I’m shocked and sad over the death of Carrie Fisher. Oddly enough, I dreamed last night that I went to the set of a Star Wars movie set, only the movie was reflecting the world long before A New Hope. There was a fighter jet that was orange, with a death’s head logo on it like The Punisher movie, and George Michael was going to play the part of the pilot. Everyone was cheering him on, and there was a big party. Maybe it was my internal feelings that she wasn’t going to make it.
Back when Star Wars first opened, she became my icon for female empowerment, for she was only a little older than I was. My good friend Amy and I were blown away by Star Wars. I loved Han, Luke and Chewie and the whole world, but Princess Leia was a breath of fresh air. She got to boss the men around, had a blaster and her whole world blew apart and yet she survived and carried on. She had POWER, and courage and such strength, and purpose. And yet she cared deeply, just as a princess should. She could kick ass and still look stunning, and yet she didn’t give a hoot about her makeup or her hair. Remember the “hairy earphones?”
We couldn’t wait to see The Empire Strikes Back. I moved to Florida and Amy and kept in touch for a while, signing our letters “May the Force be with you.” But we drifted apart and when I went to see “Empire” it was with other friends. Princess Leia had changed, just as I had. She loved Han. She was still strong, but in a more reserved, more important way. She knew what it was like to risk everything, including your heart, and still had the courage and strength to love.
When “Postcards from the Edge” came out, I went to see that movie about my idol, Carrie Fisher. It was a thoughtful, gritty and fascinating look at a woman who portrayed my idol, and dealt with her own very real struggles, and survived.
RIP Carrie Fisher. May you shine in endless stars in the galaxy far, far away.