There is something uniquely human about fantasizing. I know very few people my age who will honestly be able to say that they have never, ever, wished for a real, working lightsaber. I can maybe count that number on one hand.
I wanted one.
Still do.
No clue what I’d do with an actual, functional lightsaber. Probably lose a limb or two. Yardwork might get easier. Well…maybe not. I’m no Jedi. I can see myself accidentally burning a few of my wife’s favorite plants after trying to use the lightsaber for a little light pruning.
But wouldn’t it be cool if constructing the damn things was possible?
To add on to this idea, I don’t know of many people my age who could also honestly say that they’ve never tried to use the Force on something.
Picture it.
You’re like eight or nine, or maybe over forty, and you’re sitting there bored out of your mind. You just watched Star Wars the night before with your parents (or with your kids for the plus forties) and there’s a pencil laying on your desk.
In your fantasy-riddled mind, you decide you’re going to use the Force to bring the pencil to you. You stare and stare and stare. You might even have reached out with one hand (right before parents, kids, or spouse entered the room and looked at you in that way that simultaneously tells you that they know exactly what you were just doing and wish they hadn’t).
Matt Hardman 