I’ve discovered that Enthusiasm is magical.

Like all magical things, it’s a Blessing and a Curse.

Many of you may laugh at how long it took me to come to this conclusion. But it isn’t just the pixie dust uncorked at our convenience that in turn makes us feel like eight year olds trapped in the bodies of much older people.

Enthusiasm takes on a more viscous state. It’s not the glowing green goop in Ghostbusters; instead, I like to think of it as the melted marshmallows and butter when you’re making rice crispy bars. The satiny white marshmallow and soft yellow of the butter creaming together to become one sweet color; yet this concoction has the consistency of another dimension, as a friend says.

This enthusiasm chokes you, makes you forget how old you really are as you steamroll over feelings like they were unseen precious plants and even as you look back at the aftermath, the glutinous coat of enthusiasm cloaks the destruction. You don’t see the hurt, the pain – even feel it – if it’s your own.

The other problem with it in this state, is it needs constant stirring. Like our granddog Wrigley, it’s an attention whore. It needs the burner set on low. It needs the silicone spatula to keep it moving. Without it, it bubbles and boils over. And then you really have a mess.

So, I propose you add the rice crispies and treat yourself: Life’s too short to be stuck holding the spatula for needy Enthusiasm.