Remember when you were a kid and summer vacation or Halloween would start to get closer and you would start getting those butterflies of excitement in your stomach two months before the actual event even rolled around? I miss that feeling. The euphoria and the longing that accompanied any and every event, no matter how big or small; now I’m lucky if I even get a lazy flutter from one of those winged bastards taking refuge in my digestive system.

I guess everyone has experienced this phenomenon. Some realize it as the years go by and they get less and less excited for Halloween; they no longer want to carve pumpkins with silly smiles or squeeze one last year of trick-or-treating out of their fleeting youth. Still, some realize it all at once in an all-consuming, earth-shattering, heart-wrenching—okay I guess that’s a little dramatic. What I’m trying to get at here is that there are very few people who seem to hold onto that bright-eyed wonder we all seem to be born with but lose in our adult years.

But why does this happen? Is our wonder and ability to see magic in the world in limited supply? Are only a few select individuals given the luxury of continuing to see the world through a child’s eyes, forever enjoying the thrills and excitement that the world still has left to offer us?

I guess my mini-existential crisis stems from my very recent decision to try and relive a part of my childhood. The usual rereading and rewatching of my favorite books and movies as a child. For those of you wondering, heck yes, I’m talking about the "Harry Potter" series! As much as I love that fantasy world of owls that bring your mail, magic, wands, nearly-immortal enemies, and freaking dragons, I seem to have lost the thrill that it once brought me as a kid.

When I re-read the "Harry Potter" series, it seemed almost like I had forgotten how to let myself get lost in a new fantasy world. I no longer could let myself believe that magic could be real and that maybe I was just a late bloomer, instead I found myself soaking in the unrealistic world of "Harry Potter" through a more realistic and analytical eye. I almost felt like I was reading for one of my English classes instead of for pleasure.

Some might say that is a great thing! My mind has transitioned from the naiveté of childhood to the analytical machine of an adult. As awesome as it is to look back and see that I’ve made mental progress over the years, I want to go back to the adventure that every story brought.

It almost seems like there is some unwritten adult rulebook that clearly states “Rule #1: No fun and excitement for you!” Obviously my life isn’t some bleak wasteland of depression and a spiralling sense of doom (most of the time), but I feel like I definitely have to work harder to get excited about things. When I was younger, I would watch a butterfly flap its wings and think that it was the most majestic thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Now when I see a butterfly I bat my hands around threatening its demise if it lands on me.

Okay, so obviously I’m not the poster child of love, peace and passion, but I can’t be the only one! I just want the marvel and joy back that I used to get from playing tag, or hiding around corners to scare the living bajeezuz out of my friends and siblings. Is that too much to ask?