The Unalienable Dangers of Nostalgia

Childhood is treasure beyond words. I have not left it, nor will I ever. There was a time, however, when I was a little child; no other distinction will I make between then and now. Being a little child was, indeed, preferable to being the child I am now in many ways. There is only one thing that, given the chance, I would go back and reclaim. My joy. When I was much smaller than I am now, I was in possession of joy unfathomable. My smile was light and glory and no one saw it without being overtaken by the infection of it. I was a laugher and a dancer. I was unconsciously happy; I smiled without knowing what I was doing. Years passed and slowly, very slowly, my joy faded. There was panic the first time I realized it was missing; I got it back. There was a little less panic the second time, for the feeling of being without it was familiar; I got it back again. Again, it faded. The most treacherous of the Unalienable Dangers of Nostalgia is its habit of flinging the foolishly nostalgic person into a depression, deep and inescapable. But one of the lesser Dangers is the one that has I have naively fallen into today; the determination to set upon a journey back to reclaim what was once and is always rightfully mine.