Buzz Lightyear is my ultimate favorite Disney character, and there is logical reason behind that affinity.

(Of course there is. Not that what I write here is bullshit, but, I am an unofficial expert at bullshitting my way into justifying or explaining most anything, and getting that bullshit to end up making sense. I learned the craft well at my narcissistic mother’s knee, after all. So even though something as arbitrary as a favorite character should be able to stand alone as a simple preference – with me, there’s depth to everything.)

I digress. Back to Buzz. First things first, the timing of his debut probably has a lot to do with my feelings about him. “Toy Story” came out in November 1995, when I was seven years old. Although my home life was imperfect and messy at that time, it wasn’t quite the turbulent fiasco that it soon became. As such, Buzz easily fit into the gilded illusion of a good childhood that I had labored under at the time; he wasn’t tainted by trauma and desolation. Nostalgia has made it difficult for me to untangle what I can bear to remember without pain, but somehow Buzz is one of those encapsulated pinpoints of pure joy for me. It doesn’t hurt to watch “Toy Story” or think about that time in my life when I first met him; I can’t say the same for many other things I grew up with.

Like I said though, there’s depth with everything for me. So it doesn’t stop at fond childhood reminiscences (which sometimes feel more like the exception than the rule). Let’s give some thought to Buzz Lightyear’s character arc. He’s a space toy, a super cool action figure with all the bells and whistles that a simple cowboy doll like Woody couldn’t hope to compete with. Woody freaks out about the possibility of being replaced as Andy’s favorite toy, and hijinks ensue, largely because Buzz is convinced he is actually a real spaceman on a mission from Star Command. In a sequence of scenes that I feel may have been well ahead of its time, we get to see Buzz have reality come crashing down upon him. We see his resultant breakdown and we watch him process this earth-shattering news that he is not at all who he thought he was. We bear witness to Buzz Lightyear literally and figuratively breaking, but more importantly, we also see him piecing himself back together, redefining his identity, and understanding not just that he still has value, but what that value truly is (as a toy who can bring joy to Andy and friendship to his fellow toys).

I often regard animated film sequels with a healthy dose of suspicion, but I’ve always appreciated “Toy Story 2”, because it heavily underscored Buzz Lightyear’s character development. In this sequel, it’s Woody who’s questioning everything he’s ever known, and Buzz who is unshakable. Here, we encounter a Buzz who has been through the trauma of having his whole world upended, and come through the other side to find stability and self-acceptance. Indeed, Buzz has found enough internal security that he endeavors to help his friend regain that security too.

(I have other, more mixed feelings about “Toy Story 3” and “Toy Story 4”, which don’t change my feelings about Buzz Lightyear as a character but which don’t need to come into this post. That’s a tangent you don’t want me taking!)

To make a long story short (too late!), as an adult, I relate heavily to Buzz Lightyear’s experience of having to grapple with the realization that everything you thought you knew about yourself and your world is inaccurate at best, and utterly false at worst. I understand his pain and his struggle, and I see myself, nowadays, in his ability to find strength and redemption, to redefine himself in a way that brings mutual joy and love, and to embrace peace, stasis, and chosen family. I didn’t consciously recognize any of this in Buzz Lightyear when I was seven. But, maybe a small part of me perceived that someday, I would need some sort of tangible representation of healing from trauma. So it crystallized Buzz for me, keeping him untarnished so he would be an easily accessible memory for me to pull out when I needed him.

Fast forward to present day. When my husband and I are acting cutesy, we pretend to argue about which one of us loves the other more. He always ends up saying, “I love you infinity times infinity, I win!” And I always reply, “I love you to infinity and beyond – and beyond infinity means I win!” Sure, it’s just silliness. But, the beyond is important to me. The beyond means that we go past our corporeal existence – all the good, bad, and ugly that entails – and the love is still there.

To infinity, and beyond.