I‘m a nerd, and I’m proud of it. Over Christmas break I discovered Harry Potter.

For those who don’t know about the Harry Potter phenomenon (probably just that one guy who lives in the woods and only ventures into town once every six or seven years), J.K. Rowling, a British single mother, has written four in a series of seven books detailing the life of a young boy who was born a wizard (yes, wizard). When Harry Potter was a baby, his parents were killed, but Harry was left, remarkably, unscathed. He was sent to live with his aunt and uncle, Muggles (non-magical people). Until his 11th birthday, he had no inkling of the wizarding world. Finally, he was admitted into Hogwarts, a school for young witches and wizards, and & by now I’ve probably lost everybody reading this column.

I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve been obsessively flipping the pages of Rowling’s unbelievably popular series. We all geek out about something, some secret, shameful pleasure — like Dungeons and Dragons, or Lifetime made-for-TV movies starring Tracey Gold, or Cathy Dennis albums. These things may not win us social gold stars, but we love them all the same. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been a reading geek (scientific name: bookworm).

Because of this, I’ve been awfully worried lately. To me, very few things are as captivating as a really good story. As a kid, I’d curl up with my cat in my lap and a mug of hot chocolate and get lost in the pages. It seems, however, that reading is a dying pastime. What kid reads anymore? I mean, come on, books have to compete with PlayStation 2, endless cable channels, the WWF — and have you been to a toy store lately? It’s an entire universe of blinking, talking, motor-operated, remote-controlled, no-imagination-required “fun.” Kids no longer have to use their brains to create entertainment — they just plop a toy in the center of the room and watch it stumble around, shooting fire and playing Disney tunes.

And why stop with kids? Adults, too. The whole world is in such a hurry. This country in particular is always on the verge of tripping over its own feet; rushing to get somewhere, to secure that big deal, whatever. The only expendable thing is the imagination. Who has any time to sit down and read? When was the last time you read something that wasn’t assigned

That is, until the Harry Potter phenomenon. Since the first book, “Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone,” came out in 1997, the whole world has been buzzing. When the fourth book was released in July 2000, bookstores everywhere opened their doors at midnight and throngs of kids and parents, many dressed in wizard garb, rushed to grab copies of the 734-page novel. Yes, that’s right, 734 pages. When was the last time you read a book that long? Eleven-year-olds around the world stayed up all night just to make a dent in the story before returning to reality the next day.

Don’t forget adults. Harry Potter books have appeared on the New York Times Bestseller List, and for a time “The Sorcerer’s Stone” was beating John Grisham on the Independent Bookseller’s List. No joke, businessmen have been spotted on trains trying to conceal copies of the books behind their newspapers. Harry Potter is everywhere.

I’ve been trying to avoid using the overdone “books are magical” cliche that has suctioned itself to anything written about Harry Potter. But I guess it’s somewhat true. Rowling has done something magical — she has drawn the world’s attention with nothing more than a simple, traditional, well-written piece of fiction. I guess that gives me hope. I worry for the world’s imagination, that someday we won’t be able to think for ourselves; we’ll have to turn slack-jawed to the TV for intellectual stimulation. I worry we’re all becoming Muggles.

Just think back for a minute: Remember when all you needed was your back yard and you could be anybody? Life was more “magical” then, wasn’t it? Somewhere along the way, the magic gets lost.

We all have the ability to make our lives something better than ordinary. And it doesn’t take a magic wand to keep the world a playground rather than a cubicle.