My Daydreaming School Days
In my youth, I spent a great deal of time daydreaming during school. Instead of paying attention to the teacher my natural inclination was to discretely doodle, especially on my math papers. I could be seen staring out the window, drawn to the far away clouds or a distant airplane. When I was supposed to be reading during quiet time, my imagination took me anywhere except where I was at that moment.
When puberty enveloped my body and brain, I was no longer able or willing to focus on some of the sedentary tasks before me. My hypersensitivity kicked into full gear and I became incredibly shy, introverted, and self-conscious. Daydreaming was my survival tactic.
I was often punished for my wayward daydreaming/doodling ways either by being sent to the corner, called out by the teacher in charge, slapped on the hand or pinched on the shoulder. Mind you, this was the late 60’s early 70’s.
Daydreaming was my escape from personal insecurities and what I perceived as my weakness of character. Because of societal norms, I grew to believe my escapist tendencies were bad, an embarrassment and of no value.
Family Life for a Daydreamer
As a teen, family life in 60’s and 70s midwest was far from my daydreams. As the so called ideal life was being propagandized via television, magazine advertising, and movies, I sought respite in my daydreaming. The ideal life portrayed in the media was unattainable in our household as with so many households across the country.
Often I escaped to a different kind of existence using imagination as a means to counter my ordinary life. Believing, of course, ordinary was subpar.
My parents came from difficult family backgrounds and did not have much stability in their own young lives. They were doing their best with what limited experience they had in the perception of what family security could or should be as young parents.
As maturity and experience eventually reveals, we have little control over much. My parents were no exception.
So in the name of control, shouting was one vehicle used to handle the chaos in our house. Because I was the oldest, everything I did was a new and usually unpleasant experience for my parents. The boundaries were narrow and defiance was my modus operandi. I chose to be the contrarian, at least in my own mind. Defiance was a means to control the narrative, a vicious and irrational cycle. The doomed life of a daydreaming teenager.
Fear as Fuel for my Daydreaming
Money was the root of much the fear in my household, at least that was my teenage impression. I was always afraid to ask for anything involving money. I feared the rejection and disappointed faces of my parents, knowing they had little to spare. Financial arguments could be heated. I had no idea how they kept us clothed, feed, and housed. I knew little about what it took to survive. I fretted nonetheless.
If I was going to gain any ground, I would have to make my own money. I babysat for my parent’s friends (even though I honestly disliked kids) and at 16 got my first job at a shoe store.
I daydreamed about changing my ordinary life. Having the ability to buy my own pair of shoes, or jeans was huge for me. Simple, but extraordinary freedoms.
My teen radar was in constant motion, inhaling everything that was happening around me, the good and the bad. My fear of which ball was going to drop on our family was an anxiety and weight I carried throughout those seemingly chaotic years.
The fear was fueled by the unknown. Common and inevitable teen insecurities surrounded me. Always feeling as though I was the only person on earth with these revolving paranoid-like thoughts.
Daydreaming numbed my reality, allowing me to have control over at least some parts of my daily life.
My Daydreaming Space
As the oldest child, my teen years at home were not filled with an abundance of fond memories. Each boundary I attempted to defy was a big deal and arguments inevitably ensued. I felt that my parents were just a drag and always against me.
I failed to realize my young parents were simply concerned for my overall safety and happiness, an all too familiar and unfortunate parent/teenager relationship.
Always feeling trapped, as if in a cage suffocating, I spent most of my time away from my family. I was either in school, because I had to be, or with friends when I was not working. But my favorite time was being secluded in my bedroom.
My room became my sacred place where no one dared enter, especially my parents and siblings. I kept it pristine and obsessively rearranged to make things look and feel different almost every week. My daydream castle in the sky.
My physical environment was always and still is important to me. Something in which I have control. Daydreaming in my safe space allowed me to escape the suffocation I felt on a daily basis.
Daydreaming and My Art
Without even realizing it at the time, daydreaming was a way of dulling the perceived realities I was living. For me that meant personal survival.
While daydreaming, I could transcend myself to other places and situations.
Daydreaming was open ended, being able to feel, create, see and let go whatever came into view.
Daydreaming is how I approach working in the studio and writing. My most meaningful pieces happen when I have no expectations.
No longer do I harbor shameful feelings about daydreaming. Nor do I feel as though my stargazing ways have little value or warrant punishment and shame.
I would happily report back to all my teachers and other adults that my daydreaming was time well spent in my youth. It has become an essential vehicle for exploration and discovery in everything I do.
Image: “Fragments Re-Awakened”, 12" x 9" monotype
I chose this monotype to represent the article because as fragments of our lives surround and sometimes engulf us, we can choose to awaken our senses to what they mean. Using imagination and altered perspectives can assist in bringing those fragments to a place of understanding self and our place in the universe.
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