It begins like a dream.
Imagine you and your good friends Raul and Helena are giddy with anticipation as the first rays of sunlight stretch across the neighborhood. The night before, after careful planning and double-checking the instructions on the EYE-Fly box, you each took the recommended dose. The effects were subtle at first—a tingling in the arms, an odd lightness in the legs—but now, as you stand on your front lawn and kick gently off the ground, the impossible happens: you rise.
At first, your motions are clumsy. Your arms flap erratically, like you’re trying to swat at invisible mosquitoes. Raul nearly crashes into a telephone pole. But within moments, instinct takes over. A rhythm emerges. You stretch your arms wide and catch the breeze, tilting and adjusting like a bird that’s done this a thousand times.
And then you’re soaring.
Raul is sobbing uncontrollably, his voice cracking in between shaky exclamations of disbelief. Helena, ever the pragmatist, tries to steady herself in midair but can’t suppress a wild grin. You’re laughing so hard you almost forget to keep moving your arms, causing you to momentarily lose altitude before regaining control.
The three of you rise higher, past the rooftops of your suburban street, past the trees that once seemed so tall, until your homes are tiny squares below. The sky feels impossibly vast, the air sharp and cool against your skin. You glance at Raul, his tears drying in the wind, and Helena, her laughter echoing across the rooftops. You realize that, for the first time in years, you’re all completely, undeniably happy.
“Let’s go!” you shout, pointing toward the horizon. “The beach is that way!”
With a whoop, your small flock moves as one, soaring above streets you’ve only ever driven down, past strip malls and parking lots, and over the shimmering blue expanse of the ocean. The sun is climbing higher now, glinting off the water below. You pass over a pod of dolphins, their sleek bodies breaking the surface as they race the waves. “They’re just like us!” Raul yells, pointing excitedly. You all burst into seabird-like cries, flapping in exaggerated, silly motions that send you tumbling through the air.
For a while, it’s perfect. The exhilaration is uncontainable, a kind of joy you haven’t felt since childhood. It’s freedom—not just from gravity but from the mundane constraints of daily life. The world looks different from up here. Smaller, perhaps. Beautiful in a way you never noticed before.
But as the minutes stretch into hours, the edge of that initial euphoria begins to dull. You notice your arms are growing tired. The wind is harsher now, stinging your face and chapping your lips. The sun, once so welcoming, feels like relentless. You think about sunscreen and water bottles—things you should have brought but didn’t.
Raul slows down, his face flushed. “Guys, I’m starving,” he says. “Can we take a break?”
Helena looks at you and shrugs. “Breakfast sounds good,” you reply. You turn toward home, but your mind is already wandering.
How Long Before It Feels Normal?
By the time you land back in your yard, sweaty and exhilarated, there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind: how long will this feeling last? How many flights before this awe, this sense of wonder, fades into the background?
You’ve felt this before, haven’t you? The slow shift from amazement to apathy. The thrill of unboxing your first smartphone is now reduced to frustration over a low battery. The marvel of hot running water is now just a part of your morning routine. The truth is, humans have an uncanny ability to normalize even the extraordinary. It’s what makes us resilient—but it’s also what makes us restless.
The Science of Wonder and Boredom
Hedonic adaptation, the scientific name for this process, is built into our biology. When we encounter something new and exciting, our brains flood with dopamine, the “reward” neurotransmitter. The rush of pleasure reinforces the behavior, encouraging us to seek out similar experiences. But over time, as we repeat the activity, the brain reduces its dopamine response. The novelty fades, and we begin seeking something else to fill the void.
EYE-Fly, revolutionary as it seems, would be no exception. Psychologists have studied similar phenomena in everything from material possessions to life milestones. Winning the lottery, for example, brings an initial surge of happiness, but within a year, most winners report feeling no happier than they were before their windfall. The same is true for marriage, career success, or even moving to a dream home. Humans are wired to crave novelty, not to linger in satisfaction.
Flying might hold its magic for a while—weeks, maybe even months (I’d guess days.) But eventually, the same complaints would arise. “I wish I could fly faster,” you’d think. “Why does it take so much effort to stay in the air?” Companies would rush to create upgrades: stronger doses, enhanced wingsuits, and personal navigation systems. And just like that, flying would become another industry, another tool for productivity, another thing we take for granted.
A Case Study: Modern Miracles We Ignore
We don’t need EYE-Fly to see how quickly the miraculous becomes mundane. Think about the technologies and conveniences that already surround us:
Electricity: For most of human history, darkness was inevitable after sunset. Now, with the flick of a switch, we summon light without a second thought.
Air Travel: Crossing an ocean once took months by ship. Today, we complain about cramped seats on flights that cover the same distance in hours.
The Internet: An invention that gives us instant access to the sum of human knowledge is often dismissed as “too slow” if a page takes three seconds to load.
Even our own bodies—walking, breathing, thinking—are miracles we rarely pause to appreciate.
Can We Hold Onto the Magic?
The fleeting nature of wonder might seem discouraging, but there are ways to resist the pull of hedonic adaptation. Psychologists suggest several strategies:
Gratitude: Reflecting on what we have, rather than taking it for granted, can reignite our appreciation.
Mindfulness: Staying present in the moment helps us notice the subtleties of an experience, making it feel richer.
Novelty: Even small changes—like flying at sunrise instead of midday—can keep the experience fresh.
Sharing: Awe is contagious. Flying with friends, teaching someone new, or joining a community of flyers could amplify the joy.
The Bigger Picture
EYE-Fly is fictional, but its lesson is universal. As humans, we are in a constant state of flight. We move from one achievement to the next, one innovation to the next, always chasing the next thrill. But what if we stopped? What if, instead of seeking the next big thing, we took a moment to marvel at what we already have?
The truth is, we’re living in an era of miracles. We’re all in flight, even if we don’t realize it. So the next time you step into a hot shower, board a plane or gaze up at the sky, remember: the extraordinary is all around us. We just have to see it.