Are Imaginary Friends Ghosts?

As a child, when I returned from the bathroom one last time before bed, I often felt someone in my bedroom. I’d look under the bed, then sneak towards my walk-in closet to take a peek. I saw nothing, but I still felt a presence.

As an adult, when I work on murder cases, I see dead people and hear them talk to me, and it also happens during some psychic readings. My latest work as a ghost tour guide got me to thinking, were those ghosts I sensed as a child?

I know that people swear that when a certain type of butterfly, or a bluebird, crosses their path, it’s their dead mother saying hello. A few months ago, I actually smelled my dead mom’s Wind Song perfume in my front closet, which has never housed any of her belongings. Just in case it was her, I said hello. Then, I heard her voice speak to me, and it wasn’t something she had ever told me before. I believe it was her spirit guiding me.

Many children have imaginary friends. The children I’ve met who do have them, are unusual, artistic and quite sensitive. According to an article in Atlantic magazine, by age 7, 65% of children will have had an imaginary friend. The article says that children with imaginary friends grow up to be more creative than those who don’t.

I never had an imaginary friend. When I talked to my blue stuffed poodle, I had no two-way conversation going on. But the fear I had in my bedroom lasted through my teens. When I lead local ghost tours, about one in four make me feel spooked.

I got nothing for you here, no definitive word. Just ideas, so let me know your own. Right now, I’ll relate to that movie, Clueless. 

The Yoke of Keeping Everything the Same

My mother did the wash every Monday of her life. When she got really old, I volunteered to do it for her. With much coaxing, she agreed, until I told her I couldn’t do it on a Monday. That ended that.

We all like to do some of the same things, over and over. The problems arise when those habits become a yoke around our neck, like when we want to keep too much stuff and realize we are at the beginning stages of hoarding. We can’t let go because our things all have an intuitive connection to people and experiences.

To let go of what I call “the same the same” means letting go of fear. I see it at the music store where I’ve rented space for 34 years. It’s going out of business, and the workers and other teachers now walk around like zombies. My response was to rent a new spot. As I agonize over curtains, chairs, tables, supplies, and a move-in date, I try to roll with the change. 

This is a first for me and I like firsts. It’s my own brick and mortar business, Jan’s Music and Education Center in Lebanon PA, where I can teach voice and piano, and do psychic readings and tarot parties without censure. Where I don’t have to worry about the owner’s father coming into my room and spreading cough-making chemicals on the rug. A place I will always feel safe.

Letting go is sad and spooky, whether it’s a friendship, a death, or a job. My plan is to wear my Elvis costume on October 31, the last day at the music store. When I sing “Ain’t Nothin’ but a Hound Dog” and “Love Me Tender,” or ask strangers for a peanut butter and banana sandwich, I’ll ride along on a wave of optimism. I figure it’s the only way to go.