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Ever since I was a child, I have had an extremely creative imagination.

Sometimes the scenarios I played out in my head felt so vivid that I had a hard time distinguishing between imagined and reality.

I remember every single night growing up, I would play out elaborate fantasies about my crushes, about us falling in love and running away together. The imagery lulled me to sleep.

When life got challenging, I could always find an escape by imagining my way out. When I was homesick while studying abroad, I could so easily visualize my mom and dad and siblings. I could imagine scenarios of us hugging and hanging out, and I would go through the conversations we would have. I could see what everyone was wearing, their mannerisms, and the way they would warmly engage with me. It helped me to feel less alone.

When I was in college and struggling with horrible anxiety, I would imagine the plethora of things I would do post college, where I would travel, who I would befriend, and who I would date.

When I was in graduate school, struggling with depression and overwhelm, working multiple jobs as a yoga teacher and nanny, and becoming a first-time therapist working at a hospital during the pandemic, I would picture all of the places I would travel to the moment I got my diploma. Every time I was on the brink of giving it all up, I would imagine the warm breeze on a Costa Rican beach and, somehow, it helped me to push through.

When my brother Marshall died, it was excruciating to imagine a reality without him. And I really didn’t want to, so I became skilled at imagining him all the time.

His face and figure became imprinted in my mind. And I started carrying him with me everywhere. When I was missing him, I could so easily recall his voice, his charismatic charm, his smile and smirk, and him constantly flipping cameras off and bombing down the mountain on his snowboard. I could hear his laugh and the way he imitated Sponge Bob’s mating call, and I could feel the way he would embrace me in a “big brother hug.”

And on days when I was shattered, gut wrenched, heart broken, on the floor in pieces, and emotionally annihilated, I could imagine him, and my breath would slow and I would feel his love.

Even now, I often find myself daydreaming. Dreaming of my future and the life I imagine, the partner I will marry, what he will look like, what his background is, how he will kindly and softly speak to me, the way he will love me deeply, the look in his eyes when he tells me he loves me, what our children will look like and what they will be named, and how it will feel to all be a family.

I craft stories about where we will live, and how we will take care of the land we inhabit, and how we will connect with our community, and what we will grow on our land and how we will give it away to our neighbors, and the mangos we will eat in the morning, and the lavender we will plant outside of our windows to smell when the morning breeze picks up.

And how my sister and her partner and kids will live down the street, and how our kids will walk barefoot to their cousins’ home, and they will be kind to one another, and how together we will create a healing space for folks to retreat to, to practice yoga, to receive healing touch, to eat vegan food, and for us all to chant and sing our hearts out.

I could go on and on and on.

It wasn’t until recently though that I discovered that fantasizing is much deeper than I thought it was. Psychotherapy informs us that fantasizing actually serves as a survival function. Many folks who are great fantasizers may have suffered from early childhood trauma. I learned that when you are a child who has mostly no control over your surroundings and experiences, one of the ways you can gain a sense of control is through your imagination.

When I was a young girl, I experienced childhood sexual trauma. It was horrible and I tried to forget it as fast as I could. I realized that around that time is when my fantasizing began. My mind was attempting to save me from this experience, to take me away to safer places, and to restore my system to a sense of calm and peace.

When I put this together, I had such great compassion for my younger self, and such a deep appreciation for this “fantasy tool” that I had developed.

I have had multiple clients share with me that they are great fantasizers as well, and that it has also helped them escape the horrors of childhood trauma. And that their fantasies also helped them to become powerful manifestors.

“If you can dream it, you can do it,” the great imaginer Walt Disney said. For myself as well, fantasizing has helped me to get clear on my dreams, what I want out of this life, what my life path is, what I am here to do, and who I am here to help. It has served me well.

At times, however, fantasizing has created a rift between myself and my life right here, in this moment. When I am caught up in a fantasy, I am missing what is directly in front of me—I’m out of sync with the here-and-now. I can get swept up by the romance of a fantasy, and easily abandon my life as it is.

In that way, I am missing the sweetness and fragrance of the life that is all around me. I’m failing to see the abundance of beauty and joy in this exact moment. Sometimes, I even use fantasy to push away this moment, to avoid something I don’t want to feel, and to distract from a perceived “ugly truth.”

Buddhism teaches us that the path to freedom from suffering is by acknowledging and appreciating life exactly as it is, in this moment. It’s learning not to cling to the way we want things to be, or push away something we don’t like. It’s moving beyond our egoic preferences, to rest in a state of “is-ness” where we meet ourselves, others, and life exactly the way it really is.

In this way, we are in the flow. We are playing our part in life. We are able to be in our dharma, living out and being in alignment with our truth, and listening freshly.

So while fantasizing has played an integral part in my development as a human, in my ability to self-soothe as a child, in identifying my dreams and certain paths that feel most aligned, and in helping me to overcome obstacles, I’m not so sure I want to continue using it so often. Maybe I can keep it in my back pocket and pull it out when I really need it. Maybe I can just know it’s there, but not be so attached to it. Maybe I can let go of my fantasies, and create space for life to flow, and who knows, maybe it’ll turn out better than I imagine.

And maybe I can loosen my grip on my fantasies simply because I want to choose to remain with the pain that arises in life and in present moment awareness. Because I don’t want to miss my life, as it really is. I want to be fully awake, fully here, fully invested in what is.

As for using fantasy to connect to my brother, I think I’ll keep those images close to my heart. But if I’m too attached to him in form, I also know I’ll miss all of the awesome signs he is sending me from the spirit world, like the beautiful blue dragonfly I saw on my walk today.

So cheers to fantasizing. I tip my hat to it, in humbled gratitude. And I also recognize that beyond my fantasies, here I am. Ready to be fully here, in this beautiful moment, with it all.

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