In 1983, my life changed forever. I wasn’t in a galaxy far, far away — but I might as well have been. That was the year I saw my first “Star Wars” film: “Return of the Jedi.” It was my personal origin story. And like many girls growing up in the ‘80s, I didn’t just want to watch Princess Leia — I wanted to be her.

I dreamed of flying speeder bikes through the mossy forests of Endor, living among the cuddly-yet-fierce Ewoks, rescuing Han Solo from a block of carbonite, and learning to wield The Force like a true Jedi Knight. Leia wasn’t just royalty — she was resilience, intelligence, and quiet power, wrapped in cinnamon bun hair and white robes. She gave girls like me permission to imagine ourselves as heroes.