Boldly Going... Inward: Curiosity, Reinvention, and the Stories That Shape Us

Or... “The older I get, the more I realize how little I truly know.”

That thought landed quietly one morning—over coffee, as most of my better thoughts tend to do. At least, I think better… or so I tell myself. 🤔

Now considered a "senior", I've worn many hats: serial entrepreneur (with all of the bumps, bruises, and gashes), educator/instructor, husband and father, garage musician/songwriter, reluctant philosopher (symptom: wandering in a daze and often muttering to himself).

But perhaps the most enduring one, in hindsight, has been seeker. Not of fame or fortune, but of understanding. Of clarity in a world that rarely offers it. Yes - this includes trying to understand my behavior over the years. I didn’t set out on a grand mission to find meaning in every moment—life, after all, doesn’t offer such clean arcs—but while stumbling around, I’ve come to appreciate the value of asking why... even when answers don’t come easily.

I’ve been thinking, lately, a lot about the role of fiction—specifically science fiction—in shaping how I see the world. Not just for entertainment, but for the doors it quietly opens in our minds. Watching "Star Trek: Discovery", I found myself less fixated on alien diplomacy or warp drives and more intrigued by something subtler: the sheer persistence of curiosity.

Even in the 32nd century, it seems, humans still haven’t outgrown their hunger to ask big questions.

1. The Curiosity Engine

Curiosity, I’ve come to believe, is humanity’s oldest and most underappreciated survival trait. Before we could dominate the land or map the stars, we asked why the sun moved across the sky. Why fire warmed us. Why the birds flew south. We didn’t always get the answers right, but the asking changed everything.

In my own journey, I have come to realize, curiosity has been my north star. And I know I am not alone in that... it is something we all share to a greater or lesser extent at moments throughout our lives. I have a friend—“MacGyver,” I call him—who takes things apart just to understand how they work. The difference is, he actually puts them back together (and better)!

We've all seen and/or experienced how organizations stagnate when they lose their appetite for inquiry - they fail to inspire curiosity in individuals and teams. I’ve seen how people can plateau when they replace exploration with certainty. After all... once you are certain... 100% sure of something, why bother asking any more questions or exploring further? And I’ve seen how fragile systems—educational, political, even spiritual—begin to crack when belief outweighs evidence.

It’s a lesson reinforced by the stories I grew up with. Star Trek, yes—but also James Bond, whose escapades taught a different kind of inquiry: observe, adapt, out-think. Both worlds, in their own ways, whispered the same truth: the future doesn’t belong to the strongest. It belongs to the most curious. Not because they know more, but,

Because they’re willing to unknow what no longer serves.

2. Influence vs. Instruction

There’s a subtle distinction I didn’t fully appreciate until later in life: the difference between what teaches us... and what influences us.

Formal education teaches. Books teach. An instructor teaches. But influence? Influence is more subversive. It slides past the gatekeeper of logic and settles somewhere deeper. Fiction, especially, doesn’t arrive with a syllabus or a grading rubric. It arrives with mood. With mystery. With metaphor.

Star Trek never "taught" me anything in the textbook sense. But it influenced (and continues to influence) how I imagine the world might be. It nudged me to consider diplomacy over force, exploration over conquest, cooperation over individualism. Bond, in contrast, offered a different lens: awareness, strategic agility, the idea that observation can be as powerful as action.

These weren’t guides. They were permission slips to imagine. To wonder. To expand my map of the possible. And isn’t that the secret to any good innovation or reinvention? Not a step-by-step manual, but the feeling—however fleeting—that more is possible than we currently understand? I think that's where many people misunderstand the role of fiction, or the value of cultural influence.

It doesn’t tell us what to do. It shows us how to ask better questions.

3. The Ethics of the Unknown

Curiosity, by its very nature, leads us into uncertainty. And uncertainty, for all its promise, demands something we don't always prioritize in our systems of innovation and learning: ethics.

Science fiction at its best doesn't just imagine new tools—it forces us to confront the moral weight of using them. Whether it’s Starfleet's Prime Directive, Isaac Asimov's laws of robotics, or the existential threat of AI gone rogue, the stories that last are those that ask: "Just because we can... should we?"

We're facing that same question now. In classrooms grappling with generative AI. In corporations navigating automation. In governments trying to legislate technologies they barely understand. The unknown isn’t just out there among the stars. It’s embedded in our daily decisions.

What matters most is how we navigate that unknown. Do we rush toward certainty and control? Or do we pause, reflect, and lean into a slower, more mindful type of curiosity—one that honors not just what we can achieve, but what we ought to preserve?

That's the kind of curiosity Star Trek often models: an ethical curiosity. A willingness to put empathy above efficiency. Understanding above domination. Reflection above reaction. And isn't that what we're all being asked to do now, in this volatile and fast-shifting world?

To explore not just the next frontier of knowledge... but the character we bring along with us?

4. Curiosity as a Legacy

I used to think legacy was about what you build. A company, a career, a family. Something that would stand after you're gone. But I've come to see it differently.

Legacy, to me now, is the questions you leave behind. The ones you sparked in others. The wonder you managed to keep alive, even when the world urged you to be cynical, or efficient, or sure of yourself.

If there's one thing I hope to pass on to the curious minds who find their way to RPM-Academy or stumble upon a conversation like this one—it's...

- The courage to not have all the answers.

- The courage to ask better questions.

- To think again. To think differently. Boldly going.

It may be the courage to question what we think we already know.

Curiosity is more than a spark—it’s a compass. Whether you're just beginning or reimagining what comes next, RPM-Academy is here to support your journey.

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Because the best legacy you leave... starts with the questions you ask now.