A long, long time ago— I mean, a LONG time ago, I worked at a daycare. I was in charge of twelve 3 - 5 years olds. We had crazy fun romping around, traveling to distant lands in imaginative storytelling, making art, etc.

One day I was sitting at one of the small tables with two boys— Jonathan and Caleb. Jonathan asked me to draw him a mouse. It brought up my insecurity around not being able to draw, but I didn’t want to project that insecurity. So the conversation looked like this:

J: Draw me a mouse!
R: No, you draw me a mouse.
J: Nooo, come on draw me a mouse,
R: You draw the mouse.
J: But I want you to draw the mouse.
Repeat many times.

Then Caleb grabs a crayon and scribbles— in one color— on a piece of paper something that looks just like a big scribble.

Caleb: Here’s a mouse!
J: Look! There’s a mouse.

I sat there staring at the scribble labeled: mouse. At first I couldn’t see it. And then I saw it. Not that I saw the sophistication of abstract lines, but I saw the power of imagination. And I thought, I want that back. I’m still working on it, but in my moments of creative doubt I think about Jonathan and Caleb and the mouse.