There is a difference between being stuck and not leaving. I am in the middle—a feeling of enclosure and pleasure all at once. 

I was always the kid with “her head up in the clouds;” it was as if I could really see the castles, the creatures, and especially, the magic I longed for. I still long for them. I was the happiest pretending; I was filled with joy when I got to talk to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco. I would go to magical classes and fill my minute-long days with drama and romance. I was never alone, even when I truly was in solitude. 

That is most likely why at sixteen, I am still enthralled with magic and Harry Potter. I have Legos, books, trinkets, and wands. Ask anyone and they can tell you I am obsessed. It may seem like I am stuck in the past, stuck in the make-believe stage of life, but I choose to stay in my safe place: my mind. 

High school is more than I thought when small me attempted to conjure images of it; it is more work, pressure, and stress. Imagination has kept me going—it keeps me from slipping into the pressure and allowing it to consume me. I have a tool that allows me to step back and imagine it all is falling away and my stress magnitudes to whether or not Harry will make it through the Triwizard Tournament. 

This gift of imagination seems to only extend into the fictional world for me, though. I cannot fathom going to college (only one and a half school years away), leaving behind my room, my family, not seeing the same people every day, and a new environment. I cannot wrap my mind around it. I have dreamed of attending a boarding school my whole life to get as close as I can to Hogwarts. Now, the boarding school of schools is coming fast for me and I can not dream of it. How does that work? Why can my imagination only stretch so far? 

It should not be so difficult to formulate what my college years and beyond will entail, but they are the largest mystery my teenage mind has faced. Though, I have always struggled with the future. I can live in the past, present, or the fake. The future is left blank or falls into the “unreal” category. I am stuck wishing for false things; I am almost trapped hoping for something that can not happen to occur. 

I both cherish and wish to banish my imagination. It has gotten to the point where I no longer try to think of a logical future, as I am far too seduced by the fantasies I concoct to think rationally. This is not always so bad; thinking realistically is boring. It is saying goodbye to the world of adventure and love I have stored in my head. But, as time continues, I grow closer and closer to the age of eighteen, which is when I will leave the house and go on a true adventure, not one where I am safe and sound in my room. I will never truly lose my imagination, but I will work to not have the future be so anonymous. I will work to find the sweet spot in the middle of realism and fanaticism.