At some point, somebody handed us a box of crayons.

We did not ask whether we were talented.

We did not worry about whether the finished picture was worth framing.

We did not compare our technique with somebody on the internet who had 4.7 million followers and a suspiciously perfect collection of sharpened colored pencils.

We picked a color.

And we colored.

Maybe the sky was blue.

Maybe it was purple.

Maybe the dog was green because the green crayon happened to be closest.

Nobody needed an artist’s statement.

Then we grew up.

And, like so many perfectly enjoyable things from childhood, we decided coloring was something we were supposed to leave behind.

Fortunately, adults eventually came to their senses.

We Didn't Stop Coloring Because It Stopped Being Fun

Children are given permission to create for no particular reason.

Adults aren't always so lucky.

Children draw because there is paper.

They color because there are crayons.

They make things because making things is interesting.

Adults tend to require justification.

Is it productive?

Is it useful?

Can I sell it?

Am I learning something?

Shouldn't I be doing laundry?

Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, recreation became something many of us felt we had to earn.

Coloring became associated with children not because adults stopped enjoying color, pattern or creativity, but because we decided those things needed a more respectable purpose.

Adults could paint.

Adults could study art.

Adults could decorate houses.

But sitting at the kitchen table filling a dragon with purple pencil?

Apparently we had important adult business to attend to.

The dragon waited.

Then Adults Started Coloring Again

Adult coloring books certainly existed before the modern boom, but something remarkable happened during the 2010s.

They became enormously popular.

Bookstores suddenly devoted entire displays to intricate gardens, mandalas, animals, fantasy worlds and elaborate patterns.

Colored-pencil sets became increasingly sophisticated.

People shared completed pages online.

Publishers who once would have considered coloring books almost exclusively children's products discovered an enormous adult audience.

It was sometimes treated as a strange fad.

It wasn't particularly strange.

Adults had simply rediscovered something children already knew:

It feels good to make something colorful.

Coloring Removes the Most Intimidating Part

Give someone a blank sheet of paper and say:

Create something.

For many adults, that's terrifying.

What should I draw?

Where do I begin?

What if it looks terrible?

Now give that same person an illustration and say:

Choose the colors.

Everything changes.

The intimidating first step has already been taken.

The lines exist.

The composition exists.

The subject exists.

You aren't being asked to invent the world.

You're being invited into it.

That distinction matters.

Coloring provides structure without removing choice.

You decide whether the dress is red or blue.

Whether the forest is realistic or enchanted.

Whether the dragon has traditional scales or looks as though it collided with a box of Mardi Gras decorations.

There is enough structure to make beginning easy and enough freedom to make the finished page yours.

There Is No Correct Purple

This may be one of coloring's greatest gifts.

Most of adult life is filled with correct answers.

Bills have due dates.

Forms have boxes.

Recipes have measurements.

Roads have speed limits.

Passwords apparently require seventeen characters, a hieroglyph, the blood of an ancestor and one uppercase letter.

Coloring asks much less of us.

Would you like the mushroom to be turquoise?

Fine.

Should the moon be gold?

Absolutely.

Pink raven?

Nobody is coming to arrest you.

Coloring creates a small place where decisions have consequences that are almost entirely harmless.

Choose the wrong color?

There isn't one.

Go outside the lines?

Civilization survives.

Change your mind halfway through?

Call it shading.

For people accustomed to measuring themselves against outcomes, there is something wonderfully rebellious about an activity where the stakes are almost nonexistent.

Your Hands Get Something to Do

Modern life happens increasingly inside our heads and on screens.

We scroll.

Type.

Click.

Swipe.

Read.

Watch.

Answer.

Refresh.

Repeat.

Coloring is tactile.

You feel the pencil against the paper.

You hear the faint scratch of pigment.

You sharpen a pencil.

You turn the page.

You watch an empty section gradually fill.

The progress is physical and visible.

There was blank paper.

Now there is color.

That simple transformation can be deeply satisfying.

It also requires enough attention to interrupt the endless mental chatter without demanding the concentration of something complicated.

For a while, there is only:

Which color next?

Coloring Is Creative—Even When You Didn't Draw the Picture

There is a peculiar tendency to dismiss coloring because someone else created the line art.

But creativity does not require originating every component.

Musicians interpret songs they didn't compose.

Cooks use recipes they didn't invent.

Gardeners arrange plants they didn't create.

Interior designers work with furniture other people manufactured.

Creativity frequently happens through choices.

Coloring is full of them.

Palette.

Contrast.

Texture.

Blending.

Shading.

Highlights.

Medium.

Background.

Mood.

Two people can begin with identical pages and produce completely different images.

One creates a muted Victorian garden.

Another creates a neon fever dream.

Same lines.

Different imagination.

And You Don't Have to Be Good at It

There are people who color at extraordinary levels.

They blend pencils beautifully.

Create realistic lighting.

Layer colors.

Add backgrounds.

Transform relatively simple line drawings into finished works of art.

Wonderful.

You don't have to do any of that.

You can own twelve pencils.

You can use crayons.

You can color everything flat.

You can abandon a page halfway through because you suddenly decide you hate coloring tiny leaves.

You can possess a magnificent 120-pencil set and somehow use the same six colors every time.

There is no licensing board for coloring.

Nobody will revoke your crayons.

The point is not mastery unless you want it to be.

The point can simply be enjoyment.

Coloring Can Be Social Without Requiring Conversation

Creative activities don't always have to be solitary.

People color together.

Families color at the same table.

Friends exchange pages.

Online communities share finished work, palettes and techniques.

Someone who feels uncomfortable simply sitting and talking may find conversation easier when everyone's hands are occupied.

There is no pressure to maintain constant eye contact.

Silence isn't awkward.

Everyone has something to do.

The activity gives the room a rhythm.

For generations, people experienced something similar while quilting, sewing, knitting, shelling peas or working on other repetitive tasks together.

Sometimes companionship works best when nobody has to perform it.

It Can Also Be Entirely Yours

The opposite is equally valuable.

You don't have to show anyone your coloring pages.

You don't need to post them.

Nobody needs to "like" them.

They don't need to match your house.

They don't need to become content.

You can finish a page, close the book and never look at it again.

That may sound pointless.

It isn't.

We have become strangely uncomfortable with activities that produce nothing economically useful.

But leisure is allowed to exist without becoming productivity.

You are permitted to spend two hours making a mermaid's tail blue simply because you wanted to see what it looked like blue.

That is sufficient justification.

The Lines Aren't a Test

We often tell children to "stay inside the lines."

Then we use the phrase metaphorically for the rest of their lives.

Follow the rules.

Don't make a mess.

Do what is expected.

There is nothing wrong with coloring neatly inside the lines if that is satisfying to you.

But there is also something wonderfully appropriate about occasionally ignoring them.

Add something to the page.

Change the background.

Draw another flower.

Give the fairy ridiculous boots.

Turn the pleasant cottage into a haunted cottage.

Nobody said you couldn't.

A coloring page is not sacred.

It is an invitation.

Maybe We Never Outgrew It

Perhaps adult coloring became popular because it offered something surprisingly rare:

A creative activity with almost no barrier to entry.

You don't need to know how to draw.

You don't need a studio.

You don't need expensive equipment.

You don't need to understand color theory.

You don't need to be an artist.

You need a picture and something that makes color.

That's about it.

Children understand immediately what to do with those things.

Adults sometimes need permission.

So consider this permission.

Buy the ridiculous box of pencils.

Color the dragon.

Make the trees purple.

Ignore the laundry for an hour.

There will be plenty of opportunities tomorrow to be responsible, productive and sensible.

But tonight?

There is an unfinished mermaid on the table.

And she needs a tail.