Evolving Imagination

Young child, innocent in the world

No worries, no real fear

Making up stories of love and adventure

Worlds of fairies, mermaids, royalty in extravagant castles.

Acting out elaborate story lines with stuffed animals as the supporting cast

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Adolescent, exploring the real world

New emotions, new fears

Still adding stories of love and adventure

Worlds of magic, spies; meeting favorite characters

Falling in love with mainstream fiction and creating a spot to belong

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Juvenile, trying to run the world

Chasing emotions, running from fears

Hope for love and adventure

Worlds of familiar favorites, comfort stories, reassuring feelings to cling too

Creating original stories, never finishing them

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Adult, attempting to navigate the world

Understanding emotions, confronting fears

Finding realistic love and adventure

Real world friends and lived stories

Longing for childhood imagination, but finding new ways to create

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When I was a young child, I used to stay up late and imagine that my bed was a ship in the middle of the ocean. My bed was in the middle of my room and my main goal was to bring my passengers safely to land. My passengers were all my stuffed animals and they each had their specific place on the ship. I was the captain and I was in charge of their safety. Sometimes there were pirates, shark infested waters, or a terrible storm. Most nights were full of adventure until it was time for the passengers to retire to their cabins.

When I was older and allowed to venture outside by myself, I would explore the land surrounding my parent’s house. I always had my trusty dogs as my companions to provide me safety. I would bring everything I would need to survive out in the wild. This included a journal, food, water, a blanket, a small knife with a compass, and rope. I would scratch notes in my journal about what sights were around me and how many days I had been out in the wild. They all started with “Day 3, today I…”. However each day was maybe an hour and I never stayed out at night. I definitely thought I could survive Bear Grylls style out in the wilderness. I would set up shelter in a base of a tree and try to find nonexistent fish in our creek. I survived until I finally found civilization which was a lone house in the middle of the forest.

When I was even older, I would get absorbed in my favorite books and movies. I would reread my books over and over again until I felt like I was the main character. I would dream myself into these stories which cemented the feelings of adventure, love, and discovery. Soon, I began thinking of new plot lines for my favorites and including myself into these stories. This became the only way that I was able to fall asleep. Each new show, movie, or book became a new story that I could plug myself into.

I remember when I was just about to go into middle school and I tried to remember how I used to use my imagination. Specifically, how I used to stay up all night by having elaborate plot lines and characters that I could keep track of. I even tried to make up a story to act it out. I felt foolish that I was talking to myself and imaging my characters come to life. I felt frantic that I couldn’t utilize my imagination that I used to. It made me feel incredibly sad. I was heartbroken that I couldn’t remember my stories or the fun I used to have by myself.

I didn’t realize that I still have my childhood imagination; it just looks a little different, more mature . I don’t need to imagine that stuffed animals are my supporting cast and that my stories revolve around them. My imagination flows in the words that I write on paper and from the characters and worlds that I create. Childhood imagination is precious and I still miss it, but it is not gone forever.