Imagine

As a child I was the archetypal dreamer. Whenever possible I would sit alone on the school bus, gazing out the window. I never caused trouble in school, except for failing to pay attention.

The imaginary playmates of early childhood persisted into my teens, taking the form of chivalrous adventurers. The worlds of C.S. Lewis and Ursula K. LeGuin were real to me, as were my own private ones. My favourites characters were the seven lords from The Voyage of the Dawne Treader, who offered freedom to explore different personalities: prosaic, benevolent, greedy. I was especially Restimar, the dreamer. These had nothing to do with Lewis's actual characters, except for the way Caspian followed them across an uncharted sea. I went looking for honour and belonging.

I believed so deeply in my imagination that I expected these secret friends to arrive—on a spaceship perhaps—and rescue me from the world of harsh lines, loud music and mean children. I would peer hopefully at familiar strangers in stores and restaurants.

Where did my companions go? I blame religion and technology. Upon converting to Christianity at 19, I began transferring my imagination to faith in an invisible god who would someday deliver me (as in a spaceship) to a better world. But it turned out to be a world of ill-conceived rules. Now I'm so jaded I hesitate to believe anything.

Computers have taken the place of imaginary friends. Gaming software provides endless distraction. Technology has commodified entertainment. Gone are the days when kids (and adults) had to invent their own games. This is the death of daydreams, and it's diabolical.

It's a hard choice to refuse this convenience, like deciding not to buy beef for environmental reasons when beef is affordable and delicious. Don't worry, I'm not about to dispense with computers. They're too valuable a tool for the artist. The internet is rife with opportunities for dreaming, if you approach it the right way.

It's all a matter of economy. Now is the time to conserve the psychic environment and rebuild a habitat for imagination.