A Memory
When I was younger I played a lot of imaginary games with animals. I had a whole set of imaginary pets, about 30 of them (at the most); I knew what type of animal each was, its name, and what it looked like. Many had distinctive personalities. I would play with my imaginary pets occasionally on my own, but more often with my brother (who also had a set) or a couple of friends from school (who also had sets). I also like making lego dogs and playing with them, or pretending to be a cat (any random one, or Mischief or Midnight--my two long-term cat identities--in particular) with my brother or friends. I played with my stuffed animals a lot, making them a Thanksgiving dinner or teaching them school lessons or whatever. In short, I did a lot of playing that involved animals with distinct personalities, almost like humans, either as my imaginary playmates or my imaginary self. I never forgot about this, per se, but I hadn't thought of it in years until something a friend said today reminded me of it.
What I find weird is that I feel very disconnected with the part of myself that did all this animal-centric playing once upon a time. I don't think I could play with imaginary pets again or pretend to be a cat--okay, ignoring that I would feel self-conscious doing that as a 22-year-old, I just would find it difficult to get back into the necessary mindset to make it work, even just inside my own head, and to make it be fun. I suppose this is to be expected, since I've grown up and grown-ups (or even college kids) just don't play like that, but I would also expect to be able to think back to the way I felt playing those games and the fun I had. When I try, though, I can't bring back those feelings.
Katie suggested it could be because I used to view animals as very similar to humans, and now that I've learned of the fundamental differences (e.g. pets are in general not capable of rational thought, though I suppose this is all debatable) I've mentally disconnected myself from them. This was part of a larger discussion, and often argument, over animal rights. I thought she was wrong because I don't think I've internalized fundamental differences between myself and humans to a significant degree, but maybe that is part of it. Or maybe I haven't thought about animals as being on my level anytime recently just because I haven't bothered. Maybe I really was more similar in thought to a cat or dog when I was nine or ten. Maybe I am less willing to suspend disbelief, or maybe I simply have more disbelief because I've learned so much more about the world. Maybe this is maturity, as Katie also suggested, or maybe it is a loss (though, and again I find this weird, not one I mourn at all). Maybe this is what growing up feels like.
What I find weird is that I feel very disconnected with the part of myself that did all this animal-centric playing once upon a time. I don't think I could play with imaginary pets again or pretend to be a cat--okay, ignoring that I would feel self-conscious doing that as a 22-year-old, I just would find it difficult to get back into the necessary mindset to make it work, even just inside my own head, and to make it be fun. I suppose this is to be expected, since I've grown up and grown-ups (or even college kids) just don't play like that, but I would also expect to be able to think back to the way I felt playing those games and the fun I had. When I try, though, I can't bring back those feelings.
Katie suggested it could be because I used to view animals as very similar to humans, and now that I've learned of the fundamental differences (e.g. pets are in general not capable of rational thought, though I suppose this is all debatable) I've mentally disconnected myself from them. This was part of a larger discussion, and often argument, over animal rights. I thought she was wrong because I don't think I've internalized fundamental differences between myself and humans to a significant degree, but maybe that is part of it. Or maybe I haven't thought about animals as being on my level anytime recently just because I haven't bothered. Maybe I really was more similar in thought to a cat or dog when I was nine or ten. Maybe I am less willing to suspend disbelief, or maybe I simply have more disbelief because I've learned so much more about the world. Maybe this is maturity, as Katie also suggested, or maybe it is a loss (though, and again I find this weird, not one I mourn at all). Maybe this is what growing up feels like.