When I was in my early to mid-teens, that was a very heavy diet

The words of Michael Chabon, “When I was in my early to mid-teens, that was a very heavy diet of science fiction and fantasy, so those were the kinds of books I tended to imagine writing someday, or even began to try to write,” echo the eternal voice of youth’s awakening imagination — that sacred season when the mind first hungers not merely to consume, but to create. Beneath his gentle recollection lies a profound truth: that what we feed our imagination in our formative years shapes the architecture of our dreams. The young Chabon, nourished on the wonder of science fiction and fantasy, found in those pages not only adventure, but the raw material of his soul’s longing — the sense that reality could be remade, that worlds unseen could be brought forth through the power of story.

The ancients understood this sacred power of imaginative diet. They knew that the mind, like the body, becomes what it consumes. The poets of Greece fed their spirits on myths of gods and heroes; from those tales came Homer’s Odyssey, a journey not only across seas but into the heart of human endurance. The philosopher Plato warned that the stories we tell the young are seeds — from them grow the virtues or vices that shape nations. Chabon’s confession is a modern reflection of this ancient law: that what inspires us in youth becomes the foundation of our creative destiny.

For the science fiction and fantasy that Chabon devoured were not escapism, but training — exercises in possibility, courage, and imagination. In reading of distant galaxies and mythical realms, he was not fleeing reality but learning its deeper patterns. The dreamers of the past — Jules Verne, Mary Shelley, H.G. Wells — were not merely writers of the fantastic; they were prophets who glimpsed truths yet unseen. They taught generations to envision beyond the known, to question limits, to imagine a world not as it is, but as it might become. Thus, when the young Chabon “began to try to write,” he was stepping into an ancient lineage — the lineage of the visionary.

We can see this pattern across history. The painter Leonardo da Vinci, as a child, was captivated by the movement of birds and the flow of rivers — small wonders that would later guide his inventions and art. The young Albert Einstein spent hours dreaming of riding on a beam of light, and from that playful imagination grew the theory that reshaped our understanding of time and space. In every great mind, the same truth resounds: the imagination of youth is the forge of genius. What we consume with passion in our early years becomes the fire that shapes our purpose.

Chabon’s “heavy diet” of fantasy and wonder was not a burden, but nourishment — a feast for a restless, growing soul. For the teenager’s heart is a crucible of longing; it seeks meaning, adventure, and beauty in a world that too often feels small and confining. Through stories of dragons, starships, and impossible quests, the young artist learns to see that creation itself is the greatest adventure of all. Those early readings are not distractions from life; they are rehearsals for it. They teach the heart to hope, to build, and to believe that within imagination lies truth.

But there is another wisdom hidden in his words: that one must honor those early inspirations, not as childish things to be outgrown, but as the roots of one’s creative tree. Too often, as we age, the world teaches us to silence the voices of wonder, to dismiss what once made our hearts leap. Chabon reminds us that the dreams of youth are not illusions — they are blueprints. The fantasies we once cherished were never meant to be abandoned, but transformed into art, insight, and innovation. To return to them as adults is not regression, but fulfillment.

Let this then be the teaching: guard the imagination of your youth, for it is the wellspring of your future. Feed it with stories that lift your gaze, with ideas that stretch your mind, with visions that stir your soul. Do not fear to dream extravagantly, for from such dreams are born the worlds that endure. When you find what nourishes you, hold fast to it — let it shape not only what you create, but who you become.

And remember, as Michael Chabon teaches through his journey, that art begins not with mastery, but with curiosity — with the humble act of a young dreamer who dares to write what he loves. What begins as fantasy may grow into truth; what begins as play may one day become legacy. For imagination, when well-fed and well-tended, is the bridge between what is and what could be — the gate through which every creator, young or old, must pass to bring light into the world.