When the magic fades

Yesterday was Christmas. Today I am 23 years old.

As a child this time of year was so special—magical even. I would wake up on Christmas Eve with butterflies in my stomach, my head full of all sorts of hopes and dreams for Christmas day.

I would reluctantly go to bed that night and lay awake waiting for the sounds of flying reindeer and sleigh bells. In the early morning hours I would sneak out of bed to survey the tree—all the gifts and treasures which had magically appeared. Then, impatiently, I would wait in my room watching the clock wishing and willing it to display the pre-approved wakeup time (set by Mom & Dad). Then, when the time had at last come, I would rush to my parent’s room. “Wake up; he came—Santa came. Can we get up now? Pleease?!” I wish Christmas held that kind of joy for me now.

This Christmas, like the past few, was less magical then those of my childhood. Each year as Christmas time approaches I feel a small rush of excitement as I remember Christmases of my childhood and secretly hope for the magic to return. Yet, sadly, with each successive year, the magic fades just a bit more and as I clear away the wrapping paper and bows, put away the tree and lights I am left with a little void inside, a part of me longing for the season to last a little longer.

For me, today, my birthday marks the end of the season, the end of a year. I have so many hopes and dreams for my life, my family, my future. My life is not what I pictured it would be like when I turned 23 but that’s alright; I have found that often different is better than anything I could have dreamed up or pictured.

And so, today, as I pack away Christmas and start a brand new year I look forward to the surprises, excitement and new adventures that will come my way. I am so excited for the day when it will be my turn to create the magic of the season for my own family.