The daydreams come most often when I’m driving. I’ll find myself on a busy highway or a familiar street and that’s when it happens: my brain switches to autopilot and the fantasies begin. It sounds dangerous, I know. But, somehow, it’s these moments of magic that seem to save me.
The things I dream of these days are simple. Though my imagination can take me anywhere, I hardly bother pushing past the limits of reality. In the worlds in my head, I am sitting quietly at the beach, waiting for the sun to set. I am hanging with my friends, the ones I haven’t seen in so long, and I am laughing and I am happy. I am holding a book in my hand, the one I’ve written myself, relieved to have bypassed the hard work it actually takes to shut up, sit down and write. It would be so easy to transport myself to Narnia or Hogwarts or an island filled with fifty Channing Tatums. But, no. I like the illusions of a could-be reality much better.
Imagination is our first (and best) tool as children. We’ve used it to slay dragons and venture through dangerous territory; to make the impossible life possible. The sad thing is we forget about it as we grow older, choosing the empirical over the fantasy, marking our former whims as mere childish antics instead. Real talk: a lot happened this year that made me feel like a tired and dried up old prune. My writing had dulled, my heart had grown weary and the remaining embers of passion left inside of me just… died.
“How am I ever going to find myself again?” I pleaded quietly to the universe.
I was driving one afternoon when the DJ on the radio said: “The heart of all stories can be found in two words: what if?”
And that’s when I felt the child within me roar. The stories started forming in the canvas of my mind. What if I lived by the sea? What if money was not an option? What if I got every single thing I ever wanted? Me, in a polka dot bikini, teal waves finding their ways to my toes. Me, going around the world with the people I loved, taking photos, collecting memories. Me, in a white dress, walking down the aisle. Me, unstuck, so happy, more hopeful than I had ever been. By the time I got to my destination, I felt better. I felt fun again. I felt young again. I felt silly and embarrassed, which beat feeling dejected.
After that, I made it a practice to imagine everyday, to live out a second life in my head. It was there that I was met with joy and hope, the things I had lost along the way. I know it sounds ridiculous, for a person to derive happiness from the the dreamworld in our heads, but sometimes we need the fantasy to survive real life. Sometimes the things in our heads loom big. They stand true. And sometimes, they save us. As the famous wizard Albus Dumbledore once said: “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”
A few weeks ago, I went to the beach. I spent time with friends I loved. I tried new things. I laughed and laughed till I couldn’t breathe. I made my imagined life real. Having the courage to dream slowly translates to real life and now I’m slowly gaining the courage to do. I wrote today, not in my head, not in my fantasy world, but for real.
I’m leaving now, taking my car over to the next city, and while I’m in transit I will wait for the magic to find me.
About Isa Garcia
Isa Garcia is a writer, teacher, and co-editor of The Galvanizers. You can find her on Twitter.
