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The Stillness Before the Signal: A Stop at NASA Houston

The ISTE trip wasn’t just a conference visit. It ended up becoming a small series of moments that helped me think differently about AI, education, and the systems we’re all trying to build.

This post is the first of a few reflections from that journey — not a travel diary, but a set of encounters that shaped how I approached the work waiting in San Antonio. And unexpectedly, everything began in Houston.

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NASA as the Pre-Mission Threshold

Long-haul travel bends time. One moment I was leaving Taupō, the next I was standing in humid Texas sunlight with a bunch of new friends looking at a Boeing 747 with a Space Shuttle mounted on top. It was hard to tell whether this was the start of the trip or the middle of one very long transition.

NASA Houston wasn’t meant to be symbolic. It was simply where I stayed between flights. But standing in the quiet around Clear Lake, the whole place felt like a threshold — a pause before stepping into the visibility and noise of ISTE.

If San Antonio would become the ignition point, then Houston was the pressurisation chamber.

Even the gift shop had a stance.

The Architecture of Scale

Nothing captures the ambition of NASA like the Saturn V. You don’t just see it — you feel it. It forces perspective. It forces humility. It forces you to remember that extraordinary things come from coordinated systems, not solo heroics.

Every pipe, every connection, every welded seam is a decision someone made. Progress isn’t magic; it’s iteration held together with purpose.

Further down the hall the rocket stretches out like a timeline — stage after stage leading toward the sky.

It’s a useful reminder: nothing gets to orbit in a single step. Missions succeed because the sequence holds.

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A Moment of Contact

Outside, the SpaceX Falcon 9 display feels different from the rest of the centre. It’s not polished or tucked behind glass. It’s weathered. Industrial. Tangible in a way the Saturn V isn’t.

There’s a point where you can reach up and touch part of the landing-leg grid structure — real hardware from a booster that has actually been to space.

I didn’t expect it to matter, but it did.

My hand was on metal that had left the planet.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

For a moment, the whole idea of spaceflight collapsed into something simple and human: big systems are built from physical materials; missions are carried by objects you can hold, repair, touch.

That small gesture — reaching up and feeling the cold geometry of the grid — cut through the abstraction.

It was a reminder that even the most complex architectures begin with something solid, something real.

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Inside the Machine

The interior of the Shuttle Carrier Aircraft — and the payload bay — felt like stepping inside the working memory of the space programme. It’s not glamorous. It’s functional. Tight. Metallic.

But it’s where the real work happened.

This resonated with me more than I expected. Going to ISTE wasn’t just about showing up. It was about carrying years of behind-the-scenes building and testing into a public space.

If Houston was the threshold, this interior moment clarified the load-out.

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Mission Control: The Architecture of Decisions

The restored Apollo Mission Control room is the part that stays with you.

It’s so analogue it borders on shocking: switches, dials, ashtrays, paper logs — but every piece has intent. Every console has a role. The whole room is built to prevent overwhelm and promote clarity.

This was the quiet invitation Houston left with me:

Great systems aren’t designed for spectacle. They’re designed for orientation.

And that is exactly the conversation education needs as AI accelerates underneath it.

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Leaving Houston

The next morning, still out of sync with local time, I left for San Antonio. I hadn’t planned for Houston to set the tone for the mission, but it did. It created a surprising kind of stillness — the kind that helps you remember why you’re doing the work in the first place.

Before stepping into the intensity of ISTE and the conversations that would follow, Houston offered a moment of clarity:

Every mission begins long before the countdown.

You have to understand the system before you try to change it.
And with that thought — and with the Shuttle still fresh in my mind — I boarded the next flight.

San Antonio was waiting.

And that’s where the real ignition happened.

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