We forget how easy it once was to invent entire worlds armed only with a few good books, a stuffed animal or two, and a room/a tree/a fort to climb into and call our own.
I think it was the safety of that space--the one fully ours with no complications of ownership or anxiety about time passing and proper use of that time--that cultivated such easy enterprise. And my question is, what's changed? Sure, we've become harder, less malleable, more prone to glancing over our shoulder to see who's watching, and lord knows we've invented all kinds of productive-looking habits.
But aren't we still that small creature who dreamed worlds infinitely larger than herself? And didn't we once find comfort in such spaciousness, in such boundless wilderness?