Little Jack Horner

When I was 3-years old, apparently, I sang this little fable quite a bit.

Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner,
Eating his Christmas pie;
He put in his thumb,
And pulled out a plum,
And said, “What a good boy am I!”

— English nursery rhyme with the Roud Folk Song Index number 13027, composer and nursery rhyme collector James William Elliott

Apparently, according to my parents, I happily sang with or without an audience. I was just happily keeping myself busy and enjoying the song and whatever I was doing: playing with blocks or toys.

Today, many decades later, I strive for the same feeling: creating for creating’s sake. Telling stories whether I have an audience or not, not too concerned who was watching, if they were interested or if they thought I was any good.

I wonder if I cared if I got the words right or if I cared about that. Was it just noise or was it music and song? Was I just keeping myself busy and I could have been humming along some gibberish or did I know the words I was singing.

There’s an innocence, a simple naive joy to such a scene that I find not only hard to comprehend today but even more difficult to emulate.

How can we, as adults, or at least as non-3-year-olds, re-create that joy, that innocence? How can we try to “not care” about what people think, about what WE think? I’m not even sure it’s possible.

We can pretend, we can try, and maybe that’s as far as we’re going to get and maybe that’s OK.