But I wasn't nearly excited as I had been the previous year on all counts. Toys and other gifts no longer held the same appeal to me -- already I could imagine when the books would be read, or the game already played a thousand times, and the brand new shine of each present seemed to fade with this knowledge. The wrapping papers, so many squares of petroleum-processed soon-to-be-confetti, were carefully un-taped and unfolded instead of being ripped off of each package, and though they would simply be making their way into the trash I folded each one ontop of those that had come before, forming a neat stack of flattened celebration, before I turned to examine the gift itself. There was something very bittersweet about the whole experience, and I remember savoring every moment of it. I had always...

People rarely change themselves completely overnight, especially at the age of twelve. I carried the same level of introspection and examination that I always had, but it had led me down a path that forced me to bid farewell to a lot of simple pleasures -- the joy would not rise in an unbidden rush the way it used to, but instead there had to be a reason driving it. I know some people now -- adults, that is -- who still truly seem to take childlike joy and pleasure in things. It is a rare trait, and one that I envy from time to time. Something else I realized that sleepless last night of eleven years old, though, is that some joys are well worth the effort and the reason that lead to their attainment.