Excitement – a term often uttered with casual nonchalance, a ubiquitous vessel for conveying sentiment. Yet, within its deceptively simple syllables lies a profound chasm unveiled only in its absence. I now find myself navigating these deep depths.

There was an era when the mundane stirred my soul, when the prospect of ice cream, the 4 o’clock bell signaling playtime, the arrival of summer’s vacation, or the rhythmic cadence of train journeys sparked vibrant enthusiasm. But that era has receded into the annals of time, lost to me for quite a while. I search in vain for that spark, a flicker of genuine excitement. I make an effort, but it feels like a mere masquerade.

I envy those who revel in the minuscule joys, who radiate excitement at the prospect of savoring novel flavors, exploring uncharted tourist destinations, or mastering fresh skills. Envy courses through me, for these things no longer stir me as they once did. Do not mistake my sentiment; I derive pleasure from these activities, but the anticipation has waned. A sense of contentment and, to some extent, happiness remains elusive.

Perhaps this is what some might dub an existential crisis, or perhaps it is not. Perhaps it is a transient phase. Perhaps. Yet, the issue with this nebulous “perhaps” is its inability to persuade me that change lurks just beyond the horizon. Perhaps, one day, I can shed this uncertainty.