As my fiance and I were deciding what movie to put on for the night, he mentioned that he had a Toy Story–themed birthday party where he dressed up as Buzz Lightyear. After he reluctantly dug up the obligatory photo evidence from the archives of Facebook, I was in the mood to watch the original movie.
As a kid, my favorite Pixar film was Toy Story 2, but upon re-watching the first in the franchise, I related more to the film than I had as a child. I especially saw myself in Buzz Lightyear, the delusional space ranger set on destroying an evil galactic empire that does not exist because he is in fact a toy.
When I was young, it was hilarious to watch Buzz, a hunk of plastic, believe that his red light bulb is a killer lazer, that his plastic helmet is protecting him from a hazardous atmosphere, and that his spring-action wings can make him fly. But now, I found it devastating the way Buzz believes in what we know to be an imaginary mission. I didn’t want Buzz to have his world come crashing down when Woody yells, “You are a toy! T-O-Y! TOY!” And yet, it hurts to see him so sure of himself as he responds, “I think the word you’re searching for is space ranger.” I both wanted him to live in the delusion and wake up from it.
I told myself in college that I wouldn’t be an English major who graduated without a plan. But reality hit. Looking for my first job, it felt like Indeed was saying to me, “Five years experience. ‘YOU ARE A TOY.’ Masters required. ‘T-O-Y.’ $13 an hour. ‘TOY.’”
As I sit at my desk, waiting for someone to tell me what to do, I look through Buzz’s eyes watching TV in the house of Sid the wannabe Dr. Frankenstein. As he watches a commercial for himself appear on screen, I too press the button on my chest, repeating the words on screen from the toy that looks just like me. I too spread my wings, launched by a spring. I too open my communicator and see the words “made in Taiwan” and think “what was I made for?”
Buzz, in a state of disbelief, gets picked up by Sid’s sister, who makes him sit at a tea party next to two headless dolls. She dresses him in a frilly hat and apron and renames him Mrs. Nesbitt. When Woody finds him, and tries to entice him to join his escape attempt by talking of spaceships and secret missions, Buzz, somehow drunk off of an empty cup of tea, cries out, “One minute you’re defending the whole galaxy, and SUDDENLY you find yourself suckin’ down Darjeeling with Marie Antoinette and her little sister.”
One minute I’m studying writing, publishing research, and traveling across the country, and SUDDENLY I find myself sitting in an office chair wondering if my weak constitution can handle another trip to Costco.
I felt like my life had meaning in college. I was passionate about what I was doing. I had a plan. And while the work I do is important, being an assistant a year after college was not a part of that plan. Now I tear up when I hear Buzz say “Don’t you get it?! You see the hat? I am Mrs. Nesbitt!!”
When Buzz and I are confronted with what we thought we would become, and who we actually are, we find ourselves lost to despair. I yell to the people trying to break me out of Sid’s house, “Don’t you get it?! You see this degree? I’m a fuckup!!”
But the movie doesn’t end with Woody leaving Buzz for a forever tea party. It ends with a grand escape back to the kid who they belong to where Buzz finally realizes that he is a toy and that is good.
He was made to be a toy. I was made to be a human.
Buzz’s purpose in life is as much to fight a galactic empire as mine is to have a meaningful career. While I do want a job that suits my talents better, it is not what I was put on this earth to do. I was put on this earth to exist as a human, be in community with other humans, and live a life—to infinity and beyond.
Kate DeHaan started Calvin as an engineering major and graduated (’22) with a bachelor’s in writing. She is currently working as an executive assistant for Mercer University’s student affairs. She also writes her own blog (LosingKate.com), practices martial arts, and takes full advantage of her apartment’s pool.
