If I had to estimate it, I’d say that 70% of the time I spend in silence is accompanied by a daydream. Brushing my teeth, chopping up vegetables, absently pulling my fingers through my hair – it all happens with a near-constant movie reel playing on a loop in the background; like a television left burbling away to an empty room.
I pen dramatic conversations and give oscar-worthy performances. I apportion imagined lottery winnings, pay off mortgages and sun my loved ones on exotic islands. I taste the flavours of my favourite foods and sink my teeth into hunks of bread, wander markets and lose myself in the promising pages of unread books. I return to my bed and bury my nose beneath its heavy duvet, allowing the lazy fog of sleep envelop me and carry me away from a day of work and to-do lists and texts that demand response. I imagine soft skin and warm breath, flesh and muscle stretched across bone, and the roundness of a kiss and the satiation of sex.
I don’t know what the purpose of a daydream is, or how much is daydreaming is normal. But what is interesting is what we daydream about, and what they might mean. What do you daydream about? And what do you think that says?