An Audience of Cows (Literally!)

When I was a child, my grandparents lived next to a farm.

Beyond the fence was a small herd of cows that spent most of their days grazing, minding their own business, and generally being cows.

For reasons known only to my younger self, I decided they would make an excellent audience.

So I sang to them.

Frequently.

I'd walk over to the fence and perform whatever song had captured my attention that week. Disney songs. Songs from the radio. Songs I probably only knew half the words to.

And the strangest thing would happen.

The cows would gather.

One by one, they'd wander over and stare at me.

Not in an encouraging way.

Not in a critical way.

Just…confused.

They would stand there silently, blinking, as if trying to determine whether I was in distress.

I, meanwhile, interpreted their presence as overwhelming support.

The concerts continued.

Looking back, I laugh at how naturally I performed back then. I wasn't worried about whether I was good. I wasn't wondering what anyone thought. I wasn't comparing myself to anyone else.

I simply liked singing.

So I sang.

The cows didn't care if I hit the right notes.

They didn't care if I forgot a lyric.

They didn't care whether I was talented or experienced.

They just showed up.

Sometimes I think about those afternoons when life feels complicated.

About that little girl standing by a fence, singing her heart out to an audience that may or may not have thought she was completely ridiculous.

There's something beautiful about creating before self-consciousness arrives.

Before perfectionism.

Before comparison.

Before the need to prove yourself.

You do it because it brings you joy.

And honestly?

I think the cows had the right idea.