The downside to being a person who lives more in their head than out of it is that reality can never quite match up to expectations. The two will always follow a deviating path, and there’s nothing quite as disappointing as when you realize you can’t possibly make them converge.
Perhaps I ought to be satisfied with reality, anyway? Perhaps I ought to realize that there is also a beauty to it, perhaps a quieter beauty, more subtle than the blinding dazzlement that is my imagination.
The novel “I Capture the Castle” is the kind that’s filled with the observations you nurse inside you, and then makes you smile in wonder when you recognize them articulated in it. The narrator, Cassandra Mortmain, mentions that a sure fire way to eliminate the possibility of something happening is to imagine that thing happening. As a child, I’d always indulge in daydreams, and then have to stop short because I knew that if I continued, they’d never translate to real life.
It seems I’ve kind of gotten back into the habit. I don’t really want to be someone who lives more in their head. As bookworms and writers, a chaotic head is considered to be a good thing, but it’s a little forlorn when that chaos is not reflected in some way in real life. I want blinding dazzlement – though spellcheck’s telling me that’s not a word – in both my imagination and in my reality.