Joy of Fantasy

As far as we can tell, most mammals dream. For whatever reason, we also do so. Dreams can be controlled, wild, incomprehensible, fantastic, immersive. Mostly, dreaming is a wonderful entertainment.

We can, of course, carry that into our waking hours. We imagine all kinds of things, often believing them to the exclusion of mundane reality. Sometimes it is a coping method to escape a harsh environment. Sometimes it is just a means to relieve boredom.

Many sober instructors harshly tell us to keep dreams under control. A few, carefully nurtured, they accept as a spur to ambition. “Do this and you will be rewarded!” But extravagant dreams, too often, we are warned, are simply gateways to lazily doing nothing and wasting time.

I suppose there is some truth in that. Reading too much fiction or watching too much entertainment can become similar to an enforced catatonia. As can obsessions such as religious visions. Better, perhaps, to jump up and actually do something.

But I also think a life without fantasy is kind of like a nutritious meal with no taste. We can survive day-to-day in a gray slog of useful activity, but at what cost to our psyche?

So, at least within reason (and what would that be?) I applaud fantasy, and try to treat it as another remarkable gift of human existence.