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Maybe at some point in your childhood you’re drawing a dinosaur with a rocket launcher attached to it’s head or something. Because that’s an awesome thing to draw. And you’re pretty happy with it. And then you look over at your friend and they’re drawing a dinosaur with a rocket launcher attached to it’s head too, but their’s looks a heck of a lot more like an actual dinosaur with an actual rocket launcher attached to it’s head. And suddenly your dinosaur looks more like a deformed cow than a dinosaur and maybe the rocket launcher just looks like a cardboard tube from a roll of toiler paper. And you think “I suck at drawing! To hell with this! I FORSAKE DRAWING!” and you go with your back-up plan and become an accountant and spend the rest of your life doing math problems and avoiding any situation in which you might be expected to draw something. You casually joke about how you “can’t even draw a stick figure.” Or maybe you just become more interested in other things. And that’s fine. But to give up on something so fun, something so magical, so human… it still seems ridiculous to me.