There is a Chinese saying: “To do a good job, one must first sharpen one’s tools.” And that is true. But before sharpening the tool, we must first understand the task itself. Otherwise, we may end up “using a cleaver to kill a chicken”.

When children begin trying to understand the world, their core question is usually not: “What is the correct answer?” More often, it is:

“Can I do this?”

“What happens if I try?”

“Does this work?”

Children learn through action — by trying, observing the result, and slowly forming their own understanding. In the natural world, cause and effect are clear. If something falls, it makes a sound — it may even break. If they kick a ball harder, it rolls faster — perhaps even flies into the air. If they pull gently on a heavy chair, it does not move. Through experiences like these, children begin to understand force, sequence, and cause and effect — all without formal teaching.

And through this predictable rhythm of action and consequence, they gradually develop a sense of familiarity and safety. This sense of safety is the foundation of learning. When children feel secure, they dare to try. And when they try, they learn.

In the classroom, I have often seen children using the simplest materials — paper, pencils, sand trays — to draw, write, and express themselves freely. Even without carefully designed tools, they instinctively use marks, shapes, and symbols to communicate. It is part of their nature.

Today, however, we live in a world overflowing with tools. And yet, the more tools children are surrounded by, the more hesitant they sometimes become. They grow cautious. They become afraid of doing something “wrong”. I have watched children using digital drawing tools. The systems are beautifully designed — step-by-step guidance, undo buttons, automatic corrections. Nothing truly fails. Everything feels “safe”. And yet, something is missing. Real consequences. In real life, there is no “undo” button.

Over time, I began to notice something else: The more sophisticated the tool, the more hesitant the child often becomes. They ask:

“Is this right?” “Should I do it this way?”

And then they wait for instructions.

But when children draw on paper, things feel very different. They know how many strokes it takes to fill a space. They know how hard to press the pencil. They know how to erase and try again. Their movements carry confidence. Their attention remains steady. With digital tools, however: They tap the screen without knowing what will happen. The image changes unexpectedly. Again and again, they ask:

“Why did that happen?” “What should I press next?”

Their attention begins to scatter. Instead of focusing on the activity itself, they are reacting to the tool.

Gradually, I came to realise: Tools are not the foundation. The true foundation is the child’s inner stability — their willingness to try, to explore, to make mistakes without fear. Only when the soil is healthy, and the conditions are right, can tools and “fertiliser” truly accelerate growth and bring a good harvest. A child’s psychological foundation is that soil. It is the ground that allows them to dare to touch, dare to try, and dare to experiment. Once this foundation is firmly in place, tools can begin to fulfil their real purpose.

There was something I never understood in the past. Why were my children so attached to that tiny electronic keyboard with only thirteen keys, while the newer, more advanced keyboards we later bought were quietly abandoned? Looking back now, perhaps it was because that simple little keyboard allowed them to feel at ease. Whereas the multifunctional one never quite allowed their minds to settle.