When I was little I did fashion shows, hair, and painted and pampered the hands and feet of anyone who'd let me; I chain read books, sang loud into hairbrushes and broomsticks for an imaginary audience of many; I wrote my life out in crinkled letters to pen pals a world away; I told stories and acted dramatic scenes in the neighbors' yard; I rode in wheelbarrows, played bingo with old ladies, and hopped on Buddy's wheelchair whenever I saw him sitting out front two houses down; I snuck into my mother's high-heeled Candie's and I danced, breathless, to Michael Jackson: I was off the wall.

Whatever I imagined myself as, I became.

I'm no stranger to hurling my heart over the line and following it. I come by it natural. But the years have a way of letting us down, softening our edges, dimming our brilliance and turning us on ourselves so much until we can't see straight. We can't tell what's real anymore. It's like dating that person who's just wrong enough to make you view yourself in poor light; it's that so-called bff who says she's glad to see you but constantly critiques your presentation; that family member always on hand with a damning two-cents' worth that you never asked for; the negative peer, colleague or internal talk constantly telling you you're as dull as your second-hand knives, costume jewelry and old jokes.

How can they all be wrong? we ask. Then we stop asking. And we scale your vision down. Then down again until one day we look around and can't see a new dream for miles. Defeated yet unalarmed, we return to a dreamless sleep.

This is the anatomy of a vision bored.

To bring it more clearly into focus, a vision bored is one that relishes predictability and order. The vision bored favors formulas and facts and has no time for wild colors and inscrutable spontaneous music. The vision bored doesn't abide loud voices asking why and bucking systems; Lower your voice, it says. And your gaze.

How can you tell if your vision's bored? Ask it to pass a picture of your wildest dream in front of your mind's eye. If it takes more than a moment, then you've got your answer: your vision's bored. If the image has anything to do with TV, celebrities, or the Joneses it's also bored. And if it doesn't cause the slightest twinge of anxiety in you when you see it—this wild dream of yours—then it's definitely bored.

My mother was zero tolerance on boredom around our house. 'Go somewhere!' she'd tell us whenever we came whining. Her response was often all the encouragement we kids needed to entertain ourselves, to make stuff up, to develop independence and interests, relying solely on our imagination and curiosity. Truth be told, we didn’t always ‘go somewhere!’ constructive, but we learned from the bruises, too.

As grown folks, rushing into the streets, screaming for no good reason, wearing kitchen towel hair and throw rug capes might not inspire creativity the same way it did when we were little. Still, in the spirit of waking up your vision, what are you willing to do to get there?

We give up too easy. We turn a certain age or rack up debt (or income), and we think we can't afford to play games or have dreams anymore. We think because we're _________ we're beyond being a beginner at something we’ve loved but didn’t pursue because it didn’t make sense in the eyes of that friend, former lover, family member—that first person who frowned over their glasses at us for even considering the impossible.

It’s amazing, the power we wield. I’ve worked with people who were seeking permission to simply try again and to be held accountable by someone who saw their longing to dare in a new direction.

It can feel like a miracle when we encounter yaysayers who urge us on in boldness and truth to ourselves. And it can feel like trudging shoeless through winter when we don't. By the way, my friend Julie first introduced me to the term—yaysayers. Isn't that just everything right there?

If