June 1977. I’m 12 years old in Moline, Illinois.
I had begged my parents for weeks to take me to see a new movie that was breaking records everywhere. They finally said yes.
I still remember the first words on the screen—
“A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…”
A massive spaceship rumbles overhead, filling the screen, seeming to go on forever. The lasers. The speed. The light sabers! I had never experienced anything like it.
No one had.
When it was over — after the Death Star was destroyed and the credits rolled — we walked out into the bright sunlight of a Saturday afternoon.
My heart was pounding.
I felt more alive than I had felt in a long time.
And then my mother turned to me and said:
“Jeff. If you liked that, you’re weird.”
She wasn’t being cruel. I don’t even think she knew what she was doing. But I knew exactly what I heard.
Hide this. This thing that just lit you up — hide it.
Today I see that everywhere. People hiding their passions. Performing instead. Achieving. Hoping that fitting into someone else’s idea of success will be enough.
It never is.
The first step is to see the trap.
I send deeper thoughts each week on what comes next.