The Neighborhood of Make-Believe

So I suppose I'm putting my credibility on the line here... But does anyone else sometimes catch oneself living in a fantasy world?

I'm not trying to be deep or philosophical here -- like "How do we negotiate the tension between the physical realm and the spiritual realm?" or "What are the masks that we wear as a form of self-defense in society?" I'm talking about true childlike fantasy. Pure imagination. Unfettered frolicking in the neighborhood of make-believe -- you know, baking mud-pies for a tree-house feast... transforming one's back-yard into a collosal stadium with a sell-out crowd watching your magnificent performance in the championship game... enjoying afternoon tea with the royal family... We all know that these things are well and good for children -- even admirable, adorable, and praiseworthy -- but what about adults? Can "grown-ups" pretend in such innocent, frivolous ways?

I've just recently realized how many imaginary adventures I can pack into my daily commute.

The other day, one of the television networks in Amsterdam was airing the classic Star Wars film, The Empire Strikes Back -- and I couldn't resist reveling in what had been one of my favorite movies as a boy. In particular, I enjoyed the chase scenes -- rebel snowspeeders racing over the Hothian landscape to engage Imperial walkers, noble X-wing fighters squaring off against evil Tie Fighters in the star-specked vaccuum of outer space, Han Solo's Millenium Falcon dipping and diving through asteroid fields and the gigantic teeth of horrific beasts... And somewhere in the midst of one of the chase scenes from The Empire Strikes Back, it occurred to me that I have envisioned these very scenes dozens if not hundreds of times during my incidental travels through the bustling city streets of Amsterdam, mounted upon my brown Batavus bicycle (incidentally nicknamed Darth Brown, as if the Star Wars connection hasn't already gone far enough!)...

Perhaps I'm crazy or childish, but it occurs to me that I often imagine the orchestral themes of Star Wars as I dodge delivery trucks and pedestrian tourists each day. Narrow escapes, bursts of speed, tight corners -- these are daily maneuvers that are easy fodder for an overactive imagination. And it's so much more interesting to be an X-wing fighter pilot, racing to thwart the sinister plans of a tyranical intergalactic empire -- than to be a peddling peasant on his way home from work. It brings joy and excitement to race stormtroopers through the forests of Endor on my speeder-bike. It lightens my spirit to take a break from reality and get lost in the Tatouinian deserts or Hothian tundras of central Amsterdam.

But is this normal adult behavior? I'm afraid the bicycle adventures do not stop at Star Wars...

Sometimes my bicyle is a fighter plane -- dogfighting with the Luftwaffe over the skies of Europe. Sometimes my bicycle is a galloping stallion -- rounding up vast herds of cattle on the open range. And sometimes (particularly at this time of the year), my bicycle is a top-of-the-line racing bike -- zooming through the far corners of France for Team Discovery, seeking an illustrious victory in the Tour de France. The steep bridges of the city are the Pyranean peaks or the legendary summit of l'Alpe d'Huez. The far side of each intersection is a sprint finish against Thor Hushovd and Robbie McEwen. Every bicycle ride can be a mystical quest. My imagination knows no bounds.

But tell me, does this mean I'm a freak? I know that we delight in the comic imaginations of Snoopy or Calvin & Hobbes. I know that we all smile when Peter Pan encourages us to never grow old. I know that we love Don Quixote for his idealism... But don't we also lament the fact that he was just a crazy old man? I'm looking for validation here. Identification and empathy. Here I have bared my soul to the world wide web, and I await its judgment of my sanity. Please tell me that I'm not alone...

Or -- if you're going to put me in a mental institution -- please make sure that I get a nice room with a good view of wooded grounds and a bicycle trail where my desperately careening mind can dart about freely and serendipitously for the rest of my days.