Weird. But thank goodness.

We spend all of our childhood being taught acceptable social boundaries, being taught what to say when and which thing belongs where. We shift from the freedom of dolls and blocks and trucks to curated experiences in The Sims. Dress-up games mature into costume parties, which usually don’t involve any make believe.

Adult life has structure and it has rules. You can’t just run through a park pretending to be a unicorn when you’re on your way to work. When someone says “thank you,” you must reply with “you’re welcome.” There are no monsters under your bed; just go to sleep.

So we learn, as we grow up, that people cannot turn into rhinoceroses. Stones don’t talk and you shouldn’t expect to find yourself in a rainy elevator after death.

But when we see these things happening on a stage with real people – people who are standing in the same room as we are – the range of what it is acceptable to think and to believe widens. The mental boundaries between “possible” and “impossible” start to crumble.

And I want that to keep happening. I want my familiar to always feel slightly unfamiliar. I want to keep my sense of wonder; I want the absurd and the impossible; I want to banish the voice that says “no.”

So I will say yes to snails. And I will watch plays with my eyes wide open, and write them with my eyes half-closed.

Alona R. Bach ’16 is a history of science concentrator in Cabot House.