I remember my first encounter with a pumpkin spice latte.

It was my first fall in Canada, and I was convinced there was something special about this drink. It was all I could hear about. So I joined the crowd, counting down the days until it arrived. Finally, as the orange signs appeared, I got my chance. If I had anything good to say about it, I would.

Surprisingly, the same way autumn made way to winter, pumpkin spice latte made its way to oblivion. Not a single mention after the season. But as soon as the next September came around, there it was again. The same magnetism, 12 months apart.

There is something about pumpkin spice latte. Why does such intense passion last exactly two months? Beyond the undeniable pull of the season, there is a countdown that makes it precious. How many of our desires revolve around the urgency of endings?

Scarcity drives us to value what seems limited more highly. When something becomes scarce, our brains shift into overdrive. The last concert ticket feels more precious than the identical one we ignored yesterday.

This response has deep evolutionary roots. Our ancestors lived with genuine constraints. Missing an opportunity could mean hunger or danger. Those who recognized and secured limited resources survived. Our psychology evolved to prize the rare and guard the finite.

Modern life exploits this wiring. When we hear "limited time offer," the same neural pathways fire as if we faced real threat. We feel urgency about things that aren't actually urgent.

The mechanism works through what psychologists call reactance. When options disappear, we experience a drive to restore what we're losing. Our sense of worth becomes tied to accessing what others cannot have.

Research reveals something counterintuitive: we want things more when we imagine losing them than when we actually face scarcity. The thought of missing out triggers stronger responses than current limitation. Anticipation of loss outweighs actual loss.

Beware of the trap. We chase things not for their real value but because they're hard to get. Studies show people rate identical wine as superior when told only a few bottles remain. The pattern doesn't just influence what we want, it shapes who we think we are.

What if the things we desire most are simply the ones we've been told we can't have?

Notice the moment between hearing something is limited and feeling you must have it. Free will lives in that split second. Before your brain shifts into overdrive, there's a pause. In that pause, you can ask: am I drawn to this thing itself, or to the fact that others can't have it?

Try this experiment. When you encounter artificial scarcity, sit with the feeling for thirty seconds. Notice what happens in your body. Does your chest tighten? Does your breathing change? These physical responses reveal how deeply the wiring still runs.

Sometimes scarcity signals genuine value. The question is whether we are choosing from clarity or from the fear of missing out.

Pay attention to what you pursue when no one is watching. The things we want in private often reveal our truest desires. They're free from performance, free from wanting what others cannot have. What would you want if it were available to everyone?