I have many natural talents. Staying in the present moment is not one of them. Perhaps the most annoying consequence of this is that I’m not a particularly good listener. While you’re talking to me I’m probably busy thinking about what to say next, wondering when we’ll be done and imagining where (or who) I’d rather be. Then someday down the road you’ll reference that conversation we had, and we’ll both be annoyed that I can’t remember it. My wandering mind has at various points caused people to feel hurt by me, to tease me, or to feel justified in overruling me.
Given my penchant for getting lost in thought, perhaps it is not surprising that the earliest daydreams I can recall were of my future self. As an insecure, chubby thirteen-ish-year-old I daydreamed that I was in college. This imaginary future Hope was lithe and willowy, with long hair and bell-bottom jeans. Hope’s roommate, Jane, was also her best friend. She was less beautiful than Hope. If boys were in the picture, they were mostly adoring Hope. Released from parents and from female competition, Hope was free to make her own reckless decisions, which rarely accrued ill consequences.
As my daydreams grew more elaborate, their strangeness grew more elaborate, too. Hope’s campus was next to a forest that I assume was inspired by the forbidden forest in Harry Potter. Sometimes strange happenings or rumors would lure Hope in to explore the forest, along with a reluctant Jane. Once there, they would encounter centaurs and other fantastical creatures. Sometimes Hope could inexplicably fly, or walk up walls. I read and adored Twilight, and sure enough one of Hope’s suitors turned out to be a vampire resembling Edward Cullen. I learned about the scientist Anton van Leeuwenhoek in seventh-grade biology class, and the name stuck in my head like a catchy tune. It became the vampire’s name. Their romance, Anton’s dangerous friends, and Jane’s horrified reaction became recurring themes.
Already we see a lot of my core daydream themes which we’ll return to—vampires, magic, rebellion, a burgeoning sexuality with a dash of internalized sexism. However, these early daydreams are special because I was a character in them. They demonstrate that my capacity for fantastical daydreaming is intimately connected to my habit of getting lost in thought. It is a small step from imagining my ideal college or boyfriend to imagining my vampire boyfriend rescuing me from angry centaurs.
This slippery slope poses a problem for me as an advocate of daydreaming. Here I am defending fantasy, but surely even I must admit that compulsive daydreaming can be problematic at times. Wouldn’t I have more enriching relationships if I really listened to people instead of letting my mind wander? I have struggled with this question over the years, seeking therapeutic solutions and making concerted efforts to meditate my daydreams away.
This tension mirrors the tension between Hope and Jane. Like my imaginary Hope, I feel drawn to the magical forest. I want to play hooky, to be wild and free. At the same time, my inner Jane is trying to hold me back, pleading with me to be pragmatic. As I grapple with the potential dangers of daydreaming, I’m actually enacting this very daydream!
Most of my daydreams ultimately come back to this question of how to relate to the daydreams themselves. I don’t see much point in choosing whether Hope or Jane was right all along. If I am being a Jane, insisting that fantasies are dangerous, then I am suppressing my desires. If I am being a Hope, then I am drawn into my fantasy world as an unconscious habit, when it could be a thoughtful practice.
I can’t say for sure whether I would be more socially or technically competent if I curbed my wandering mind. At the moment, though, I don’t really care. Yes, it can be inconvenient that sometimes I have a swiss-cheese memory. Life is full of inconveniences. The question that fascinates me is not how can we eliminate the inconveniences of being human, but rather how we relate to those inconveniences.
I am not insensitive to Jane’s concerns. We will keep returning to the day-to-day practicalities of living with our fantasies. Nevertheless, we will also keep returning to the magical forest because I have a theory: that when I focus on my inner conflicts, the outer conflicts might just have a way of sorting themselves out.