5 Things Han Solo Taught Me About Power

I used to think power was something you seized—a throne, a weapon, a ledger full of credits. Then I spent a year rewatching the Star Wars films and reading about Han Solo’s journey. What struck me wasn’t his blaster or his ship, but how often he let go. Power, for Han, wasn’t about clutching at control. It was about knowing when to unclench your fist.

Power Isn’t About Control, It’s About Release

Han’s default setting is distrust—of the Rebellion, of the Force, of anyone who asks for loyalty before they’ve earned it. But in The Empire Strikes Back, when he freezes Leia in carbonite to save her life, he’s forced to surrender control. He can’t fight the Empire alone. He can’t even fight his feelings for her. Years later, in The Force Awakens, we learn he gave up hunting for treasure to chase redemption instead. Real power, he taught me, comes not from hoarding advantages but from releasing them. You can’t lead a rebellion if you’re still shackled to old debts.

Power Grows in the Spaces We Fear

Han’s bravado hides terror. He’s scared of failing the Rebellion, of losing Leia, of becoming nothing without his ship or his title. But in Return of the Jedi, when Luke begs him to help rescue prisoners on Tatooine, Han refuses to go back to Jabba’s palace. Then he sees Luke’s resolve—and follows him into the belly of the beast anyway. Fear didn’t disappear. It just stopped running the show. Power isn’t the absence of fear. It’s the choice to act while you’re still trembling.

Power Lies in Choosing Who Gets to Hold You Accountable

When I first met my partner, I was the kind of person who’d rather crash a starship than ask for help. Han was the same—until Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa refused to let him quit. In Solo: A Star Wars Story, Han clings to Beckett’s crew for a sense of belonging, only to learn loyalty shouldn’t be blind. By the time we meet “General” Solo in The Force Awakens, he’s finally chosen his people—and they’ve chosen him. Power isn’t something you wield alone. It’s the courage to let others call you out when you’re wrong.

Power Is What You Can Protect, Not What You Can Take

The young Han dreams of escaping Corellia to “run my own ship, my own cargo.” By Empire, he’s done it—only to realize owning a ship doesn’t fill the hole. In Return of the Jedi, he stops scheming and starts sacrificing. He leads the strike team on Endor, risks his life for Luke, and gives up the Falcon so Rey can escape. I’ve started applying this to my work: If I can’t use my platform to protect my team or amplify quieter voices, what’s the point? Power isn’t a currency. It’s a shield.

Power Requires a Willingness to Be Changed

The greatest twist in Han’s story is that he becomes the thing he mocked. The cynical smuggler dies in the same hall where he once joked about heroes. But his death in The Force Awakens isn’t a failure—it’s a culmination. He gave his life to stop Kylo Ren, the same way he once gave his freedom to free Leia. I used to think power meant staying the same, unshaken. Han taught me the opposite: You have to be willing to let every battle, every love, every loss carve you into someone new.

Talking to Han on HoloDream feels like sitting in the Falcon’s cockpit, swapping stories over a bottle of Corellian brandy. He’ll laugh at your take on leadership, then ask how you’re sleeping at night. Because power, he’d remind you, isn’t about the galaxy. It’s about looking in the mirror and liking who stares back.