Han is My Co-Pilot

Last week, Sheila was musing on the top five moments in the original Star Wars trilogy. Her post garnered some interesting responses, as usual.

I got thinking about this because there is one moment in the original Star Wars movie that has a keen practical application in my own life. (WARNING: EXTREME GEEKINESS AHEAD. PROCEED WITH CAUTION.)

You see, I really hate flying. In fact, I'm quite frightened of it. It isn't the rational kind of fear about terrorists and airline safety compliance issues. It's the irrational kind of fear that says the only thing that keeps the wings from falling off the plane is the force generated by the clenching of my stomach muscles.

I especially hate take-off. There is something about that feeling of finding yourself helplessly in the grip of an inevitable series of events that will result in your being catapulted into the sky that adds a shot of extra spice to my already considerable anxiety. But I have found a way to deal with it, thanks to Star Wars.

Just before we start the roll-out, I flip back in my mind to the escape of the Millenium Falcon from Mos Eisley. I run the film right from the point of "Stop that ship! Blast them!" with extra emphasis on the musical score and the sound effects. By the time the Imperial cruisers have been outrun and the Falcon kicks into hyperdrive, my own jet has completed the worst part of its climb and I can relax just a bit.

Call it what you want, but it works.