Imagination–the Space Between What Is & What Could Be

About nine years ago, while vacationing in Costa Rica with two of my closest friends, something big shifted—so subtly I didn’t recognize it at the time.

Each day, I told myself I’d step away for a smoke.

But I didn’t.

My friends didn’t smoke, and I didn’t want to leave them. After long walks or climbing the nearly 100 steps back to our cabins, I didn’t feel like it then either.

So I told myself I’d smoke tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came.

It didn’t come when I got off the plane.
It didn’t come when I got home and sat in my usual spot—the corner of the couch, morning coffee in hand.
It didn’t even come after a big meal, when I used to enjoy a smoke the most.

It never came.

I never imagined stopping could be effortless—not after 50 years of smoking half a pack a day. Not after being so addicted I would drive through a snowstorm to buy cigarettes rather than face running out.

I didn’t believe change could happen without struggle, without willpower, without something external forcing it.

But it did.

And it left me with a question I couldn’t ignore:

What else might be possible that I’ve already decided isn’t?

That question is what I’ve come to recognize as imagination.

Not the kind we associate with childhood, but something quieter, more powerful—

the space between what is
and what could be.

Chefs live in that space.

A lump of dough becomes bread.
An assortment of vegetables becomes soup.
A simple batter becomes a cake.

We work with what’s in front of us—but we’re not limited by it.

Because the ingredients are only part of the story.

The rest is imagination.

Last week, I wrote about creating space—clearing and organizing the environments we live in.

But what happens after that?
What does that space make possible?

I’m sensitive to the spaces I’m in.

Clutter makes me feel scattered.
Darkness drains my energy.
Cold, sterile spaces don’t invite much at all.

But when a space feels calm, intentional—even beautiful—something shifts.

It becomes more than just a place where I live.

It becomes a place where ideas begin to take shape.

Sometimes it’s small things.

An old bench becomes a side table.
A forgotten trunk becomes something useful again.
An object finds a new purpose I hadn’t planned.

These ideas don’t come from effort. They arrive when there’s room for them.

And slowly, almost without noticing, a quieter belief begins to form:

What I need comes to me.

That’s what space makes possible.

Not just clarity—but openness.

Because when the mind softens and the grip loosens, something else can move in.

Imagination.

The kind that doesn’t just create meals or rearrange rooms—
but reshapes a life. Because maybe that’s the truth of it.

We’re always working with what’s in front of us.

But we’re not limited by it.

And sometimes, all it takes
is a little space
to begin seeing what isn’t there yet.

Keep imagining,

I keep coming back to these small shifts—the ordinary, seen a little differently—and how they can make even uncertain, chaotic times feel steadier and more joyful.

If you’d like more reflections like this, I invite you to subscribe.

Baci,

Silvia

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Creamy Red Lentil/Sun-dried Tomato Soup

This recipe is testament to what you can create with a little imagination. Sometimes what you think might turn out well exceeds all expectations.

This creamy red lentil sun-dried tomato soup was one of those moments.

I made it with what I had in the pantry—no time to run to the store, no real plan. Just working with what was there.

The result was so good it surprised me!

I could hardly wait to take this photo before digging in, with a slice of bread just out of the oven.

Here’s what you’ll need:

Ingredients

2 cups red lentil – rinsed

6 cups chicken (or vegetable broth)

2 cups milk

2 tablespoon olive oil

2 tablespoons butter

1 small sweet onion – diced

2 large cloves fresh garlic – diced

Pinch of red pepper flakes – optional for heat

1/4 cup sun-dried tomatoes – diced

2 tablespoons tomato paste

4 tablespoons flour

Splash of cream – optional

Here's the full recipe.

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