Write the right answer to the question based on the context passage.

What is creativity?
How de we define creativity?
Where does creativity come from?
How philosophical is the notion of creativity?
Is everyone's ‘creativity' different?
Or is it an ill conceived, simplified term that is used to describe a very specific series of neuronal & bodily reactions to certain stimuli?
These are all the questions I've been thinking (and googling, and youtubing) since beginning this Capturing Creativity studio* and I have found some answers or maybe I've just found more questions:
Creativity is generally defined as the ability to make new things, or come up with new ideas, it's an ability to think outside the box, to see unique solutions and employ them in inventive ways. In this sense creativity is not always utilised when being ‘creative', as to be creative is simply defined as the ability to make or produce something. However I guess that depends on your definition of creative, how different, unique, special, once off, un-influenced does something have to be, to be classified as creative?
This is where creativity get's tricky.
It's all well and good to be like oh this is what creativity is, so it's easy to investigate it, but what if you don't define that as being creative, maybe that was just following a formula, a somewhat inspired formula, but maybe it is just a formula. Creativity to most people seems to be a random mix of once off genius combined with solid skill and hard work and for us humans these percentages are unique to us.
Maybe creativity to you is 90% unique idea, 5% skill and 5% hard work.
Maybe creativity to you is 40% unique idea, 50% skill and 10% hard work.
Maybe for you creativity doesn't have to involve any hard work at all.
For me when it comes to creativity I'm most interested in that unique idea portion; where does that unique idea come from?
Is it simply random?
Is it a gift from the gods?
Is our unique idea just a product of a lot of subconscious effort, only made aware to us in the sense of a ‘random' idea?
Have we been influenced by something, processed it subconsciously, then come up with a creative idea, only to be unaware of the original influence? Question: What can be defined as an ability to think outside the box
Creativity

"Please remember me to myself!"
When sliding toward mania in 2016, I begged this of my therapist. He cocked his head.
"What do you mean?"
I had no idea—on a conscious level—what I was asking for, just that I felt in a desperate sense that the self I knew was slipping away. An inability to recognize myself either in my writing or in reflecting upon my own actions was taking over.
And then…? I didn't care.
I wanted to kiss girls.
Which is fine—just not something I ordinarily do.
I wanted to drink, smoke.
Again, fine—but not something I ordinarily do.
"Do I seem…okay?" I asked a colleague at work. A woman I barely knew. Insanely, I thought that since she worked with disabled students, many of whom struggled with mental illness, she would know mania when she saw it.
This was a rather foolish assumption—especially since she's an educator, not a psychiatrist, especially with how skilled I am at wearing the mask of calm, the face of sanity.
"You seem great, Julie. Cheery. Professional as always."
I let her reassurance placate me. Wanted to be placated.
Yet, within months I lost my job. And not only that, but a chance at a scholarship, two really important long term friendships—relationships I'd enjoyed since high school. I was hospitalized three times between September and February. I lost my ability to trust myself, lost my mind.
It is now a little over two years since I first felt that sliding. Twenty-six months since I knew that somewhere in the deepest parts of who I am, I was slipping. Nine seasons since I begged Dr. Poe, "Remember me to myself!"
I'm still recuperating.
Yes.
I have felt like I wasn't me. Question: What did Julie ask her colleague at work?
"Do I seem okay?"

A long time ago, when humans still lived in cities, on a cold morning near the end of a long, cruel winter, in magnificent Central Park in the middle of magnificent New York City, a young squirrel named Patch was awakened very early by the growls of his empty stomach. A squirrel's home is called a drey. Patch's drey was very comfortable. He lived high up an old oak tree, in a hollowed-out stump of a big branch that had long ago been cut off by humans. The entrance was only just big enough for Patch to squeeze in and out, but the drey itself was spacious, for a squirrel. Patch had lined his drey with dry leaves, grasses and bits of newspaper. It was warm and dry, and on that cold morning he would have liked nothing better than to stay home all day and sleep. But he was so hungry. Hunger filled him like water fills a glass. The cherry and maple trees had not yet started to bud; flowers had not yet begun to grow; the juicy grubs and bugs of spring had not yet emerged; and it had been two days since Patch had found a nut. Imagine how hungry you would feel if you went two whole days without eating, and you may have some idea how Patch felt that morning. Patch poked his head out of the drey into the cold air and shivered as he looked around. Clumps of white, crumbly ice still clung to the ground. Gusts of cold wind shook and rustled the trees' bare branches. The pale and distant sun seemed drained of heat. Patch took a moment to satisfy himself that there were no dangers nearby, no hawk circling above or unleashed dog below. Then he emerged from his drey and began to look for acorns. But what marvels, what miracles, what mysteries are hidden inside those simple words! Question: Who was hungry?

a squirrel

