Stuck in reality

Age has created a hardened shell that protects me from my dreams.  Doesn't allow me to access the realm of imagination.  I remember as a child waiting around through the dumb and boring part of Mr. Roger's until they got to the Land of Make Believe.  I would write stories in 3rd grade that were pages and pages long, I couldn't stop going on about things that weren't real.  My mom told me that she got me a set of colors or paints when I was 2-3 years old and the day she gave them to me I sat down in the morning and painted and wouldn't eat or sleep and would shush her away every time she got close to try to feed me or see if I was ok until she found me passed out on the floor at 11pm with my hand in the air clutching a paint brush.  I have remnants of these imaginative moments but can't just call on them any time, and don't fall into them as often as I used to, and have this idea that in my 40s the shell is covering more of my brain.  I wonder if the dreams of make believe are still there?