Expectation vs reality

My brain is an editor

Romanticising everything is a key trait of mine. In my head, even having a cup of tea becomes a ritual. Having a night in isn’t just a night in, it’s an event that includes books, wine, snacks, essential oils and head-to-toe body care. Booking a day off work on a whim turns into a day filled with creativity and ideas. Nothing is simple in my mind, it’s always embellished into something more. Something bigger. Better.

This tendency is echoed in my actions, but it comes from deep within. My brain visualises everything from start to finish. When someone speaks to me, I’m not actually looking at them, I’m looking at the scene they have described. I live my life that way. I think that’s why I’ve chosen a creative career path and feel the need to write stories and poems. I create things with my mind.

For the most part, I don’t consider this a bad thing. Finding magic in the mundane comes naturally to me. But seeing the world through a filter does mean that some of the bigger moments in my life end up a lot like this scene from 500 Days of Summer:

When this happens, it can be disappointing and often heart-wrenching, especially if it includes relationships or events that I have been looking forward to for a long time.

But it’s the nostalgia that cuts me. I’m addicted to it. Living in a fantasy inside my mind makes me forget that the past is not my reality. The version of the past that I create is warped, edited, misshapen, even. My mind tells me that past loves are soulmates, that my past self is the better version of me, that I was healthier and more attractive then. I then replay that over and over in my head until it’s nothing like the lived experience.

It’s not just the past that I warp. The pressure I put on myself to make each moment perfect is also too much. I spend so long visualising specific moments that I get scared to actually live them in case they don’t live up to my fantasy. I stunt myself, regardless of how much I actually want that moment to happen. If there is even a smidge of doubt that the real experience won’t be as good, I often avoid it.

If I dote on the past, embellish the present and fantasise the future, how much of my life have I actually lived? I’m just living in a poetic version of reality. I will never know what the truth is, as this is all I’ve known.

But either way, it’s helped me to put a lot of words on the page.

You’re reading Quiet Thoughts by me, Emily. This is my collection of personal essays, confessions and stream of conscioussness thoughts. I write mainly about love, mental health and literature. I would love to have you join my little community, so hit subscribe and check out my other pieces, they’re all free.

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