Late one afternoon in 1977, James Taylor was strumming his guitar while sitting in the sand on Martha’s Vineyard, looking out at the ocean. At that moment, he had one line: The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.
This, he thought, could be a song. What comes next, he wondered?
Again and again, he would play a few chords, then sing, “The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.” Various words would come out of his mouth next, but none of them seemed to stick.
A young boy wandered over. “Whatcha doing, mister?” he asked.
Taylor looked at the boy and smiled, still strumming softly. “I’m trying to figure out what comes next.”
“Why don’t you ask the guy who wrote it?” the boy asked.
"You know, that's a great idea," Taylor said, looking at the boy with a twinkle in his eye. "But the thing is, I'm the guy writing it, and sometimes even the writer doesn't know what comes next."
The boy, no older than seven, plopped down on the sand beside him, his curiosity piqued. "So you make up songs? Like, out of nothing?" he asked, his eyes wide with wonder.
"Exactly," Taylor replied, his fingers still dancing on the strings of his guitar. "Sometimes a song just starts as a feeling or a thought, and then it grows into words and music."
"But how do you know what to write?" the boy persisted, his gaze fixed on Taylor's guitar.
"That's the tricky part," Taylor admitted. "Sometimes you don't. Sometimes you just have to let the song find its way."
The boy pondered this for a moment, then his face lit up with an idea. "What if you write a song about not knowing what to write? Like, a song about looking for a song?"
Taylor's eyes sparkled with amusement. "That's quite a thought," he said. "A song about searching for itself. I like the way you think, kid."
Encouraged, the boy continued, "And maybe the song is all around us. Like, in the waves, or the wind, or the people walking by. Maybe you just have to listen."
Taylor nodded, struck by the child's insight. "Maybe you're right. Maybe the song is already here, just waiting to be heard." He began to play a soft, thoughtful melody, letting the sounds of the beach—the rhythmic crashing of the waves, the laughter of distant beachgoers, the whisper of the wind—guide his fingers.
As a melody emerged, the boy lay back on the sand, closing his eyes, a contented smile on his face. Taylor watched him for a moment, then turned his gaze to the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a perfect line.
"The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time," he sang softly, the words taking on new meaning in the presence of the young boy. "Any fool can do it, there ain't nothing to it.
“Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill. But since we're on our way down, we might as well enjoy the ride."
The song unfolded like a gentle wave, effortless and natural. Taylor felt a sense of gratitude for this unexpected muse, this child who had, in his innocence, unlocked the door to creativity.
As the afternoon waned and the sun began its descent, Taylor knew he had found the heart of his song. It was a song about life, about the beauty of uncertainty, and the joy of discovery. And as he played the final chords, he realized that the young boy had been right all along.
The song had been there all the time, woven into the fabric of the world, just waiting to be heard.
I am Bruce Kasanoff, an executive coach for leaders who want to do well by doing good. Book a one-hour call with me and I’ll prove it.