This week I received an assignment that seemed easy enough on paper: visualize a friend and tell them an engaging story while watching their expressions in my mind. As someone who considers herself imaginative, I thought, Sure—no problem.

Well… that confidence didn’t last long.

The moment I sat down, closed my eyes, and tried to get into the exercise, I quickly realized something surprising: I could visualize my friend clearly—their face, their smile, the way they tilt their head when they’re amused.

I had my story ready to tell. But I could not do them both at the same time. It felt like trying to watch a movie where the actors show up but forget their lines, and the plot evaporates every time I try to grasp it.

At first, I was frustrated. Why was it so hard to narrate a simple, fun moment from my life? Why did imagining someone else’s reaction feel like trying to hold water in my hands? The harder I pushed to “make it happen,” the more everything stalled.

My brain kept jumping tracks—thinking about the exercise, analyzing it, wondering why I couldn’t do it—rather than surrendering to the story.

But then I realized something important:

Visualization is not just about seeing a mental picture. It’s about letting go enough to allow the imagination to flow naturally. It’s about trusting the mind to fill in the blanks rather than forcing the scene into existence.

In everyday life, I can talk to friends effortlessly. I can tell a story with expression and detail. But imagining that same interaction internally—without the external cues, energy, and feedback—was far more difficult than I expected.

It required a kind of mental playfulness and freedom that adults often forget to practice.

So, instead of feeling defeated, I’m choosing to see this as a new skill—one that, like any skill, takes time, practice, and a little patience.

Next time, maybe I’ll start with something simpler. Maybe I’ll let the story be silly or imperfect. Maybe the goal isn’t to perform but to play.

What I learned is this:

Visualization isn’t about perfection. It’s about presence.
And being present—even in your own imagination—is a practice worth developing.

For now, I’m celebrating the small win: I showed up, I tried, and I learned something new about how my mind works. And honestly, that’s a story worth telling.