Chances are that anyone who has ever known me is well-acquainted with my enthusiasm for the “Harry Potter” and “Doctor Who” franchises. Regularly decked out in Hogwarts T-shirts or spouting ambiguous references about “wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff,” I find more ridiculers than sympathizers and am often considered the strange, over-obsessive fan girl with nothing worthwhile to do, hopelessly lost in  a world that have never existed and feeling more empathy for fictional characters than real people.
Although I will admit that this observation is mostly accurate, many fail to realize the true reason I so admire Harry’s world of magic and the Doctor’s world of time travel. Their respective universes spirit me off to an alternate realm where I may feel important and there is a clear-cut solution to every problem.
Real life pales in comparison. It is mundane and unexciting, with only occasional sparks of eventfulness, most of which are overshadowed by the dull humdrum of a world uninfluenced by magic. There is no need for me to rescue anyone from murderous aliens or vengeful wizards. At times I feel completely unremarkable, that my abilities may never amount to much — it is a comfort to imagine that somewhere out there, mysterious powers and thrilling adventure may await me.
So re-reading “Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone” for the umpteenth time or watching the latest “Doctor Who” episode on the television allows me to feel as if I am indeed a part of something larger than my less-than extraordinary life, that in some alternate reality I may be expanding my sphere of influence with the flick of a wand or push of a button. If I were not a useless muggle, then I would most certainly have become a remarkable individual by now, accomplishing magnificent feats beyond my wildest dreams. After all, Harry was little more than a skinny, downtrodden child before he discovered his significance in a world in which every person knew his name.
I am perfectly aware that such worlds cannot possibly exist, that they are little more than the products of human imagination, no matter how hard I wish, no matter how desperate I am to escape from this world in favor of another. It seems silly that a small corner of my heart is still anticipating my Hogwarts acceptance letter or hoping to be whisked away on adventures in time and space with a strange alien in small a blue box.
Although these aspirations are little more than petty dreams, I suppose they can serve as a reminder that I can be a valuable asset to the world, even without a magic wand or time machine. Mumbling a fancy incantation or stepping into a telephone booth may not allow me to solve my problems or make a difference in this world, but they are a metaphor for all that I could one day accomplish.