Somewhere in Time

From Teslacon to Comic-Con, exploring how a time-travel movie and modern fandom prove escapism is more than make-believe.

“ I just can’t imagine myself walking around for 4 days in a costume.”

That’s the text I got from my husband before the event started.
When it was over, he texted:

“I’m going to miss all this fun.”

Between those two texts is an entire story about escapism, the kind we all chase in some form when life feels a little too “real” to handle.

For the record, I wasn’t at the event in costume. I attended Teslacon as an observer, watching hundreds of people disappear into another century, another world, for a weekend.

My daughter and I walked through the halls admiring the artistry, the meticulous detail, the pure joy of people who had clearly poured countless hours into every brass gear or Nordic element.  I felt like I was the odd one out in my simple jeans and sweater- the fourth-wall breaker, the penny in the suit.

If you’ve never seen it, in Somewhere in Time, Christopher Reeve’s character time-travels by literally willing himself into another era, erasing every trace of his present life until he’s completely immersed in the year 1912.

But at the pinnacle of his bliss, he finds a modern-day penny in his suit pocket (an accident of his own making) and the illusion shatters. He’s instantly yanked back to his own time, torn away from the world and the woman he loves.

Anguished, he desperately tries to will himself back to her, but he never makes it. He soon dies of heartbreak… only to find her again in the afterlife. Bittersweet, sure, but at least it’s some kind of closure. Hollywood’s favorite loophole: Love conquers all and all that…

Still, I found a parallel there because I believe we all try to stop time in our own ways, lingering in the best parts until the present scoots us onward. And just like Reeve’s character, everyone there was time-traveling with nothing but intention and creativity—choosing, for a little while, to step outside the everyday and into something a little more magical.

While I can’t imagine dressing up for a convention myself, I found myself wondering who I would dress as and why.

It’s all about how you want to feel, isn’t it? Who you want to be for a while, right?

Maybe a badass, maybe a villain. Maybe something funny. I mean I love making people laugh but sometimes I just want to feel the exact opposite of what I’m living through.

If I’m Lagertha the Viking Queen, I can defeat my enemies, look good doing it, and not think about hormones, finances, work woes, or car troubles (fun little glimpse into my week so far).

If I’m Frigga, I’m a regal, wise sorceress who carries herself with grace and dignity, never getting dragged into family drama or real-world issues.  

If I’m Fat Thor, it’s because sometimes comfort and low expectations are all I can muster, given the day.

Teslacon was a cacophony of senses (or maybe I just get overstimulated easily, who knows?). We admired the craftsmanship and the wares: independent creators selling books, jewelry, artwork, everything lovingly handmade.

It felt like a Ren fair on acid, but in the best way.

I stood with a group of fairies, Vikings, and steampunk enthusiasts as a narrator spun tales that were half history, half fantasy. In a random corner, I watched Thor mock-fight a female Loki for a friend's camera, all the while feeling this strange sense of…civility.

Beneath all the noise and colors, there was this sort of underlying courtesy and kindness as people gave each other space, compliments, and room to play; everyone understood they were co-creating the same illusion.

As an outside observer, I did what I always do: watched the room, felt the atmosphere warm up, saw people loosen up, and realized just how easy it is to get caught up in the moment when you swear you’re just there to “take notes.”

It reminded me why I tend to gravitate toward scenes like this in the first place. The real magic isn't in the costumes or the festivities, but in watching a room full of grown adults collectively...unclench, so to speak.

You can literally feel it happening as the collective energy sort of builds to this "kids on summer vacation' vibe. And that's where the real stories are.

The timing was poetic because tickets for San Diego Comic Con go on sale for us first-timers this weekend. I don’t know how the hell I’m gonna pay for it, and the odds of me snagging a weekend pass are right up there with me wielding Mjölnir, but I’m still going to try.

I have my own reasons to escape into something I would never have considered doing in my life, even ten years ago, heck, five years ago. We’ve rewatched certain Marvel movies more times than I’ll publicly admit, and somewhere between Cap wielding the hammer and the portal scene, I stopped trying to make sense of it all.

That’s the beauty of it, though, that it doesn’t have to make sense. Not everything that makes you feel something has to be logical.  

And now, with Doomsday and Secret Wars looming, I want to re-experience that shared anticipation firsthand, that energy that hums through a crowd when the lights go down and everyone forgets their lives for a moment.

I know SDCC is massive and chaotic, and my getting to Hall H is roughly tantamount to completing the Twelve Labors of Hercules, but I have to try.

Before Teslacon, my very straight-laced, no-nonsense, man’s man husband couldn’t fathom why any adult would spend so much time designing costumes and parading around in them.

It wasn’t judgy, he was genuinely curious.

I told him the fun isn’t just in the costumes but in the freedom, the craftsmanship, self-expression, appreciation, and permission to be someone else for a while with no judgment.

The fun is in the transformation and that temporary suspension of adulthood, deadlines, and whatever fresh hell the week gave you already.

It’s the same impulse that drives people to skydive, golf, hunt, meditate, or ride motorcycles. Everyone escapes somehow. Everyone, uh, finds a way.
(Smirks in Jeff Goldblum.)

My husband does it on two wheels. Some do it on a stage or in the gym. Younger generations build entire universes with AI characters and chatbots; it's all just a different approach to the same instinct that humans need to just...step outside their own lives for a while.

I do it through stories, whether I’m watching them, writing them, or envisioning them; Beautiful Lies, if you know, you know. 

But my explanation just sent him down a whole new rabbit hole instead.

“So, do they get mad if you…look at them? Or if you ask them for a picture?” he’d asked, ever so mindful of social protocols.

(He’s adorable.)

But by the end of the weekend, he got it. The same man who puzzled for days over the logic of it all texted me, “I’m going to miss all this fun.”

It occurred to me he might have had his own Somewhere in Time moment. For a moment, he escaped the daily grind of work and responsibility, finding a place of pure fun and imagination.

That’s part of why I want to go to SDCC next summer. I’m chasing that same collective permission to love something utterly ridiculous and wonderful, and to feel a spark that a lot of us haven’t felt since the last hour of Endgame in the theatres.

It’s artistry, imagination, and the belief that stories and wonder still matter.

One of my favorite movie lines comes from Mr. Holland’s Opus, after the school's budget-cutting vice principal says, “If I'm forced to choose between Mozart and reading and writing and long division, I choose long division.”

Holland quietly replies, “Well, I guess you can cut the arts as much as you want, Gene. Sooner or later, these kids aren’t going to have anything to read or write about”.

That’s always stuck with me. We view logic as the foundation on which everything is built, but art is what makes it all livable.

The stories, the costumes, the cons, all of it – is the art. It’s evidence that we’re still creating and imagining, hopeful enough to build an awesome version of our world, if only for a weekend.

It’s a hotel or an exhibition hall full of frivolity and happiness, positivity and civility, and the kind of just plain wholesome fun that you’ll never see on the news.

It’s probably why SDCC is the holy grail of cons, and why all the big ones thrive as they do.  

Maybe that’s what my husband meant in that last text, because for a time, we’d both forgotten about the 'pennies in our pocket' until we were brought back to reality.

“I’m going to miss all this fun.”

Yeah. Me too.

(Immediately starts searching for the next con.)

If you enjoy pieces like this and want to support more long-form storytelling, you can toss a little love into my Ko-fi. It keeps the lights on and the words flowing.

P.S. I’ve been revisiting older pieces in the archive and tightening the writing as I go. If you stumble into something you’ve read before and it feels a little different… that’s on purpose. Writers never stop tinkering.

If you're still in the mood to be somewhere else for a bit, here are a few places to go next:

• Movies: Escape or Compass?
• Beautiful Lies: The Dreams I Escaped Into and the Life I Built From Them
• Stark Contrast

Heather P. is an essayist and longtime ghostwriter publishing darkly funny, brutally honest stories about trauma, resilience, and healing.

Her platform, Unfinished Business, has been read in over 30 countries for its dark humor, emotional precision, and raw essays on reinvention, grief, and the absurdity of real life.