When Imagination Rusts: Relearning What Once Came So Easily

Remember when your imagination was larger than life? When it was as easy as taking a breath?

I don’t think of myself as particularly imaginative in the way children are—always building worlds out of blocks, inventing friends, transforming ordinary sticks into magic wands. But I’m also someone who’s wrestled with how imagination, like any muscle, weakens when unused.

My first novel, Iteration, was a solid ten years in the making. Everything I thought of, imagined, contrived, and researched was for that story. So much so that, if it is ever published, I have material for two, perhaps three additional stories in the same universe.

But after all that—after the long haul of world building, plotting, refining, imagining—I made a choice. I left that world behind, at least for now. I decided to write something completely new. Where Iteration was like an itch under the skin that I had to excise, my current project, No Light Between is fundamentally different. It’s speculative fiction, but it’s also the opposite of Iteration in many ways. It’s intimate where Iteration is grande. A little claustrophobic instead of sweeping. It whispers.

And honestly, I don’t recall ever being this excited and frustrated at the same time.

Why Imagination Feels Hard

As adults, many of us talk to ourselves about “realism,” “practicality,” “what others will think.” We get used to jobs, bills, responsibilities, optimization, efficiency. Time becomes “used” or “wasted.” Space for flights of fancy seems… frivolous.

Over the years, the imaginative muscle—the part of us that envisions what could be—can atrophy. Think of it this way:

• Lack of practice: We stop telling stories. We stop daydreaming. We stop sketching weird ideas.

• Fear of judgment: We worry our ideas are childish, silly, naïve.

• Overwhelm: Life’s demands pull our attention. Creativity takes time, and time is scarce.

• Comparisons: We see polished work—books, art, content—that seems far ahead, and we feel discouraged.

All of this makes starting new things feel heavy. The imagination doesn’t instantly come blooming back. Sometimes thinking up a new concept feels like dragging something through mud. It’s frustrating, yes—because you remember how vivid the mind once was, even if dimly.

Why It’s Worth It: How Imagination Reinvigorates Life

Turns out, imagination isn’t just child’s play—it actually helps reshape our adult minds. In a 2021 study, Tan et al. found that adults who regularly engaged in creative thinking and activity reported higher levels of well-being, more optimism, and deeper life satisfaction—even when accounting for other factors like age or income. And in a 2023 study by Zemla et al., guided imagery—literally just sitting and imagining a peaceful or meaningful scene—reduced stress and improved focus by boosting brainwave activity tied to calm attentiveness. It’s wild how something as simple as daydreaming on purpose can measurably shift how we feel and think.

Here’s the thing: imagination is not just for artists, writers, dreamers. It’s for anyone who wants life to feel more alive.

• Joy in the small moments: Imaginative thinking lets you see wonder in ordinary things—the way light filters through leaves, or the pattern of sweat on a glass. You start seeing stories in your surroundings.

• Problem solving: When you practice imagining, you train your mind to go beyond the default. You start seeing new options, new outcomes, new ways out of confining patterns.

• Hope and possibility: In speculative fiction, you can explore universes where things are different. In life, that imaginative leap can give you hope—“What more could be possible?”

• Renewed purpose: For me, working on No Light Between after Iteration wasn’t just switching settings. It was rediscovery. A chance to approach creativity in a new scale, a new tone. To whisper instead of yell. To explore the small, the intimate. And in that, I rediscovered excitement.

Hope: How to Rebuild the Imaginative Muscle

Here’s what I’ve found helps—and what I want you to try if you feel imagination has faded. It really just takes a little bit of time, every day. Starting small, big things can happen.

• Start tiny: Five minutes a day of free writing. Doodling. Thinking of one “what if” scenario—something wild, something quiet.

• Keep a notebook: Notes, dreams, flashes of ideas. When they come—no matter how half-baked—capture them.

• Read/speculate broadly: Immerse yourself in books, stories, ideas outside your norm. Strange fiction, fantasy, sci‑fi, horror. They stretch your brain.

• Create rituals around imagination: Maybe an hour weekend walk, maybe a cuppa and watching clouds, maybe sketching.

• Be gentle: There will be days the imagination feels barren. That’s okay. Muscles rest; sometimes rest is part of growth.

A Quiet, Bright Ending

It isn’t easy getting imagination back. It’s disorienting at first. Maybe even depressing to see how far away you were from the vivid visions you once had. But—here’s the hopeful truth: every minute you spend imagining, your mind is being rewired. Every small “what if,” every whisper of a story, every doodle or dream nudges that muscle to flex again. Over time, the places you once thought were lost come back. The joy returns—not full at first, but in fragments. And those fragments stitch themselves together until they create something bigger than before.

Imagination isn’t a relic of childhood. It’s a tool, a lifeline. If you give it just a little time every day, it will open doors. And maybe, just maybe, your next story (or your next ordinary day) will shine with things you never thought possible.