An Old Hope

On my writing desk there is a modest but well-loved collection of Star Wars Lego sets. The crown jewel (in my opinion) of this fleet is the Millenium Falcon. My wife bought it for me when I turned 35, fulfilling a lifetime desire to snag the greatest spaceship in/out of this world. This particular model is based on the Falcon as it appears in The Force Awakens. From the gun turrets to the holochess board to the smuggler’s hold, it makes tangible a favorite part of my childhood.

An undeniable part of my attraction to the ship is the crew, Han Solo and Chewbacca. Sometimes driven by adventure, sometimes by necessity, they blustered their way into and out of trouble and jobs. Han and Chewie were unphased at what was SUPPOSED to happen, making up the rules as they went along. Their ethical decision making was often questionable, especially Solo’s. Despite his shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later persona, you could see the good in Han. With Chewie’s steady presence, their shenanigans felt like noble scoundrelry to my younger self. I wanted nothing more than to see them live to fight another day.

I can see now that it wasn’t the adventures or even the most famous Corellian freighter in the galaxy that I admired, but the friendship between Han and Chewie. They found a steady ally in each other, a solid wall to set their backs against in the fight, someone to trust in a galaxy full of uncertainty and tyranny. Han calmed and comforted Chewie when necessary, and Chewie was the kind of friend who would show up to Jabba’s palace and voluntarily be imprisoned in hopes of rescuing you.

There was something sacred and comforting watching the two of them practice a kind, steady, brave friendship. I couldn’t name it at the time, but there was courage to be found watching Chewie and Han stick by each other through all of their imperfections. For some reason, I imagined myself in Solo’s space cowboy persona. Not as I was (I hate getting in trouble), but as I might hope to be when the chips are down. Resourceful, reckless, and brave. I looked up to Han because he set his own course. He didn’t shy away from any challenge (except promptly returning the words, “I love you,” which was fine with my 7-year-old self). Through it all, Chewie was there. They taught me that it was possible to find and be that kind of friend, even in a cold, hard galaxy.

I don’t want to oversell my emotional prowess. These aren’t the kind of thoughts I typically have when I look at my Lego Falcon or watch any of the Star Wars movies for the __th time. I’m in it for the space battles and dry observations on the odds. Watching the adventure unfold, friendship and faithfulness are a given, something that works so well you don’t even think about it. But behind the lasers and hyperdrives, the far-flung systems and the allure of the rebellion was something deeper. A foundational bond of friendship and purpose that made it all mean something.

While the years have given me a deeper appreciation for life and how it’s represented in these great films, there’s a bittersweetness to looking at the Falcon on my desk. This set comes with an aged Han Solo, reminding me that nothing is permanent. I can’t help but notice my own difficulty accepting the aging of an iconic representation of my childhood. Sometimes I swap out Han Solo for a younger version of himself from a different set, as if changing the character for a younger version of himself could hold back the flow of time. With a dashing, young, plastic Solo in the cockpit, I’m transported backward to those days when space smuggler WAS the ideal job description and there was a galaxy of possibilities out there. This works for a moment, but in the back of my mind I know that there is a more grizzled, grayed, and worn version of Solo lurking somewhere on my desk. The analogy lands more personally than I like to admit. Still, this latest round of Star Wars movies and merch offers a new/old hope. When we bridge the gap between Return of the Jedi and The Force Awakens, Han and Chewie are still in it together, even if they don’t have the Falcon. In the inescapable passage of years, they prove it’s the friendships, not the space cruiser, that make the journey.

Maybe that’s the true wonder of the Falcon, through all the escapes, scrapes, and battles, it took more than one person to get from point a to point b. Even the guy called Solo had to have a trusty co-pilot. If you were in that iconic ship, you had a friend with you to help navigate the stars, rewire the hyperdrive, and help close the smuggler’s hatch. We should all be so lucky to travel the galaxy this way.