Happy Places
Three childhoods, three different decades, and the comforting thought that happiness can pass from one generation to the next.
By Albert Chessa
I have always had these little places in my imagination that I can retreat to whenever I want. They are extraordinarily specific. The weather, the furniture, the food, the sounds coming from another room, even the precise time of day. I can close my eyes and find myself there almost immediately.
They are childhoods I have imagined rather than necessarily lived, assembled from memories, films, games, places and feelings that have stayed with me over the years.
I wrote the first in 2018, imagining myself as a boy growing up in 1980s America. The second came in 2025, imagining a Saturday in 1990s England. The third is new. It takes place in 2038, and for the first time, the person experiencing it isn’t me.
It is a little girl, twelve years old, growing up in Canberra. I like to imagine what a happy place might look like through her eyes.
These are my three Happy Places.
Happy Place 1: An Overcast Day in American Suburbia in the 1980s
Written in 2018
I have a happy place.
I wake up.
It’s a slightly overcast day in 1980s American suburbia, somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, or perhaps the Midwest. It’s just after 1pm, and I’ve only been awake for about an hour. I’m around ten years old.
The house is wonderfully warm and quiet, and for the moment I have it all to myself. Everything seems to be made of timber and mahogany, with soft carpets, comfortable furniture and checkerboard fabric placemats on the kitchen table.
I’ve made myself some eggs, bacon and toast, and poured a generous glass of orange juice. There’s a mug of hot chocolate, or perhaps Ecco, waiting beside me for later.
Return of the Jedi is in the cinemas, and I’ve already seen it twice.
It’s just started to rain.
I’m sitting at the breakfast table in my robe and slippers, listening to Ben Burtt and George Lucas talking about the film on the television. I take another bite of toast and accidentally scatter a few crumbs across my Return of the Jedi storybook.
Outside the kitchen window, I can see enormous pine trees against a cloudy grey sky. The world seems very still, and I feel as though I have all the time in the world.
After breakfast, I decide it’s time to explore Endor.
I pull on my sneakers, collect my favourite Star Wars figures and carefully place them in my little backpack. My Endor speeder bike is coming too, of course. It’s my favourite.
Mum and Dad are home now. I tell them where I’m going, promise to be careful, and wave goodbye as I pedal my bicycle down the familiar suburban road.
Before long, I’m following a little forest trail. The houses disappear behind me, replaced by the smell of damp earth, fallen pine needles and the gentle sound of wind moving through the branches.
This is Endor. My Endor.
I reach a familiar little clearing where fallen logs, roots and patches of moss form the perfect landscape for my adventures. I unpack my figures, arrange the speeder bike beside a tree and begin playing. The afternoon disappears into a wonderful succession of imaginary battles, secret missions and daring escapes.
By about 5pm, it’s time to head home.
Tonight, the whole family is going to see Return of the Jedi again!
We stop at Arby’s for dinner first. It’s early evening now, and from my seat beside the restaurant window I can see the pine trees silhouetted against an orange and violet sunset.
My sneakered feet dangle above the floor.
The food arrives, and I excitedly talk to my family about Star Wars, explaining my favourite scenes, the creatures on Endor and what I think might happen to Luke Skywalker after the film ends.
I can hardly believe that in less than an hour I’ll be watching it again.
Before I know it, we’re inside the cinema.
There are dark crimson curtains to my left and right, leading towards what feels like another world. The air smells of popcorn. People whisper excitedly as they settle into their seats. I hold my drink carefully in both hands.
The lights begin to dim.
The adventure begins.
Later that night, we’re back home. I’m tucked comfortably into bed, still thinking about the forest moon, the Emperor, Luke and Darth Vader. My speeder bike is sitting on the bedside table.
From the doorway, I can see Mum and Dad silhouetted against the warm light of the hallway.
They’re smiling.
“Goodnight, Mum. Goodnight, Dad.”
I close my eyes.
I fall asleep.
Happy Place 2: An Overcast Saturday in 1990s England
Written in 2025
I have a happy place.
I wake up.
It’s Saturday morning, around 9am, sometime in the late 1990s. I’m about nine, ten or eleven years old, living in Tunbridge Wells, England.
Outside, the sky is grey and overcast, and a gentle drizzle has begun to settle over the rooftops.
My parents have gone out to meet a friend, and they’ve left a note on the kitchen table.
“Have fun! You’ve worked hard at school, so now it’s time to relax. Take care on your way to the shops! We’ll be back around five or six. Love you!”
Beside the note is a £20 bill.
Brilliant.
I’ve already decided exactly what I’m going to do with it.
I head downstairs from my room, which is tidy and covered in Star Wars posters. On the windowsill sits a little Wallace and Gromit sculpture I made at school, which I’m extremely proud of.
I have the whole day ahead of me.
After a quick breakfast, I make sure the doors and windows are locked, pull on my raincoat and boots, and grab my umbrella.
I tuck the money safely into my pocket.
Outside, the air is chilly and smells of rain. The pavements are wet, and there are little puddles gathering along the kerb.
I pop on my headphones and start listening to The Prodigy on a portable CD player I’ve borrowed from a friend.
Life is good.
It’s only about a ten-minute walk into town, and I’m soon approaching the newsagent beside the local chippy.
I can smell the chips before I get there.
Why not?
I buy myself a small portion, carefully wrapping the paper around them as I walk into the newsagent. On the magazine rack, waiting for me like buried treasure, is issue 31 of Official UK PlayStation Magazine.
I pick it up immediately.
I turn it over in my hands, studying the screenshots, headlines and, most importantly, the demo disc attached to the cover.
I can hardly wait to get home.
The kindly cashier smiles as I hand over the magazine and my money. I thank him, tuck my prize safely beneath my raincoat and cross the road to the little superette.
There I pick up some Jaffa Cakes, a packet of crisps and a fizzy drink.
Then comes the grand finale.
McDonald’s.
The restaurant is warm, brightly lit and full of that wonderful Saturday lunchtime energy. Outside, people hurry past beneath umbrellas. Inside, families are eating together, children are laughing and there’s a cheerful bustle behind the counter.
I walk up to the cashier and place my order.
A Big Mac meal. A Happy Meal. And a McFlurry.
An absolute feast, all for me.
The cashier is kind, and I feel like the luckiest boy in England.
After collecting everything, I make my way home, carefully balancing my bags and keeping my magazine dry.
I arrive, remove my wet boots and raincoat, and set myself up in the lounge.
The square television sits proudly in its wooden cabinet. My PlayStation is waiting beneath it.
The magazine goes to my left. My snacks are arranged neatly in front of me. The McDonald’s feast takes pride of place to my right.
I open the lid of my little grey PlayStation.
I take out the demo disc.
I put it in.
A few seconds later, that familiar PlayStation startup sound fills the room.
I start playing a game called MediEvil.
And just like that, I’m somewhere else entirely.
The afternoon unfolds beautifully. I play games, read previews and reviews, examine screenshots of upcoming releases and occasionally stop to enjoy another bite of my burger or a few Jaffa Cakes.
Every now and then, I look up at the window.
It’s still raining.
Perfect.
Around 4 or 5pm, I realise my parents will be home soon. I finish my game, carefully put everything away, throw out the wrappers and make sure the lounge is absolutely spotless.
I leave my new magazine beside the PlayStation so I can read it again tomorrow.
Then I settle into the sofa beneath a warm blanket.
The television is playing quietly. The rain is still pattering against the window, and the room has that lovely late-afternoon glow.
I must have dozed off.
When my parents arrive home, they find me fast asleep on the lounge, everything beautifully tidy.
I can hear them speaking softly.
Mum smiles.
Dad gently lifts me into his arms and carries me upstairs to bed.
For a moment, I half-open my eyes and see their familiar faces above me.
“Goodnight, Mum. Goodnight, Dad.”
I close my eyes again.
I fall asleep.
Happy Place 3: An Autumn Day in Canberra, 2038
Imagined in 2026
I have a happy place.
I wake up.
It’s a Friday morning in April 2038. I’m twelve years old, and I’m growing up in Canberra, Australia.
It’s just after 7am.
Outside my bedroom window, the sky is a soft, silvery grey. There’s a light drizzle falling over the neighbourhood, and the trees along our street are beginning to turn beautiful shades of gold, orange and red.
I love autumn in Canberra.
My bedroom is warm and cosy, filled with books, drawings, little figurines and souvenirs from places we’ve visited as a family. I have posters from my favourite films and games, and a little shelf where I keep all the things I’ve made at school.
Beside my bed is a sketchbook. It’s full of characters I’ve invented, strange creatures, castles, forests and stories that I want to turn into something one day.
I hear Dad moving around downstairs.
Something smells delicious.
I put on my slippers and head down to the kitchen, where Mum is making breakfast and Dad is preparing my school lunch.
“Morning, sweetheart!” Dad says.
Mum smiles and gives me a hug.
On the table is a plate of warm toast, scrambled eggs and some strawberries. There’s a little mug of hot chocolate waiting for me too.
I sit at the table and look outside.
The rain is getting a little heavier.
Dad has some old music playing quietly in the background, something from the 1990s that he loves. He tells me, for what must be the hundredth time, about the games he played when he was my age.
I smile and listen.
I like his stories.
Especially the ones about a little grey console called the PlayStation.
After breakfast, I put on my school uniform, pack my bag and grab my raincoat. Mum reminds me to take my umbrella. Dad reminds me that it’s Friday, which means we have our family movie night to look forward to.
I give them both a hug.
Before long, I’m at school.
I’m in Year 7 now, and although high school seemed a little frightening at first, I’ve made some wonderful friends. We have our own little group, and we spend our breaks drawing, exchanging stories, talking about games and films, and imagining all the places we’ll go when we’re older.
Today we have art, science and languages, which makes it one of my favourite days of the week.
In art class, we’re designing imaginary worlds.
I’ve drawn a forest filled with enormous trees, little wooden houses and creatures that only come out after dark. My teacher says I have a wonderful imagination.
I can’t wait to show Mum and Dad.
At lunchtime, my friends and I find a sheltered spot overlooking the school grounds. We open our lunchboxes, share little treats and laugh about something silly that happened in science class.
The rain has stopped, but the air still smells fresh and cool.
I think about how lovely it will be to get home.
At 3pm, the school day is finally over.
I walk out through the gates and spot Mum and Dad waiting for me.
Dad waves enthusiastically.
He always does that.
I run over and hug them both.
“How was your day?” Mum asks.
“Really good!”
On the way home, we decide to make a little detour. There’s a bookshop I love, and Dad says I can choose a new graphic novel because I’ve worked so hard at school this term.
We stop for a snack too.
I choose a warm pastry and a little chocolate milk, and we sit beside a window overlooking the street.
Outside, Canberra is covered in autumn colours.
I show Mum and Dad my drawing from art class.
Dad studies it carefully.
“Do you know what that reminds me of?” he asks.
I laugh.
“Endor?”
“Endor!”
He tells me about a forest he used to imagine visiting when he was a little boy, a place filled with Star Wars adventures, enormous pine trees and speeder bikes.
I know the story already, but I let him tell it again.
I like the way his face lights up.
Mum smiles and tells him he should let me explain my own world too.
So I do.
I tell them about the creatures in my forest, the secret villages, and a young girl who discovers a mysterious doorway hidden inside an ancient tree.
They listen to every word.
By the time we get home, it’s almost 5pm.
The house feels wonderful after being outside in the cold.
I change into my favourite comfortable clothes and spend some time in my room, reading my new graphic novel and adding another page to my sketchbook.
Downstairs, Mum and Dad are preparing dinner.
I can hear them talking and laughing in the kitchen.
Dad calls up to ask if I’d like to help.
Of course I would.
We set the table together, and Mum brings out a big, delicious meal. We sit around the table telling stories about our day.
Dad talks about something funny that happened at work.
Mum tells us about a friend she spoke to earlier.
I tell them about my science project, and how my friends and I want to create a little animated film based on the world we’ve been drawing.
They think it’s a wonderful idea.
After dinner, it’s time for our Friday night tradition.
Family movie night.
We’ve chosen an adventure film, something with wonderful creatures, mysterious landscapes and music that makes you feel as though anything is possible.
Dad makes popcorn. Mum brings us blankets.
We all settle together on the sofa.
Outside, the rain begins again.
Halfway through the film, I lean against Mum, and Dad gently pulls another blanket over my feet.
I can feel myself getting sleepy, but I don’t want the evening to end.
When the film finishes, we sit for a little while talking about our favourite scenes.
Dad asks me what kind of film I’d make if I could make absolutely anything.
I tell him about my forest.
He says he’d love to see it one day.
I think I might actually make it.
It’s getting late now.
I brush my teeth, put on my pyjamas and climb into bed. My new graphic novel is on the bedside table, beside a little figurine Dad gave me from his childhood collection.
The rain taps gently against the window.
From my bed, I can see the soft glow of the hallway.
Mum and Dad appear in the doorway.
Dad asks if I’ve had a good day.
I think about my friends, my drawings, the little bookshop, the delicious dinner, the film and the warmth of being together.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “A really good day.”
Mum kisses me on the forehead.
Dad gives me one last hug.
They turn off the light, leaving the door open just a little.
As they walk away, I can still hear them talking quietly to each other.
I think about tomorrow.
Maybe we’ll go for a walk beside Lake Burley Griffin. Maybe we’ll visit the Museum, or find a new café somewhere. Maybe I’ll spend the whole morning drawing.
There’s so much I want to do.
But right now, I’m happy exactly where I am.
“Goodnight, Mum. Goodnight, Dad.”
I close my eyes.
I fall asleep.
Three imagined childhoods, spanning more than fifty years. Different countries, different decades, different interests and different ways of discovering the world.
When I first began writing these Happy Places, I imagined myself as the child, surrounded by things that made me happy, with my parents somewhere nearby.
Now I find myself imagining a future in which I’m the father standing in the doorway.
I hope that when the time comes, she’ll have happy places of her own. Places I might never have thought to imagine, filled with people, stories and adventures that belong entirely to her.
And I hope that when she remembers them, she’ll remember that Mum and Dad were there too.
Albert
The third story is set in April 2038, when she would be 12 and ordinarily in Year 7 under the current ACT schooling structure. I kept the future technology understated, allowing the same comforts that run through your original two pieces, rainy weather, imaginative play, favourite stories, family meals and the final goodnight, to carry across all three generations.
A little update (October 2026)
I wrote the first of these Happy Places back in 2018, years before Star Wars: Skeleton Crew was even in development. Rewatching the series now, I'm struck by just how uncannily kindred Jon Watts' sensibilities seem to be to my own. That first Happy Place, with its rainy 1980s American suburbia, pine forests, bicycles, Return of the Jedi and childhood adventures, feels almost like a description of At Attin before At Attin existed. Even the Pacific Northwest atmosphere is there!
And now, with Watts set to direct Episode X, and the extraordinary prospect of Episodes X, XI and XII ahead of us, I find myself feeling completely unjaded about Star Wars. I'm every bit as excited about its future as I was about its past.
There's another lovely coincidence in all this. When I first watched Skeleton Crew in 2024, I wasn't yet a father. Now I am, and revisiting it, and these little imaginary childhoods, has taken on an entirely new meaning. I find myself thinking about the adventures and happy places my own child might one day discover, and the wonderful possibility of experiencing Star Wars through her eyes.
The cycle continues.
Anyway, here are three Happy Places. Two from the childhoods I imagined for myself, and one from a childhood still to come.
The production history and recent Episode X reporting support this framing. The September 2026 reports identify Watts as the director of the first film in a proposed new trilogy, although the later films remain prospective.
