"Wanna Work for Princess Leia?" - The Email That Changed My Life
How I escaped a life that looked impressive and still felt wrong—and why so many of us don't leave.
CONFESSION
I used to think something was wrong with me.
I fantasized about letting my gold 2002 Nissan Sentra drift across the double yellow lines of Laurel Canyon Boulevard.
A cute little collision was all I wanted—nothing fatal or disfiguring—just enough to send me to the hospital so I could get a good nap.
At the time, I told myself I was burned out.
What I didn’t yet understand was that burnout is often loyalty to a story that no longer fits.
I was driving to the graveyard shift. My big dream of becoming the next Katie Couric had disintegrated into me working nights writing scripts for local news anchors so they could live their dreams.
I didn't know what else to do.
An escape hatch arrived in my email. The subject line read: “Job Opportunity - One of a Kind - This is not spam.” The email read: “Any chance you wanna work for Princess Leia?”
A friend worked for Carrie Fisher’s agent. The Star Wars icon needed a new assistant and I checked a few boxes. Her team wanted someone gay because apparently Carrie could be, ahem, amorous. And they wanted a writer who could help her with her books and theatre work.
I needed saving. I needed a hero. And soon, I was on my way to Carrie Fisher’s mansion for an interview.
I was sweating as the gates opened to Carrie’s Beverly Hills estate. I parked my Nissan next to a new BMW and a new Lexus. Nearby, a big green Cadillac was parked in a carport under a vintage neon sign that said “Debbie’s Diner.” As in Debbie Reynolds. She and Carrie lived in neighboring homes on the same lush lot.
A brick path cut into rolling hills led me to Carrie’s mansion, a one-hundred-year-old hacienda-style work of art. A sign said, “clothing optional beyond this point.” A tennis court to my right had a giant plastic cow standing on it. A guest house to my left had a sign on the door that said, “In hell from sex.”
A crystal chandelier hung from a giant oak tree. Later, Carrie would tell me it was Russian. She’d say it was a gift from Meryl. As in Meryl Streep.
Everything about the place was fascinating.
That’s how it works.
The life you think will save you almost always looks better at first.
But here’s the part we don’t talk about enough.
Sometimes the thing you believe will rescue you is just another way to disappear.
Onto the front porch. Up to Carrie’s front door. I knocked. And—
⚠️ This is the threshold.
On the other side is the moment I realized why working for Carrie Fisher wasn’t the escape I thought it was—and how I finally noticed the life I was trading away.
If you’ve ever stayed because it sounded too good to leave, this is the part most people don’t want to examine.
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