The Ordinary World

Working on a moisture farm is fine.

It's noble work. Stable. The kind of thing you're supposed to want.

The suns rise. The suns set. Another day, another credit.

For me it's my hospital job. Analyzing claims data. Helping the hospital collect what they're owed from the insurance companies. Writing TPS reports. Honest work.

So why do I keep staring at the horizon?

I've been wondering if there's something more out there.

And wondering if you might feel the same.

The Hologram

After my days of moisture farming—err, hospital work—I'd come home and tinker with the droids.

Little coding projects. Small tools to summarize podcasts. Automate dreary accounting. Nothing substantial. Just tinkering.

That's when the hologram started flickering.

But it's not Leia asking for help.

It seems like she's offering it.

The Gift

And then comes crazy ol' Uncle Ben out of nowhere, giving a gift. A new tool that at first seemed novel. But then kind of useless.

AI.

It wasn't bad at code. But frustrating for anything else.

Writing? AI-slop is maddening. I bang my head against the keyboard trying to get it to find a good, consistent style.

I can't. Maybe it can't.

Not yet.

A New Hope

But something feels like it's changing at the end of the year.

It seems ol' Ben might not be so crazy after all.

His gift. It's getting stronger.

Now I'm not writing code. I just chat. And vibe.

And magically, apps come into existence.

We're not lifting X-wings out of the swamp. Yet.

But "The Force" is getting... stronger.

It still hasn't been a fix for my lacking writing skills. Yet.

But it's a gift I really want to share with you.

Use the Force

"Luke, you switched off your targeting computer. What's wrong?"

AI can build the app. It can write the code.

But it still has no taste. No feeling. It can't find nor keep a distinct voice. A voice that makes people actually care.

That requires taste. That requires instinct.

It requires turning off the targeting systems sometimes and just taking the shot.

And that made me think of you.

I believe you have the skills the machine doesn't. You have wildly original ideas, incredible taste, and the courage to step out of the norm. You can write without it sounding like generic slop.

You also have a lifetime of honing your knowledge and expertise on the edges of nerd culture.

That's not something you can download.

Time to Build?

So I wondered if you might be carrying around years of ideas for things you'd want to build. Or solutions for annoyances in your life.

Things you'd build—if you just had a programmer. Someone to handle the technical friction. Help you build and deploy a first version.

Or maybe you've wanted to learn to build things yourself—get set up to vibe code on your own, with someone just passing you tools when you need them.

I wonder if you could use a Chewbacca?

A Side Quest

I know you're busy and don't have time to build a Millennium Falcon. At least not yet.

But I wondered if you'd like some help to get a small side project off the ground. Maybe something like...

All of this is possible today. Imagine what's going to be possible tomorrow.

Wouldn't it be fun to just... try?

The Menace, No Longer Phantom

But there's another reason I'm reaching out now. Not just because the tools are ready. Because I'm worried winter is coming.

The Republic is tearing itself apart. Left and right, people flock to their Palpatines, seduced by promises of strength, protection, and prosperity.

Meanwhile, the Senate is full of Jar Jars, happily doing their Palpatines' bidding.

The timing couldn't be worse. The Republic is buried in debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos, and the Senate is addicted to borrowing more to fund promises it can't keep.

Power built on borrowed money is fragile.
And the Iron Bank will always have its due.

The North Remembers

Life in the Republic IS getting harder. The cost of everything is rising—fast. Wages and opportunities are said to be stagnant, but it feels like they're shrinking. And the droids? They're getting smarter. No one knows if they're here to help or to replace us.

The Palpatines promise to fix it. That's why they're winning.

But distracted by their own struggles, no one realizes they've grown accustomed to an Eternal Summer. Stories of a winter that lasted a generation are dismissed as fable—impossible to repeat.

We have a wall to protect us, they say. We have the Night's Watch.

But for those who pause to look, dark clouds are gathering on the horizon.

Winter Is Coming.

Rebellions Start Small

But here's the thing about winter: you can prepare for it.

You can write off those warning about White Walkers. Doomsayers. Alarmists with ulterior motives.

You can let the Palpatines decide your fate. Accept the decline. Keep your head down.

Or you can resist.

Resistance isn't doom-scrolling. It's not trading outrage with fellow sympathizers or firing off hot takes on the holonet. That feels righteous—but it's performative. It changes nothing—and burns the one resource rebels can't spare: time.

And you can't wait for the council to agree. Even the Rebel Alliance gets stuck—factions debating, votes failing, leaders frozen by indecision.

Real rebellion starts small.

One person. Or two. Or a handful who feel the urgency and just... act.

That often means going against convention. Against the odds. Sometimes it means stealing a ship and going anyway.

I'm not suggesting we steal a ship.

But I am suggesting that trying—and failing—beats refusing the call. Beats waiting for a future that will almost certainly be worse.

Rebellions don't need permission.
They don't need perfect plans.
They just need to start.
Small.

No Turning Back

Winter arrived unexpectedly on my own doorstep this year. Just a couple months ago.

It wasn't as dramatic as finding Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru in smoking rubble. But after five years of working remotely from Thailand, I was still surprised when the hospital gave me an ultimatum:

Return to the U.S.
Or lose your job.

So for better or worse, I'm leaving moisture farming on Tatooine.
For good.

I'm heading for Mos Eisley.

Wanna join?

Alone at the Cantina

I don't have the droids. I don't have Obi-Wan protecting me.

I'm about to head into the cantina alone—and there's a decent chance I get blasted in the face before I even find Han and Chewie.

Even if I survive, I'm almost certain I'm going to end up in the Imperial trash compactor soon.

Sure would be nice to have a Wookiee watching my back.

Better Together?

I'm a lousy writer. You're an excellent one.

AI has no voice, no taste. I think you have an abundance of both.

I'd be excited to get your help and feedback on the project I'm working on.

But what makes me even more excited is if I could help you launch a project of your own.

Build your own small rebellion against the evil empire.

I know your time is limited. But I wonder if it might be worth trying.

My biggest dream is if we could blow up a small Death Star together—not save the galaxy, just make a dent in something that matters to you.

The Reward

I can't promise an awards ceremony or the admiration of the Republic.

But I can promise the satisfaction of turning something you dreamed up in your head into something that exists in the world.

And the satisfaction that comes from other people finding value in it too.

I believe the universe tends to conspire to help those who try to help themselves—and others.

But it requires taking the first step. Not going all in. Not yet.

Just showing up to Dagobah when you can on nights and weekends.

The Jump

So that's my Christmas gift this year. If you're interested in making the jump, I'm happy to be your Wookiee in the copilot seat.

I hope it's not too disappointing. I hope it's not too heretical to the sacred texts.

I hope it's something that helps bring you some happiness and fulfillment in the new year.

Merry Christmas. Here's to a happy and prosperous 2026.

Let's punch it, Chewie!

— Matt