It sounds dramatically geeky to say that I don’t remember my life pre-Star Wars, but it’s true: the saga of a Galaxy Far, Far Away has always been a part of my life, as has the Princess herself.

I WAS a princess, or at least I thought I was as a child. Someone had made the mistake of telling me that my name, Sarah, translates to “princess” in Hebrew. To a little girl in a Disney-dominated American culture, my name felt like destiny. In fact, the only memory I have that could have pre-dated my life with Star Wars, was the Halloween after my second birthday, in which I experienced the supreme honor of dressing in the gown of a princess and announcing my reign to every one of my neighbors. “I a princess!” is still one of my mother’s favorite stories to recount around October, or really anytime we encounter a small, pink outfit. My name is Sarah, which someone had made the mistake of telling me translates to “princess.”

Despite the Disney-filled world of a young, American girl in the late nineties, I really don’t remember Disney princess movies having a large impact on my childhood, except perhaps for Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin, which took over as soon as my pudgy fingers figured out the television remote. But when I was a toddler, what came on TV had everything to do with the educational programming my mom loving picked out of the PBS TV guide, and the movies my ancient six-year-old brother had pre-approved. Will, though old-as-dirt in my eyes, was young enough to find movies really scary, particularly ones he didn’t know the ending to, regardless of how innocent its ratings were or how child-proof its plot. I don’t when he first began viewing the Original Trilogy, but it must have been early enough that he didn’t remember a time when he didn’t know how it ends. So we watched episodes Four, Five, and Six over and OVER. I still remember the very real terror of watching Luke and The Emperor struggle at the end of the Return of the Jedi, my favorite of the series. He had blue, lightening fingers and a seriously creepy giggle that sent me running to the opposite end of the house, where I’d slam the door and bury my head in the sofa, muffling out the sounds of evil.

Throughout my adventures in space, sharing the sofa with my worldly older sibling as we relished a world of talking teddy bears and old men of magical powers, our eyes as wide as dinner plates, Leia was my natural ambassador into other worlds. A fellow princess, as surrounded by annoying male hot-shots as I was by brothers, Leia was a sharp-witted gal pal to my very young self, complete with a white gown, a dreamy figure, and a signature hair-do to boot.

Leia was not my favorite princess growing up; she had far too much personality for the bland tastes of a small child, she was, however, a kick-ass role model for me, and someone who influenced me at a very young age. Carrie Fisher was a pinnacle of strength, wit, and chutzbah, something that could not fail to shine through her role as a magic, royal warrior in the classic sci-fi series Star Wars, as well as in her real life capacity to promote mental health awareness and to expose body shaming in the film industry. She was a quick thinker and a spirited woman who never let Hollywood get the best of her. It is impossible to imagine her lifeless, especially when she was a book-selling TV star and loving dog-mom only a few days ago. Her French bulldog, Gary Fisher, is an extension of her larger-than-life personality that I still follow on Instagram.

Carrie Fisher was a force to be reckoned with, both on and off screen. Her spirit is one that transcends a realm of fiction and fantasy that has rocked several generations. In fact, with her Jedi heritage, I half expect her ghostly projection to show up behind Harrison Ford’s shoulder with the serene, knowing smile of all the best masters. She changed what it means to be a princess, and her kick-ass nature lives on in the legacy of strong female roles that continue to dominate the Star Wars series, teaching young women to think of themselves as game changers and fighters who never back down. I am grateful for Carrie Fisher and her impact on my life, and I know she’ll be missed, though her magic will live on far beyond her short sixty years. As 2016 comes to a close, may her force be with you in the new year, and may we modern princesses continue to build a legacy she and Gary would be proud of.