Like many young people, I was captivated by human space flight growing up. To a small extent, it was part of my heritage. I’m a second-generation McDonnell-Douglas brat. My grandma worked as a secretary to engineers and would proudly recount how she once sewed something that was part of a mockup of Spacelab. My dad started in the tool shop and eventually became a buyer, working on the payload for an early Endeavour mission and the Space Station Freedom project.

But it went beyond all that. Space was part of the mythology of the great deeds of past generations — of the Mercury Seven, Gemini, and Apollo. And it was — in a very Star-Trek-logic way — part of the promise of humanity’s future.

The very act of humanity reaching out beyond its home is a crucible. When human ingenuity is brought to bear on something this difficult, it doesn’t stay confined to rockets and launchpads — the solutions reshape medicine, materials, and computing here on Earth, quietly expanding what’s possible in everyday life. When human nations undertake a challenge on this scale, it can even bridge rivalries: astronauts and cosmonauts shaking hands through an airlock.

And when human eyes turn back toward Earth from orbit or the Moon, they are transformed. They see our fragility — a world without borders, a shared home, a speck in the universe that we must respect and protect.

Human space flight is hope. It is the dream that we can break loose from the gravity of poverty, hunger, greed, and strife and carry that same spirit into building a better world here at home. It doesn’t solve those problems for us. But it points toward a version of ourselves that might.

But I confess that I somehow hadn’t even heard about Artemis II until days before the launch. These are challenging times for our world, for our nation, and for my family, and life has never been so busy and distracting as it is now. Perhaps you can relate. Hope has felt harder to hold onto. The gravity of earthly woes has never felt stronger.

I had no idea that we were about to launch a mission to fly around the Moon — a feat first accomplished 58 years ago. I had no idea that we were sending humans farther away from Earth than ever before, planning moon landings again, and even a permanent human presence on the lunar surface. And I think I probably believed — without realizing it — that the hope of seeing such efforts in my lifetime was a thing of the past.

And then someone mentioned to me that Artemis II would be launching within days, and I was a little kid again.

Suddenly I again lived in a reality in which vision, collaboration, and a refusal to be bound by small-mindedness could reshape what’s possible. And ours is a world that is begging in so many ways to be remade — globally, nationally, and right here at home in our little Irvine.

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So how do we infuse the hopeful spirit of Artemis II and human spaceflight into our challenges here at home?

It starts with rejecting the idea that “this is how we’ve always done it” is a sufficient answer to anything. When we face decisions about our city, we should be asking instead: what does Irvine’s best future ask of us?

It means being willing to collaborate — to recognize that no part of Irvine exists in isolation, and that none of it belongs under glass, preserved exactly to any one group’s preference at the expense of the whole.

And it means taking a high-orbit view of Irvine. Just as spaceflight allows us to see Earth as a shared, fragile system, we need to see Irvine the same way — to expand our perspective beyond our own backyards and see an interconnected city that either expands opportunity or constrains it. Every tract, every village, every parcel of land is part of that system. Which brings us to Oak Park.

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Some look at Oak Park and see a golf course they’d be sorry to lose. Some see a broken promise of open land. Still others fear the threat of increased traffic and overcrowded schools, or, on the other side, feel hopeful at the prospect of sorely needed housing supply. But I look at it and see something simpler — and more important: it’s across the street from Irvine Valley College.

 

And right now, a significant number of those students are struggling to afford a place to live. “A 2023 survey found that 21% of students at [Irvine Community College] were experiencing financial hardship. The survey also found that 15% of respondents were having difficulty paying rent and 21% were experiencing food insecurity.”

Most alarmingly, 5% of South Orange County Community College District students identify as homeless. IVC is already moving forward with on-campus housing — but the scale of need far exceeds what is currently planned.

Even setting aside California’s broader housing crisis, we have an immediate problem —but also an equally immediate solution.  Students at IVC need more affordable housing. There is available land right across the street from the college. But the scope of the opportunity here goes far beyond housing. We can build an integrated, walkable, mixed-use college district that is capable of dynamic redevelopment and that strengthens the bonds between IVC and the Irvine community and enriches the possibilities afforded by both places.

So, what would a real moonshot for Oak Park actually look like? The key points are these:

1) Build a variety of medium-density housing types that are prioritized for IVC faculty, staff, and students. Because IVC employees and students predominantly commute to IVC, this would mitigate traffic concerns surrounding new housing.

2) Build a mixed-use core to this neighborhood that offers public spaces, bookstores, restaurants and cafes, bodegas, small live-music venues – the stuff of a vibrant student culture. This would further mitigate traffic concerns by making a larger portion of resident trips within walking range.

3) Make this a node on an expanded Irvine Connect system that serves the entire city, even further mitigating traffic concerns.

4) Build the Maker Factory – a community-oriented exchange of skills: crafts, electronics, robotics, DIY projects. This would be a facility that makes the equipment necessary for such projects available to the community at large and fosters the training necessary for all who are interested. It would work hand-in-hand with IVC’s mission to empower people to pursue new opportunities. And in an age in which automation threatens the primacy of human labor more than ever before, it offers a means for people to continue to experiment with new ways to find purpose, meaning, and livelihoods.

5) Manage it all under the umbrella of a Community Land Trust. This would be managed by a tripartite board made up of key stakeholders (IVC, the City of Irvine, the Irvine Company), housing policy experts, and resident representatives (residents — not just homeowners — everyone gets a vote). Its mission would be to preserve the community’s quality of life, its affordability for faculty, staff, and students, and its character while also providing something that Irvine normally struggles with: dynamic infill redevelopment. The CLT would be able to repurpose buildings and lots to meet the changing needs of Oak Park – ensuring the best possible balance of considerations for all parties concerned.

This could still incorporate the Irvine Company’s planned Nature Park. And there should still be plenty of room for traditional development by the Irvine Company. But the beating heart of Oak Park would be a revolutionary IVC-oriented neighborhood.

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Destination Irvine – the city’s campaign to draw in visitors to the city – has always struck me as little bit funny. Our city has many winning qualities. But, if I’m honest, I’ve usually had to apologize for it to friends and family vising from out of town – usually on our way to grab dinner or drinks in Costa Mesa or Old Town Tustin: to places that invite connection and experience. I’m not looking for Oak Park to be the LAB or Old Town. But there’s a higher purpose for Oak Park that is already suggested by the logic of the place. And if it were allowed to connect to that purpose – to truly realize its connection to the larger interconnected system that is Irvine – it would become the version of itself that people might actually want to visit. It would become a locus of authentic culture and identity – of possibility – that people gravitate toward when they visit a place. And all while enriching lives, diversity, and community for those of us who call Irvine home.

Which puts me in mind of Irvine’s other, less official slogan – its self-applied moniker, the City of Innovation. In truth, I tend to find that one a little funny, too. Besides a bit of branding to appeal to tech firms and an ill-advised flirtation with a dubious gondola-based transit system, let’s face it: Irvine is a place built on copy-and-paste. But in Oak Park, there is an opportunity for Irvine to take a moonshot worthy of Artemis II. We need only ask ourselves: is “City of Innovation” more than just a name? Is Irvine’s future to be one of great deeds and brighter tomorrows? Or will we stay firmly stuck in the gravity well of the status quo? For my part, I enthusiastically say, “let’s light this candlestick!”

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Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Irvine Watchdog.