At my last lecture, I had brought along several hundred of them. I wanted everyone to get one when they walked into the lecture hall, but in the confusion, I forgot to have the folks at the door pass them out. Too bad. My plan was this: As I spoke about childhood dreams, I’d ask everyone to close their eyes and rub their crayons in their fingers—to feel the texture, the paper, the wax. Then I’d have them bring their crayons up to their noses and take a good long whiff. Smelling a crayon takes you right back to childhood, doesn’t it? I once saw a colleague do a similar crayon routine with a
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