The Couch Cushions Were Our Training Ground (We Just Forgot)

It’s funny what we tolerate—and what we don’t.

As kids, we tolerated absurdity like pros. We built worlds out of couch cushions and declared the living room a no-go zone unless you could leap from pillow to pillow like an Olympic gymnast escaping molten lava. The rules were clear: the floor would eat you alive, the curtains were rope ladders, and Mom’s decorative pillows were not just for show—they were for survival. Sure, we knew we’d face judgment (and maybe a chore or two) for wrecking the living room, but we also knew we could smooth it over. Probably with a sheepish grin and a cold Coke fetched from the kitchen after our daring adventure.

We didn’t just play—we conjured. We created unpredictable landscapes, invented solutions on the fly, and trusted ourselves to figure it out, mess and all.

Then somewhere along the way, we traded lava for logic.

We learned that creativity should come with conditions. That risk should be backed by certainty. That innovation needs a business case, and “weird” should be saved for weekends or brainstorming retreats with snacks and sticky notes.

No wonder the youngest members of our workforce—those who once ruled the lava floor—are now feeling the most pessimistic. Amid economic uncertainty and AI-shaped unknowns, the confidence of Gen Z and millennials is dropping. And maybe it’s because somewhere along the line, they were taught to stop playing. Stop leaping. Stop imagining absurd solutions to impossible problems.

But let’s get real: if there was ever a time to drag the couch cushions back out, it’s now.

Because the world isn’t offering stable ground. It’s offering lava. And the ones who will make it across aren’t the ones with the best plan—they’re the ones who remember how to leap, how to play, and how to problem-solve with a wild heart and a busted curtain rod.

Creativity was never supposed to be something we grow out of. It was training. And we’ve been ready all along.