As a mom my life is so often devoted to practicality. I’m busy figuring out who needs what, when and how. I don’t have the time I used to for fantasy. Yet in my daughter especially, I see so much of the rich imagination that I had as a child. The hours spent reading, playing with dolls. (I played with paper dolls well into my early high school years), later writing creative stories.
Like stepping into Narnia and being so engaged that no time seems to have passed. I miss the chance to fully engage with my imagination. Yes, I dream about the future, about a new house where we’ll each get a little personal space or a peaceful backyard to sit in. But I don’t really muse and day dream the way I used to.
I need to go through the wardrobe again. To find the wonder and the magic that I’ve lost. The ability to leave it all behind.(If only returning really was as if no time had passed)