The Comfort of Being Slightly Delusional

 I don’t think Don Quixote was wrong. I think he was tired of living in a world that only valued what could beexplained. So he chose belief. Not to convince anyone else. Just enough to keep going.

During lockdown, I did the same without naming it. I believed that routines mattered. That books were conversations. That imagining a better version of myself was not a waste of time. That this pause was doing something to me, even if I couldn’t see it yet.

Maybe that was delusion. But it was a gentle one.

We’re told to grow out of these things. To be realistic. To stop hoping without proof. But I’m not sure realism has ever saved anyone when things felt unbearable.

Sometimes, what carries you through is not truth.But the quiet decision to believe that life will meet you halfway someday.

If that makes me slightly delusional, I think I’m okay with it.Because a little imagination kept me alive when nothing else did.

P.S. I read Don Quixote while quarantined alone for a month with a constant 102°F fever. So yes, I stand by these words :)