Draw Me a Self

Keren Levi-Faran
Jun 3
2 min read

A quiet return to the things that never stopped asking.

The Desert and the Drawing

"Please… draw me a sheep."

That's how it begins.

A golden-haired child. A crash-landed pilot.

A question that asks for something beyond explanation.

It did not solve my problem.

Do not teach me the truth.

Just draw me something that matters to me.

And something that could matter to you again, too.

Through His Eyes

In The Little Prince, a child from another planet arrives with eyes wide open.

He speaks to roses. He tames foxes. He listens to silences.

He sees grown-ups obsessed with numbers and status and finds it absurd.

To him, only what is invisible matters.

Only what is felt is not proven.

And through his gaze, we remember a forgotten truth:

We once knew how to wonder.

We once loved things that didn't make sense, but they still made meaning.

When the Child Fades

Adulthood teaches performance.

Protection. Pragmatism.

We trade our sheep for spreadsheets, our questions for certainty.

But what if returning to yourself is less about becoming more and more about remembering what never stopped calling?

The Little Prince doesn't ask us to regress.

He invites us to return.

To the essentials. To care.

To what still glows softly beneath all the roles.

Questions to Reflect On

What part of me still knows how to wonder?

Where have I stopped asking questions that matter?

What is my "rose," the thing I quietly care about, even if no one else understands?

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Closing Whisper

You don't need to make sense of it.

You don't need to go back.

Only to notice what still glows beneath the grown-up noise.

What still asks softly to be drawn, not because it's real but because it's real to you.

You are allowed to remember the things that never stopped mattering.

You're invited to return with care.

Download the Draw Me a Self Practice.