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“Stay there, I’ll bring you some coffee and I have a surprise for you,” my husband said as I sat at the kitchen table on Easter morning with a big grey cat sprawled out in my lap, so relaxed he risked falling off.

My husband returned to the table with two bite-sized chocolate eggs and arranged them on the napkin in front of me. I had already discovered the eggs not-so-discreetly tucked away in the cabinet, so the sentiment held no surprise, but it left me aching for the novelty of childhood.

Yet I would now rather be treated to brunch with an apple and cheddar frittata, scones, and a cappuccino than run around in the dewy back yard in my Sunday shoes and search for eggs. It’s a preference I sometimes regret and one I’m often reminded of when I see children delight in activities that for me have often transitioned from whimsical to displeasing – riding on the subway, for example, hanging on to the bar. “I only wish I found this half as tolerable as she does,” I recently thought observing a kindergarten aged girl swaying on a subway pole unfazed as a man knocked her in the head with his backpack as he walked by.

The easy excuse would be to attribute the boredom of adulthood to the inescapable routine of adulthood. Perhaps much of the monotony is due to our unwillingness to explore the possibilities outside of what we’ve allowed ourselves to become comfortable with. Though, some routines are worth keeping, to rediscover the world it isn’t necessary to dismiss our need for a security blanket, but we must be willing to leave home without it. We must be willing to put ourselves in situations where we are unsure of the governing rules, where we’re forced to learn new things and the outcome is uncertain.