Imagination has always been my friend. I don't recall ever not having the option of entering the world of pretend, and enjoying it. If I was escaping something, I did not know it. No trauma, drama or hardship pushed me into it. My young world was standard American ordinary, the usual level of mainstream unconsciousness. Fantasy was simply and often more fun -- and felt satisfying. A choice.
As I grew up, when real world things did not go my way, imagination provided a welcome escape, but did not replace my interest in real world things. I developed a very active life in both realms. I figured this was not normal, maybe slightly insane, but went with it.
Gradually, as my life became more aligned with my desires, I stopped fantasizing. It wasn't deliberate -- the allure of it just faded out.
When my mother became quite aged and not happy with her reality, I recognized that she was choosing to live in her fantasies. It was a bit startling at times, because she eventually lost the ability to differentiate between her mind world and her real world. Or she simply didn't bother to differentiate anymore. I did not find this surprising or even undesirable. Her reality was not even potentially a happy place and accepting that was really her only other option.
Then I realized that she had always lived in both realms. She had her version of her life, which was very steeped in fantasy. This did surprise me.
At this point in my life, presence is my choice. Now, life is good. Now, possibilities seem endless.
That could change. I wonder if now will always be a choice.
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