.m. wearing socks with holes in them, asking why I said “You too” to a waitress who told me to enjoy my meal. And yet—yet—nothing slices deeper into my soul than a Jean-Luc Picard monologue about morality delivered under direct threat of annihilation.
The Next Generation wasn’t just television. It was a group intervention with better lighting. Every episode whispered, “Here’s how not to be a garbage person.” And I needed that.
Especially the one where Data tried to have a girlfriend and accidentally became the blueprint for my 20s.
“There Are Four Lights” and One Existential Crisis
Let’s start with the heavy hitter: Picard’s torture episode, Chain of Command, Part II. If you’ve never screamed “There are four lights!” into your steering wheel after leaving your job at a soulless startup where your boss explained that “unpaid overtime is a vibe,” then congratulations—you’re probably still in your 30s.
That episode taught me that truth matters. That gaslighting is real. And that Patrick Stewart can out-act the entire MCU while wearing space pajamas.
It also reminded me of that time in corporate America when a manager told me I was “overthinking things” while I calmly pointed at a literal fire.
Data’s Quest to Understand Humans (Same)
Data was always trying to understand human behavior. He made PowerPoints about love. He learned to tell jokes that no one laughed at. He asked deep questions that got dismissed like, “Why do humans drink coffee when it gives them anxiety?”
Buddy… same.
Watching Data struggle to navigate emotions felt like watching footage from my own life, but with more dignity and less emailing “per my last message” in all lowercase to avoid confrontation.
The lesson? Emotional awareness is hard. But being a clueless robot is harder. And people still expect you to bring cupcakes to the office birthday party even if your insides are made of circuits and dread.
Worf Taught Me the Art of Masked Rage
Worf is basically the Hulk with a standing desk. Always trying to follow protocol. Always lowkey ready to snap a neck. Every time someone disrespected his honor, I felt it in my molars.
My Worf moment? A wedding where the officiant said, “Marriage is compromise,” and I stood there, knowing I’d be the one apologizing for things I didn’t do while also doing the dishes forever.
Worf never got to be fully Klingon on the Enterprise. And I never got to scream in Trader Joe’s when a woman with 47 coupons cut me in line. We suffer in silence. For honor. And almond butter.
The Holodeck Is Just Therapy with Better Funding
Let’s be honest: the Holodeck is just what happens when you give your trauma a rendering engine. You want closure from your ex? Boom—Holodeck date night. You want to feel respected at work? Boom—Holodeck promotion simulation. You want to battle your childhood fear of clowns while dressed as Sherlock Holmes? Apparently that’s an episode.
This show knew what it was doing. It gave characters room to work out their inner demons using technology—something I now emulate by rage-scrolling Zillow listings for houses I can’t afford and emotionally relocating to Oregon every Sunday night.
That Time Wesley Crusher Got Banished (And I Cheered)
Look, I know it’s not cool to hate Wesley Crusher. But the dude was an overachieving teen genius in a turtleneck. Every time he got screen time, I remembered my high school guidance counselor saying, “You’re smart, but you lack initiative.” Meanwhile, Wesley was out here discovering subspace anomalies and solving time paradoxes before his voice cracked.
But even he eventually got told to take a walk by a ghost alien in a robe. And I think that’s beautiful.
The lesson? No one’s above being humbled. Not even the golden boy. Especially not the golden boy. Wesley was what would happen if LinkedIn became a person and joined your group chat uninvited.
Geordi’s Unlucky Dating Life Gave Me Hope
Geordi La Forge may have been a chief engineer, but his dating record reads like the Yelp reviews of a cursed Olive Garden. He fell in love with a Holodeck version of a woman, got rejected by the real version, and once accidentally ghosted a sentient ship.
But here’s the thing: he kept trying.
In my 40s, I get it now. Sometimes the algorithm matches you with someone who says their hobby is “murder documentaries and long walks off short piers.” Sometimes you swipe right and end up in a 3-month conversation about who owns what storage bin in a shared apartment.
Geordi’s resilience is my love language.
The Prime Directive: Or, Why I Shouldn’t Offer Life Advice
The Prime Directive was Starfleet’s golden rule: Don’t interfere in the development of alien civilizations. Basically, don’t fix what you don’t understand. I wish I’d applied that to my ex-friend’s keto diet. Or my cousin’s pyramid scheme.
At some point in life, you have to learn that unsolicited advice is like jazz flute: very few people can pull it off, and even fewer should try.
Thanks, Star Trek, for teaching me to mind my own damn business. Even if it means watching people add pineapple to lasagna. I value my Star Trek: The Next Generation life lessons.
Captain Picard’s Baldness Gave Me Peace
There’s something quietly revolutionary about a man commanding an entire starship, negotiating galactic peace treaties, and still being bald. And not just bald—proudly bald. Confident bald. “I could have hair, but I’m busy running the universe” bald.
As a man entering what I call the scalp visibility decade, I salute you, Captain. You made it okay to age, to lead with intelligence, and to say things like “Engage” with full conviction—even when what you’re really doing is backing out of a driveway at 5 miles per hour.
Why This Still Hurts (And Heals) When I Think About Star Trek: The Next Generation Life Lessons
Every TNG episode ends with a gentle fade-out, a lesson learned, and a quiet return to the stars. Meanwhile, I’m stuck here learning that the printer doesn’t work unless I beg it like an ancient god.
But the show stays with me. In how I navigate awkward work conversations. In how I resist correcting strangers about Pluto’s planetary status. In how I try, against all odds, to be a little more evolved than I was last week.
It’s still the blueprint. Even if I’m more Ferengi than Federation most days.
Internal Links Section
If The Next Generation made you feel like you were both the problem and the solution, you’ll probably enjoy these other pieces of high-functioning introspection:
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