I know what Star Wars was to me.

I’m not sure I know what it now means to me.

Parts IV, V and VI will be one of the great epic sagas of my life. The narrative and characters and morals of the original trilogy are fused into my DNA. We cannot be separated from each other. But I have grown and changed and I see the world from a different vantage point than I did when I was nine.

And, so, Star Wars sits differently with me now.

It’s like I went into a retro clothes store and found a replica print t-shirt that was a favourite from my late teens or early twenties. Only it’s a little old and faded. Maybe also slightly misshapen. The fact that it’s also a size too small doesn’t deter me enough not to buy it.

Now each time I wear it I have that obvious self-consciousness of dressing too young for my age. That and it’s doesn’t fit so hugs a little tighter around my belly. Part of me, though, likes how the short sleeves frame my skinny biceps. That feeling of snugness gives me the delusion of having actual muscles.

Then I catch my reflection in a full-length mirror and see the ridiculousness of my situation. I need to let go but I’m afraid of what letting go says about where I am in my life right now.

I’m not ready to give up and let go of Star Wars, but my meh-ness at each new instalments only intensifies the inner conflict I feel – my very own struggle between the dark and light sides of the force, knowing true peace and purpose lies within and only I can bring balance to the force.