Imagine.

Einstein said, “Imagination is more important than knowledge.” G.B. Shaw wrote “People see things the way they are and ask “Why?”. I see them the way they never were and ask “Why not?”. Who knows what things might be if our imaginations had been encouraged a little more?

I remember babysitting my two nieces a couple of years ago— two Waldorf kids— smart, affectionate, positive, caring. The six-year-old riding her little purple bike with the training wheels— the ten-year-old practicing on her unicycle for the school circus. She had it down. It’s interesting to think there are members of the younger generation that can do things I can’t do. I guess I’d better start getting used to it. She can also play the clarinet and read music. I should have gone to Waldorf.

But the girls’ confidence and accomplishments merely enhance their finer qualities. Their bright and gentle natures, easy laughter, simple happiness. Always a song on their lips. Their chatter quickly fading into rhythms of pretend. The older one hides behind a tree from the younger. The younger sees her and asks, “What are you doing?” the older says “I’m a squirrel.”

Younger yells, “Get out of my garden!”

Older. “I’m climbing up the tree.”

Younger. “I’m a dog. I’m chasing you up that tree!” Later the younger one takes some mail out of the mailbox and riding around on her little bike becomes the mailman. She stops in front of me and shows me a letter. “Pardon me. Is this your name?” The envelope is addressed to Alliance Benefit.

“Why, yes.” I intone. “But you can call me A.B.”

It strikes me that unselfconscious pretending could be a pretty good replacement for small talk. Instead of feigning interest in things we can’t do anything about like the weather or our corporate job with its infantile boss, we should break into a little street theatre more often. Stop playing the part of “you” all the time and play “someone else” once in a while or you’ll typecast yourself and never be allowed to play anyone but who you think you are. Besides polishing your acting skills, a regular regime of pretend practice might even help you in that corporate job with that infantile boss.

Later inside the house, my nieces start pulling clothes out of various closets. Suddenly they become pirates, kings, witches and elves. They act out their little skits for me with elaborate gestures and grandiose speeches. A big hulli balloo as they tickle themselves with pillows full of silliness.

It’s instructive being around this curious, endlessly amused energy. Why not laugh and smile at the littlest thing? What’s the use of qualifying every little joy? We say to ourselves “Oh, yes, your momentary exhileration is all very fine as far as it goes but don’t forget, [1.] you have to go to work tomorrow, [2.] you could lose a few pounds and… what else? Oh, yeah, you’re going to DIE SOMEDAY!!!) Self-absorbsion can be so exhausting. We need some new thoughts. Pretend a little everyday. I’m grateful to my nieces for reminding me of this essential credo. As Wordsworth wrote, “The Child is father of the man.”

Like the hats and scarves in our parent’s closet, we need to try on new paradigms, flex and stretch our stiffening belief systems. When did we become so brittle about who we were and who we could be? Babes babbling in the cradle can utter every sound ever required by any language. But a long habit of monolingual monotony can erode our linguistic potential irrevocably. Likewise dropping into a single calcified mindset while foreswearing alternative modes of being will put such a crick in our necks, we’ll only be able to stare straight ahead at the place our fhought-habits have pointed us toward as though it were the only place left to go. We are doomed to fate only when we become imprisoned in inertia.

Pretend you have a crowbar. Pretend you’re using it to bust yourself out of your pretend soul cage. Try some sound effects as you do it. “Pop. Crick. Cr-r-r-rack. Clink. Clank.” Good. Now laugh triumphantly, “Ha-ha! I’m free! Free! Free of me! Free to be... anything!” Good. Good. It’s a start.