When you close your eyes and imagine yourself, what do you look like? Are you still the self that you see in the mirror, or the more idealized version of yourself that you have locked inside your mind? It's quite alright if you do. Everyone does.
And when you do daydream about yourself, what are you doing? Are you battling serpents under the sea? Trapped in a dystopian war zone in another dimension, watching your friends turn to your enemies? Casting spells with magic stones in a cave, trying to piece together your destiny, hoping it would be as grand and adventurous as the stories you have heard all your life? Solving ancient riddles trapped within abandoned churches and temples? Writing letters to your soulmate only to burn them in the fireplace, hoping the smoke will carry your words with them on a journey to the sky?
Or is it much more realistic? Do you see yourself in a career you've always dreamed of pursuing? Do you dream of driving with your friends under the city lights, or the endless ceiling of stars? Do you dream of parties where you meet your true love, and dance to the best songs you have ever known, and to the ones that have yet to be shared to the sonophere? Do you dream of brilliant conversations in the back of a Studebaker, in an empty bar, around the campfire in a forest, or on the balcony of a skyscraper, overlooking the skyline in vivid detail, smoking imaginary cigarettes that would never harm anyone? Are you talking with anyone in your mind? Or are you so profoundly alone?
Well, as for me, sometimes I am alone, or with someone I know. Someone I hadn't seen in months or years. I do have brilliant conversations, but I would forget what was discussed till next morning. I rarely dream of parties, but I do dream of travel, mostly in cities like London, Paris, Tokyo, or Berlin. Other times, I do imagine myself living in a quaint cottage in the country with a bike nearby, with the primeval constellations and a few friends to keep me company. I see myself becoming a stuntswoman, jumping out of an airplane with a parachute, or a film director, or a tailor, or an author, or a painter. Mostly, as an author, with the lands of make-believe always accessible when I least expect it, writing poetry--most of which will never see the light of day.
In more imaginary fever dreams, I see myself as an adventuress, with my comrades and I lured into another realm, traveling through a dense, humid jungle or an enchanted wood (it is always a forest of some kind), in order to find some stolen treasure, or to fulfill some dark prophecy. I also see myself in old towns or cities, with spies, vintage clothes, deception, thin walls, codes, and romance. Most especially romance.
In my head, I am a warlock, with a powerful voice, and control over a force of nature, such as water, fire, earth, or animals. I could even turn into animals--foxes and birds and bears with dark blue fur and streaks of rainbow colors. I am a feisty, street-smart urchin who is as quick with a dagger as she is with her wit. I am a bard who can sing and dance her way out of a dark, prison cell. I mostly sing "Pierre" by Ryn Weaver, or "Heathens" by Twenty One Pilots, with radioactive butterflies soaring from my open palms.
I see myself as characters I've seen in movies. I see myself as myself, sometimes prettier, sometimes wearing layered silk gowns with elaborate patterns, or in armor, vintage kirtles and dresses, or my normal clothes, torn and dirtied by my adventures.
Whenever I close my eyes, I can become anyone.
