Dragon Stories for Kids

Every dragon in the Mountain Clan could roar. Pip's roar was different. When he opened his mouth to roar, what came out was the sound of a flute, sweet and musical and absolutely not scary at all. The other young dragons could shake trees with their roars. Pip's flute-sound made birds land on his head. He tried everything. He ate extra pepper. He practiced in a cave with good acoustics. He held his breath and let it out fast. Still: flutes. The Mountain Clan's yearly gathering was approaching, when all the dragon families would come to share roars, fire-breathing displays, and stories of their bravest moments. Pip dreaded it. On the morning of the gathering, he snuck away to the far meadow instead. There he found a family of travelers in trouble. Their wagon wheel had cracked and the horses were spooked by the rocky trail. The family's small children were crying. Pip was about to hide, but the youngest child saw him and smiled rather than screaming. "Can you help?" the child asked. Pip opened his mouth, intending to speak. His flute-sound came out. The spooked horses, instead of panicking further, pricked their ears forward and grew calm. The musical sound settled them completely. The parents were able to repair the wheel while Pip played, the horses quiet, the children dancing happily in the meadow. When the wheel was fixed, the family cheered. Pip returned to the gathering late. He tried to sneak in quietly, but word had traveled fast in these hills. The clan elder, an ancient dragon named Storm, met him at the entrance. "The travelers' family sent word," Storm said. "Apparently we have a dragon whose sound calms horses and children alike." Pip waited to be laughed at. Instead Storm bowed. "That is a skill no warrior's roar can match. Welcome home, Pip. Show us what you can do."

Dragons were supposed to love fire. They ate it, slept beside it, and breathed it happily. But small, blue-scaled Ember was terrified of her own flame. She didn't know why. The other young dragons blazed away enthusiastically during training, filling the sky with brilliant orange. Ember made tiny sparks and then retreated, gasping. Her trainer, an old dragon called Cinder, noticed. "Tell me," Cinder said one afternoon, when the others had gone home. "It feels too big," Ember said quietly. "What if I can't control it? What if I hurt someone?" Cinder nodded. "That's not fear of fire," she said. "That's responsibility. And that's actually good." She worked with Ember differently than the others. They didn't start with big flames. They started with Ember breathing out just enough heat to warm a cup of water. Then a little more, enough to light a candle. Then a small campfire. Small, manageable, controlled. Ember discovered that her flame, when she felt safe practicing it, was a beautiful deep blue, hotter than almost any other dragon's but far more precise. She could melt a single coin without scorching the table beneath it. The test came on a winter night when an ice shelf cracked over the village river and threatened to flood the downstream homes. The other young dragons' orange flames melted ice broadly but wildly. The water rushing out nearly caused more damage. Ember moved in. Her precise blue flame cut channels in the ice exactly where they needed to be, directing the water safely around the village. She didn't hurt anyone. She helped everyone. Standing in the steam afterwards, Cinder rested a wing on her shoulder. "Now you know," Cinder said. "That I'm not afraid anymore?" Ember asked. "No. That being careful isn't the same as being weak."

Goldie was a small golden dragon who loved books. This was unusual because dragons were not generally readers, but Goldie had discovered a book by accident when she wandered into the village library one rainy afternoon. The librarian, an elderly woman named Dot, had taken one look at a small dragon dripping on her carpet and decided that dragons could use the library like anyone else, provided they were careful with their claws near the pages. Goldie was very careful. She read everything. She read about oceans she'd never seen and animals she'd never met. She read about ancient mountains and distant kingdoms. She read picture books about small children having adventures that seemed just as exciting as any dragon tale. One day a boy named Sam came to the library looking sad. "What's wrong?" Goldie asked, as she was now trusted to help Dot on Tuesdays. "My family might have to move away," Sam said. "Far away. And I don't know anything about the place we're going." Goldie's tail lit up, which is what it did when she had an idea. She searched the shelves with her claw moving carefully along the spines. She pulled out four books: one with pictures of the mountains near Sam's new town, one with stories from that region, one with the local foods and festivals, and one that happened to be an adventure novel set in exactly that part of the country. "You'll know it before you even get there," Goldie said. Sam read all four books. He also talked to Goldie about them for two Tuesdays in a row. The day before he left, he came back to the library. "I'm still a little scared," he said. "But I feel like I'm going somewhere familiar now." Goldie smiled. Books did that. They made the unknown feel a little less so. "Come find another library when you get there," she said. "They'll have even more."

Fern was a young forest dragon who loved to practice her flying. She swooped between the tall pines, did loop-the-loops over the meadow, and once, trying a particularly ambitious barrel roll, clipped a beehive with her tail and sent bees buzzing in every direction. The bees were fine. They found their way home. But the honey scattered across the meadow, and the beehive was cracked, and Fern could see the beekeeper's cottage below, which meant the beekeeper would definitely notice. Fern flew away very fast. But the feeling that came with her was awful. It sat in her chest all evening like a swallowed stone. She kept seeing the broken hive. She kept thinking about the beekeeper's hours of work. She couldn't enjoy her dinner. She couldn't sleep. At dawn she flew back to the meadow. The beekeeper, a tall woman named Hana, was already there, looking at the damage and shaking her head. "That was me," Fern said, from a respectful distance. Hana looked up at the dragon hovering nervously at the meadow's edge. "I did a barrel roll. My tail hit it. I flew away. I shouldn't have." Fern landed carefully a few feet away. "I want to help fix it." Hana studied her for a long moment. "You came back," she said. "It took me a while," Fern admitted. Hana put her hands on her hips. "Well. I need wood for a new base. And the honey needs collecting before it attracts ants." Fern spent the whole day helping. Her strong tail was actually very useful for moving the heavy log Hana needed. And her breath, cooled right down, helped preserve the honey in the collected jars. By evening the hive was repaired. Hana gave Fern a small jar of honey. "For coming back," she said. Fern knew that was the most important thing she'd done all day.

High above the mountains, there was one cloud that was special. This cloud was warm on the inside, soft as feathers, and smelled faintly of rain and pine trees. Every young dragon knew about it. Nobody agreed on who it belonged to. Cora found it first on a gray Tuesday. She curled up inside it and sighed happily. It was the coziest spot she'd found in years. Then Rex's head appeared through the cloud's edge. "I found this cloud yesterday," Rex said. "I found it today," Cora said. They stared at each other. "I'm not moving," Rex said. "Neither am I," said Cora. They lay in opposite ends of the cloud for an hour, each pretending the other wasn't there, neither enjoying the cloud at all. A very old dragon named Gran drifted by, noticed the situation, and settled on a nearby air current to watch. Eventually Cora spoke. "This is stupid," she said. "Neither of us is happy." "Agreed," Rex said, surprised. "What if we shared?" Rex frowned. "But then there's less cloud for me." "Is there?" Cora asked. She thought about it. "The cloud is the same size. We'd just both be in it." Rex thought about this strange logic. Slowly he moved to the middle. Cora moved too. They lay side by side in the warm, pine-scented cloud. It was noticeably nicer with two. Warmer, somehow. More relaxed. Rex found himself telling Cora about the valley he'd found last month. Cora told him about the place where the wind made music through the canyon. They made plans to visit both. Gran smiled and drifted away. The cloud, it turned out, was big enough for both of them. Most good things are.

Ember was a young dragon who had a funny problem. Every time he laughed, he hiccuped. And every time he hiccuped, little sparks flew out of his nose. "It is so silly," Ember said. "The other dragons do not spark when they laugh." So Ember stopped laughing. When his friends told jokes, he held his breath. When he felt a giggle, he covered his nose. "Why are you so quiet, Ember?" his friend Pip asked. "I do not want to spark," Ember said. "It is silly." One evening, the village had a big feast. Ember went to watch. But the night was cold, and the firewood was wet. No one could light the campfire. "The wood will not burn," a villager said. "The feast will be dark and cold." Ember watched them try and fail. Then Pip nudged him. "Ember," Pip said, "tell a joke and laugh." Ember looked confused. Then he understood. He told the funniest joke he knew. The villagers laughed. Ember laughed too. And when he laughed, he hiccuped. Little sparks flew from his nose, right onto the wet wood. The sparks caught. A small flame grew. Soon, a warm fire crackled in the night. "Ember lit the fire!" the villagers cheered. "His sparks are wonderful!" Ember's eyes went wide. "My silly sparks helped everyone," he said. "Nothing silly about them," Pip said. "They are a gift." After that, Ember laughed all the time. He hiccuped and sparked and filled the night with light. What once felt like a problem had become his best thing.

Ember the dragon lived on a warm hill. Every day, he walked past a small, dark cave. One cold night, he heard a sneeze from inside. "Hello?" Ember called softly. "Is someone in there?" A tiny creature peeped out. It was a small, fluffy thing with big ears. "I am so cold," it said. "The wind blows right into my cave." Ember thought for a moment. Dragons breathe fire, but Ember was careful with his flame. "Step back a little," Ember said. "I will give you a soft, warm breath." The creature stepped back. Ember took a slow breath and blew gently. Warm air rolled into the cave like a soft blanket. The cold left the walls. "Oh, that feels so nice," the creature said. "Thank you!" Ember did this every night. Each evening, he stopped at the cave and blew a warm, gentle breath. The creature was never cold again. One morning, Ember found a little pile of sweet berries outside his door. There was a note made of a leaf. It said, "For my warm friend. Thank you." Ember smiled. He ate the berries. They were the sweetest he had ever tasted. That evening, he asked the creature, "Why did you leave me berries?" "Because you give me warmth every night," the creature said. "I wanted to give you something back." Ember nodded. "Kindness is like a warm breath," he said. "It comes back to you." The two friends sat by the cave as the sun went down. Ember blew a soft warm breath, and they both felt cozy and glad.

Drako the dragon loved flowers. But every time he walked near the village garden, he stepped on the plants. And when he sneezed, his fire burned the leaves. "I am too big and too hot for a garden," Drako said sadly. The gardener saw his sad face. "Why not plant your own garden?" she said. "On that bare hill where no one lives." Drako looked at the hill. It was dry and empty. But he liked the idea. He cleared the rocks with his strong tail. He dug long rows with his claws. He planted seeds with his careful claws, one by one. "Now I water them," Drako said. He carried water from the lake in a big wooden bucket. He poured it gently over the seeds. Day after day, Drako watered and waited. He pulled weeds with the tip of his tail. He shaded the little sprouts from the hot sun with his wing. At first, nothing grew. Drako felt worried. "Have patience," the gardener said. "You are doing everything right." Then one morning, Drako saw green shoots poking up. He did a happy little hop that shook the whole hill. "They are growing!" he roared softly. Weeks passed. The shoots grew tall and strong. Then they burst into flowers of every color. The bare hill became a sea of red, yellow, and blue. Villagers came to see Drako's garden. They had never seen anything so bright. "You made this from nothing," the gardener said. Drako smiled. "I watered and waited," he said. "Care and patience grew this garden."

Nora the dragon could not sleep. Every night, she lay in her cave with her eyes wide open. Too many thoughts buzzed in her head like little bees. "What if I forget to fly tomorrow?" she thought. "What if the sun does not come up?" She tossed and turned. Her tail thumped the cave wall. Morning came, and Nora was tired and cross. "I am so sleepy," she yawned. "But I cannot fall asleep." A wise old owl heard her. "Why do you not sleep, Nora?" the owl asked. "My head is too busy," Nora said. "The thoughts will not stop." The owl nodded. "I have a trick," he said. "Lie down and close your eyes. Then breathe in slowly, and breathe out slowly. Do it three times." Nora lay down. She breathed in slow. She breathed out slow. Her big belly rose and fell like a soft hill. "Now," the owl said, "count the stars you can see in your mind. One, two, three. Slow and steady." Nora counted. One star, two stars, three stars. Her busy thoughts grew quiet. Her tail stopped thumping. "Four, five, six," she whispered. Her eyes grew heavy. Before she knew it, Nora was fast asleep. She slept all through the night and woke up feeling fresh and strong. "Your trick worked!" Nora told the owl. "A calm mind is a sleepy mind," the owl said. "Slow breaths and quiet counting help it rest." From then on, Nora breathed and counted stars every night. Her cave became the coziest, sleepiest place on the hill.

Flint was a small dragon who lived by a big, fast river. He watched the water rush past every day. It was wide and loud and scary. "I will never cross that river," Flint said. "What if I fall in?" His friend Tuck, a little fox, lived on the other side. They called to each other across the water. "Come over and play!" Tuck would shout. "I am too scared!" Flint would call back. One day, a storm came. The water rose fast. Tuck was trapped on a small rock in the middle of the river. "Help!" Tuck cried. "The water is rising!" Flint's heart pounded. His friend needed him. But the river was so big and fast. "I have to help," Flint said to himself. "I have to be brave." He spread his small wings. He took a deep breath. Then he pushed off and flew over the water. The wind pushed him. The spray splashed his face. The river roared below. But Flint kept his eyes on Tuck. "Hold on, Tuck!" he called. "I am coming!" Flint reached the rock. He grabbed Tuck with his claws and lifted him up. Then he flew back over the big river, all the way to the safe shore. "You did it!" Tuck said, shaking and laughing. "You crossed the river!" Flint looked back at the water. "I was so scared," he said. "But you were in trouble. So I flew." "You are the bravest dragon I know," Tuck said. Flint smiled. He had learned that he was braver than he ever knew.

Sol was the biggest dragon in the land. He loved to fly high in the sky, all alone. "This is my sky," Sol said. "Only I may fly here." Whenever birds came near, Sol roared and flapped his huge wings. The birds flew away in fear. "Go away!" Sol shouted. "This sky belongs to me!" Soon, the sky was empty. No birds sang. No kites flew. No clouds even seemed to drift by. Sol flew alone, round and round. But being alone in a big, empty sky was not as fun as Sol thought. It was quiet and boring. "I miss the birds," Sol said softly. "The sky is too empty without them." One day, a small bluebird landed near Sol. "Why did you chase us all away?" it asked. "We only wanted to share the sky." Sol looked down. "I thought the sky was too small for all of us," he said. "But I was wrong. It is big enough for everyone. Will you come back?" The bluebird smiled. "Of course," it said. "The sky was always big enough." The bluebird told the other birds. One by one, they came back. Soon the sky was full of flapping wings and happy songs. Sol flew with them. They swooped and flew together. The sky had never looked so bright. "You were right," Sol said. "The sky is better when we share it." The bluebird chirped. "Everything is better when we share it," it said. And Sol nodded as they flew off into the wide, happy sky.

Nora the dragon woke up one morning and saw white flakes falling from the sky. She had never seen snow before. "What is this cold white stuff?" she asked. "Is it dangerous?" Her friend Pip the rabbit laughed. "It is snow!" he said. "Come outside and play." Nora shook her head. "It looks cold and strange. I will stay inside." Pip hopped around in the snow. He made little rabbit tracks. "Come on, Nora!" he called. "You will love it!" Nora peeped out of her cave. The snow looked soft and quiet. She took one small step outside. A snowflake landed on her nose and melted. "It tickles!" Nora said. She smiled a little. She took another step. The snow crunched under her big feet. It was cold, but not scary. "See?" Pip said. "It is just frozen rain." Nora began to play. She rolled a big snowball with her tail. Then another. She stacked them and made a snow dragon. "It looks like me!" Nora laughed. Then Pip showed her the big hill. "Let's slide down!" he said. Nora lay down and slid. Whoosh! She flew down the hill, faster and faster. Snow sprayed everywhere. At the bottom, she landed in a soft white pile. "That was wonderful!" Nora roared with joy. She and Pip slid down the hill again and again. When they were done, Nora was cold and happy. "I was scared of snow," Nora said. "But it turned out to be so much fun." "That is how new things work," Pip said. "They seem scary until you try them."

Rumble the dragon had a very loud voice. When he talked, the trees shook and the leaves fell. "GOOD MORNING!" he would roar. The little forest animals covered their ears and hid. Rumble did not understand why no one stayed to talk. "WHY DOES EVERYONE RUN AWAY?" Rumble shouted. His voice echoed off the hills. A tiny mouse crept out. She cupped her paws over her ears. "Your voice is too loud," she squeaked. "It scares us." Rumble leaned down. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?" he roared. "I CANNOT HEAR YOU." The mouse tried again, but her voice was too soft. Rumble could not hear her over his own big voice. "I want to hear you," Rumble said. "I just do not know how." The mouse thought. "Try whispering," she said. "Make your voice small, like mine." Rumble tried. He took a breath and let out a tiny, soft sound. "Good morning," he whispered. The mouse smiled. "I heard you!" she said. Rumble's eyes went wide. "And now I can hear you too!" he said. "Your soft voice is so clear." One by one, the forest animals came out. They talked to Rumble in their soft voices, and Rumble whispered back. For the first time, he heard the birds, the frogs, and the gentle rustle of leaves. "I talked too loud for so long," Rumble said. "I never heard how nice the world sounds." "A soft voice is a strong voice," the mouse said. "It lets you listen." Rumble smiled. From that day on, he whispered his good mornings and heard every friend around him.

Kai was a huge dragon. His steps shook the ground, and his wings blocked the sun. He was busy flying to the far mountains. As he walked, he heard a tiny sound. Peep. Peep. Peep. Kai looked down. There, on the grass, was a tiny bird. It had fallen from its nest high in a tree. "Help me," the little bird peeped. "I cannot fly back up. My wings are too small." Kai looked up at the nest. It was high in the branches. Then he looked at the tiny bird. "I am very busy," Kai said. "I must fly to the mountains." But the bird looked so small and scared. Kai could not walk away. "You are small," Kai said, "but you still need help. I will lift you up." Kai scooped the bird into his big, gentle claw. He spread his wings and flew slowly up to the nest. He set the bird down softly beside its brothers and sisters. "Thank you, big dragon," the bird peeped. "You are welcome, little bird," Kai said. The mother bird flew back just then. She saw Kai at the nest and was afraid at first. Then she saw her baby safe inside. "You saved my little one," she said. "You have a kind heart." Kai smiled. "You are so small," he said. "But you matter just as much as any big thing." That day, Kai learned that helping someone small is one of the biggest, best things a dragon can do.

Puff the dragon loved to watch the clouds. They drifted slowly across the sky, soft and white and quiet. "I wish I were a cloud," Puff said. "Clouds just float. They do not have to be big or fiery or loud." Puff tried to be a cloud. He puffed up his cheeks to look round. He flapped his wings slowly and tried to drift. "Am I floating like a cloud?" he asked his friend, a little sparrow. "You are flapping like a dragon," the sparrow said. "You are not a cloud." Puff tried again. He held very still and imagined he was light as air. But he just sank back to the ground with a thump. "I will never be a cloud," Puff sighed. Just then, the wind turned cold. A farmer looked up at the sky. "The frost is coming," he said. "My little plants will freeze." Puff looked at the farmer's field. He had an idea. "Stand back," Puff said. He blew a soft, warm breath over the field. The frost melted. The little plants stood safe and green. "You saved my field!" the farmer said. "No cloud could ever do that." Puff's eyes went wide. "That is true," he said. "A cloud cannot warm a field. But a dragon can." The sparrow smiled. "You see?" it said. "You are not a cloud. You are something even better. You are a dragon." Puff puffed up his chest. "I am a dragon," he said happily. "And that is the best thing to be."

Rusty the dragon loved to fly. He swooped over the hills every morning. It was his favorite thing in the world. Then one day, Rusty flew too fast and clipped a tall tree. He tumbled down and hurt his wing. "It hurts," Rusty said. He could not move his wing at all. The healer looked at it and shook his head. "Your wing is hurt, but it will heal," she said. "You must rest. No flying for a long time." Rusty's heart sank. "A long time?" he said. "But I love flying! I will go crazy sitting still." The first few days were hard. Rusty tried to flap his wing, but it hurt. He tried to fly, but he could only hop. "This is taking forever," Rusty grumbled. "Wings heal in their own time," the healer said. "If you rush, you will hurt it more. Rest and be patient." So Rusty rested. He sat in the sun and watched the clouds. He talked with the other dragons. He let his friends bring him food. Each day, his wing hurt a little less. Each week, he could move it a little more. Weeks passed. Then one morning, the healer smiled. "Try your wing now," she said. Rusty spread his wing. It felt strong. He flapped once, then twice. Then he lifted off the ground and flew. "I am flying!" Rusty shouted with joy. He swooped over the hills again, higher than ever. "Rest was the medicine," the healer said. "You were patient, and your wing thanked you."

In the mountain village, the winters were very cold. The wind howled and the snow piled high. The people shivered in their little houses. Fenn the dragon lived on the mountain above. He saw the people shivering below. His heart ached for them. "I can help," Fenn said. "My fire is warm. I will keep the village warm." Each winter morning, Fenn flew down to the village. He blew a soft, warm breath over the houses. The cold air turned cozy. The people stopped shivering. "Thank you, Fenn!" the children called. But keeping a whole village warm was hard work. Fenn grew tired. His fire grew small. Some days, he could only warm half the houses. "I am sorry," Fenn said one evening. "I am too tired to warm everyone." The villagers looked at each other. They had an idea. "You warm us every day," an old man said. "Now it is our turn to help you." The villagers brought Fenn wood for his fire and hot soup to fill his belly. The children brought him warm blankets for his cave. "With food and rest, I can warm everyone again," Fenn said. His fire grew big and strong. From then on, Fenn warmed the village, and the village took care of Fenn. No one was cold, and no one was tired alone. "We stay warm because we help each other," the old man said. "That is the warmest thing of all." Fenn nodded, his fire glowing bright. The cold could not touch them when they stood together.

Moss was a shy dragon. He lived at the edge of the forest and watched the animals play. But he never joined them. "What if they do not like me?" Moss thought. "What if I say the wrong thing?" So Moss stayed hidden behind the big trees. He watched the rabbits hop and the squirrels chase each other. He wanted to play too, but his voice always got stuck. One day, a little hedgehog was rolling a berry across the grass. The berry rolled away and stopped right at Moss's feet. The hedgehog waddled over. He looked up at the big, shy dragon. "Hello," the hedgehog said. "You found my berry." Moss's heart beat fast. He wanted to run away. But the hedgehog looked friendly. "Hello," Moss said in a tiny, shaky voice. The hedgehog smiled. "I have seen you watching us," he said. "Why do you never come play?" "I am too shy," Moss said. "I do not know what to say." "You just said hello," the hedgehog said. "That is a good start. Do you want to play berry roll?" Moss nodded. They rolled the berry back and forth. Moss laughed when it bounced over a root. The other animals saw them and came over. "Who is your friend?" a rabbit asked the hedgehog. "This is Moss," the hedgehog said. "He is shy, but he is nice." Soon, all the animals were playing with Moss. The shy dragon was not hidden anymore. "Thank you for saying hello first," Moss told the hedgehog. "One hello is all it takes," the hedgehog said. "And now you have lots of friends."

Zig the dragon loved the night sky. It was full of stars, more than he could ever count. "I want to count every star," Zig said. "Every single one." On the first night, Zig pointed at the sky and began. "One, two, three..." But there were so many stars. He lost count and started over. He did this again and again. "This is too hard," Zig said. "There are too many stars. I give up." His friend, a little owl, hooted from a branch. "You do not have to count them all in one night," the owl said. "Count a few each night. Small steps add up." Zig thought about that. "You are right," he said. "I will count ten stars tonight. Just ten." That night, Zig counted ten stars and stopped. He drew ten little marks on the cave wall so he would not forget. The next night, he counted ten more. He added ten more marks. Now he had twenty. Night after night, Zig counted ten stars and made ten marks. Ten became fifty. Fifty became a hundred. The marks covered the cave wall like a second sky. "Look how many I have counted!" Zig said. "I did it a little at a time." After many months, Zig had counted more stars than anyone could believe. The wall glowed with tiny marks. "How did you count so many?" the owl asked. "Ten stars a night," Zig said. "Small steps every day. They add up to big things." The owl hooted with joy. Zig looked at his wall of marks and felt very proud.

Toro the dragon was on his way to visit his friend Bella, who lived across the river. But when he reached the bridge, he stopped. The bridge was very old and very narrow. It was made of thin wooden planks. "I am too big for this bridge," Toro said. "It will break under me." Toro sat down. He looked at the river. It was too wide to jump and too fast to swim. "How will I get across?" Toro sighed. "Maybe I should just go home." But Toro really wanted to see Bella. He thought and thought. "Think, Toro," he said. "There must be another way." He looked up the river. Far away, he saw a place where the water was shallow and full of big flat stones. "Those stones look strong," Toro said. "Maybe I can hop across." Toro walked up the river. He reached the shallow spot. The flat stones stood in a row, like stepping stones for a giant. He took a careful step onto the first stone. It held. Then the next, and the next. Hop, hop, hop. Toro crossed the river stone by stone. He reached the other side, dry and safe. Bella was waiting for him. "You found another way!" Bella said. "I thought you would go home." "I almost did," Toro said. "But I stopped and thought. There is always another way if you look for it." They laughed and played all day. Toro had learned that a problem is only as big as the time you do not spend thinking.