When I was 19, I went on a plane for the first time to Nicaragua. I remember sitting in the window seat, looking out at the ground pulling away from the plane. I was enthralled.
I looked around after we were in the clouds and was surprised that no one else seemed to care how amazing it all was. Some were reading. Some had their heavy laptops out. Some were sleeping. I was wired, adrenaline racing.
This last bit of trips has killed the wonder of flying to me.