
I am an adult. I know that drawing three stick houses and moving 250,000 people into a ruined wasteland are not the same thing, at all. But I also know that as I watched her draw those houses, I observed completely uninhibited creativity. She has very few notions about what can't be done. To her every attempt is beautiful. To her, there is no shame in trying.

What happens to us that we stop drawing stick houses and happy people? Sometimes it seems to me there is nothing more worthwhile.
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