A Long Time Ago in an Emotionally Stunted Childhood Far, Far Away...

Luke!  I am your first real attempt at sketching since the pandemic.

Do or do not.  There is no try.

You had me, then you lost me, tiny Space Grover.  I waited until May the 4th ended, so as not to offend anyone's religious sensibilities, but today it's time to discuss how Star Wars broke me (and possibly the entire latter half of Gen-X babies).

No, I don't mean episodes I-III (which were released in order IV-VI), the rise of Jar Jar, or the explosion of a cinematic universe so convoluted it makes the Marvel productions look like they were written by Hemingway.

I mean the unyielding tough love messages that pulsate throughout the entire Star Wars universe.

The Star Wars/Death Star industrial complex was tailor-made for me.  I was a wee tike when A New Hope came out and finally made everyone feel safe to go back in the water in New England (except during the months from September to April, where hypothermia is a real threat.  And the giant lobsters.  They're not as cuddly as they look).  By the time the Tatooine toy tie-in blitz reached peak frenzy, I was dressing like an Ewok every day for school and being celebrated for it (That's how crazy the hype got, kids.  I wasn't even Wicket and I was getting high fives).

Of course I was going to suck up every message the movies issued without questioning whether or not it was wise to do so.  Plus I was 8, so if a muppet told me to do something, I did it.

So, back to that original quote - Do or do not.  There is no try.  This is a line out of The Empire Strikes Back when Luke, an apprentice Jedi, is attempting to raise his X-wing fighter out of a swamp using only his mind.  He ultimately fails and laments (ok, let's be honest, whines) that he's trying when a shriveled little creature that looks a lot like that thing in The Mandolorian (no, not Pedro Pascal) tuts disappointedly.  At this point, Yoda, who, over the 900 years he was alive teaching children to wield the equivalent of a perpetually lit flamethrower, and didn't encounter the concepts of emotional intelligence or empathy speaks the aforementioned words.

What a life-affirming message of encouragement!

Kid, you like basketball?  Here, take a shot from the 3-point line!  Airball?!?! Get the fuck out of my sight, loser [it's well known that off the movie set, Yoda indulged his passion as a youth basketball coach and was notoriously potty-mouthed].

Now, there's some Vader-esque propaganda floating around on the internet claiming that Yoda's intent was to have Luke believe in himself and not indulge the idea of failure.  It was an utterance of encouragement similar to hearing "don't be ugly, duckling."  Ok, so let's take that Jabba-splaining explanation at face value.  Even if his intended message was "believe in yourself," that wasn't immediately obvious.  Maybe he could've chosen a more compassionate phrase to get his message across.  Y'know something like, well, "believe in yourself."

I mean, call me crazy, but maybe the average space human needs just a little more encouragement than "Do it!" when attempting to raise an aerodynamically inapt machine from a swamp that would make this Floridian blush.  Or maybe Luke was concerned about how he was going to get that stain out after his alphabet fighter had been submerged in the bayou for a week.  Or maybe, just maybe, he was still a little freaked after ostensibly fighting the most evil man in the galaxy in the middle of the Okefenokee, only to find out that, after felling Vader, he essentially offed...himself?

Which leads me to the other "lesson" that the Star Wars series taught me - namely, don't give in to your feelings.  Ever.

The Swamp Lesson was intended to teach Luke that, if he indulged his anger, there but for the grace of midichlorians go I.  Ok, I'll acquiesce - I think we can all agree it's not a good idea to attempt to decapitate yourself dressed in a Vader suit in anger.  

But the more pointed message resulting from Luke's cavorting in the woods was that any indulgence of anger would lead a Jedi to the dark side.  Lost in that subtext was anything more than a passing acknowledgement of any feelings could trip you up.  Fantasizing about hooking up with Natalie Portman?  Not on my watch, Padwan!  Want to tell Liam Neeson that his hair could've used a bit more conditioner?  Bottle it up!

Now, it's possibly that the stoic lifestyle was intended solely for those beings boring enough to become Jedi, but earth children, whose sole goal in life at that age is to become a Jedi, cannot tease apart such a nuance.

As a result, we were all stumbling through the 80s getting punched in the face by bullies and doing everything possible to moonwalk our anxieties away.  It's cool, bro.  I've still got my Members Only jacket.  

Is it any surprise why, a decade later, we made flannels and oversized jeans a fashion statement while resurrecting the mullet? I'm kidding. That's Seattle's fault. 

But denying your emotions, good or bad, is going to have some serious consequences.  I've always appreciated the adage that bravery isn't a lack of fear, but an acknowledgement that you're afraid and will face your fears anyway.  You may be a blubbery, bet wetting mess, but you still walked across the gym to ask that curly-haired girl you liked to dance with you.  The adage illustrates the difference between your recognition of feelings and your unbridled indulgence of them.

This was a very important perspective I lacked as a sensitive child at the ostensible whim of his emotions.  We're humans.  We can only influence what we feel so much (without massive doses of controlled substances or a constant exposure to apathy that laps slowly at your soul).  If you doubt that, try stubbing your toe and calmly telling yourself and everyone around you to "get tough, kid" in an unaffected whisper.  

The more you deny that you should be feeling what you're feeling or believe that you shouldn't feel that way, the more guilt, shame, or anger you're going to feel for being unable to check what occurs naturally.  That mole has to pop out somewhere.

Understanding your emotions doesn't give you permission to indulge acting on them unchecked - that's where respecting boundaries comes into play - but it does give you the ability to understand why you feel the way you do and what healthy the reactions are to those emotions when you encounter them again in the future.

My human and robot friends, until next time do we meet.  Hmm?