I’ve always been a big fan of daydreaming. I’d even go so far as to list it as one of my hobbies. Ever since I was a young child I’ve relished the opportunity to recline in the hammock in my head and enjoy a parallel reality for a few minutes. Encouraged in children, daydreaming is too frequently dismissed in adults as being a example of weakness or an inability to cope in the Real World. Tosh! I say. Daydreaming is amazing.
Just to clarify, I’m not talking about the positive visualisation life coaches prescribe as a goal setting tool. Sometimes a daydream can become a reality, but that’s not the reason I do it. I’m talking about honest-to-goodness-holiday-for-your-mind daydreaming. You know: your phone rings and it’s Prince William saying he’s made a terrible mistake and please will you reconsider. Or the feeling of the hot sun on your size 8 arse as you lie sunning it on your private Caribbean beach (in a cancer free world, naturally). One of my current favourites is that I’m not driving a family car with a strange smell and an identifiable noise. I’m actually driving a booster seat and crumb free shiny black Porsche, which is just about to overtake the old man driving the Chrysler in front without even breaking a sweat. Vroom! Eat my dust, lane clogging grandpa.
If ever I’m feeling frustrated or tired, I like to look online at luxury hotels around the world. A few minutes of this and I almost feel as if I’ve had a restful night’s sleep on 5 million count white cotton sheets, coffee and pastry breakfast on my terrace with a view of the Eiffel Tower, and taken a shower so powerful it’s like standing under Niagara Falls. It’s invigorating and allows me the chance to catch my mental breath before diving back into the real world again. Window shopping evening dresses on sites like Net-A-Porter is also good. I don’t want a dress like that, or even a reality that demands a dress like that, but it’s nice to imagine what I would choose if I did.
In my imagination I’m high maintenance. In reality I’m far too lazy (hiding the gray hair excepted). In my imagination I live in a stylish clutter free house devoid of colourful plastic. In reality I live in a comfortable but small family home with too much stuff and not enough toilets. The one constant between reality and daydreams is my family. My husband and kids exist happily in both worlds (though they are sometimes muted in my daydreams).I don’t daydream to escape my reality. I do it to liven up what can sometimes be banal occurrences, and because I can. Pity the person who has no imagination.
ETA: I’ve come back to update this as I stumbled upon a gorgeous site whilst looking for something else entirely (honestly!) Lime Wood House in Lyndhurst