A toddler walks into a room. Across the wall are all sorts of gadgets: small switches she can push and pull, little lamps that flicker. She doesn't quite get what it all means, but her brain seems to like it. Her mom points out a couple patterns here and there, how to predict bits of the wall from nearby levers. She spends the rest of the day solving these tiny puzzles.
A girl walks into a room. Across the wall are all sorts of gadgets: chips holding small switches and little lamps, long wires running up and down. She knows the switches and lamps well, but these chips seem new. Seems pretty cool, actually. Her teacher notes her interest and calls a friend, who then delightedly points out the purpose of each and every chip, how the switches and lamps make them work. She spends the rest of the day thinking of chips.
An adult walks into a room. Across the wall are all sorts of gadgets: electric machines with chips and wires running up and down, with strange inputs and outputs between them. She knows how many of the machines work, which only grows her admiration. And still, there are so many fascinating machines left. She's experienced now, knows where to find the guides to explore. She spends the rest of the day reading about the latest machine.
An old lady walks into a room. Across the wall are all sorts of gadgets: electric machines working perfectly in sync, all with their unique flair. A new floor was made to house some new ones, one of which she proudly helped build. It's a wondrous and familiar room. She accepts that her prime has passed and spends the rest of the day showing others the room, pointing out a couple patterns here and there, how to predict bits of the wall from nearby levers.
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