Starfleet Medical Academy Lecture - Thanksgiving

Posted on 23 Nov 2025 @ 6:34pm by Lieutenant JG Delainey Carlisle

577 words; about a 3 minute read

Here is a revised version that restores the spirit of that section—Delainey drawing on her professional experience—without naming the *Galileo* or any specific posting:

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Delainey Carlisle paused at the lectern, letting the low murmur of the lecture hall settle. The late-autumn sunlight filtering through the Academy windows had that warm, slanted quality she loved—soft enough to keep cadets calm, bright enough to keep them awake. It was the day before Thanksgiving break, which meant half her students were already mentally aboard shuttles home.

“Alright,” she began, tone gentle but steady. “Before you all scatter across the quadrant for the holiday, we’re going to talk about gratitude.”

A collective groan rose from the room—good-natured, predictable. Delainey smiled. “Yes, yes. I know. It sounds like something your grandmother would slip into small talk. But in this line of work, gratitude isn’t fluff. It’s equipment.”

She let the words settle before continuing.

“Throughout my career,” she said, “I’ve seen some of the most capable officers in the fleet—people who can repair a plasma manifold during a red alert, negotiate with hostile factions, or endure months of isolation on deep-space assignments—struggle to name a single thing they appreciate at the end of a terrible day. They can perform miracles under pressure, but gratitude? That’s often the skill they’ve never practiced.”

A few cadets shifted, listening more closely now. Delainey’s voice softened.

“Gratitude doesn’t erase stress or trauma. It doesn’t undo grief. But it does widen the emotional field. It reminds the brain that even in tight spaces—even in loss—there are anchors. Safety lines. Small threads of connection that tell us we’re still human.”

A few cadets leaned forward, sensing the weight beneath her calm presentation.

“Thanksgiving,” she went on, “isn’t a Federation holiday by any means. But its theme—taking a moment to acknowledge what sustains us—is universal. And for Starfleet personnel, who spend long stretches away from home, that practice matters more than we like to admit.”

She tapped a control pad, and the display behind her lit with three simple words: **Notice. Name. Nurture.**

“This,” she said, “is the framework I want you to teach your future patients—and use yourselves.”

She gestured to the first word. “*Notice.* Under stress, the mind narrows to danger or deficiency. Gratitude begins by intentionally widening that focus—catching the small, ordinary moments: a good cup of raktajino, a crewmate’s joke, a few minutes of peace after gamma shift.”

She moved to the next. “*Name.* Our neural pathways strengthen when we articulate an experience. Saying or writing one or two things we’re thankful for helps consolidate them. It’s a micro-dose of stability.”

Finally, she touched the last. “*Nurture.* Build a ritual. Nightly reflection. A weekly conversation. A moment of stillness at the start or end of your shift. Ritual makes resilience repeatable.”

Silence settled over the room—thoughtful, not uncomfortable.

Delainey folded her hands. “Wherever you serve in the future, you won’t always have holidays. You won’t always have home. But gratitude is portable. It helps what’s good stay visible when everything else gets dark.”

She paused, warm but firm. “Before you leave today, find one thing—just one—you’re grateful for. Carry it with you. It may matter more than you think.”

The cadets filed out quietly. Delainey watched them go, hopeful. Seeds planted.

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