And so for a couple of years my life was divided between my

James Weldon Johnson, poet, songwriter, educator, and voice of a rising people, once reflected upon his youth with these words: “And so for a couple of years my life was divided between my music and my school books.” This gentle remembrance is more than a personal memory—it is a revelation of the eternal tension between duty and passion, between the call of discipline and the song of the heart. In this balance lies the making of greatness: the mind sharpened by study, the spirit uplifted by art.

When Johnson speaks of his music, he speaks of the eternal voice of the soul—creative expression that bursts forth not because it is commanded, but because it cannot be silenced. Music, for him, was not mere pastime, but calling. Yet alongside it were his school books, the symbols of structure, of knowledge, of the disciplined labor that forms the intellect. These two forces—art and study—are often seen as rivals, but Johnson’s life proves them to be companions. Together, they shaped him into the man who would give voice to “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” a hymn that carries both poetry and wisdom, both song and discipline.

This struggle is as old as humanity. In ancient Greece, the philosopher Plato taught that a noble education must hold balance between music and gymnastics—that is, between the cultivation of the spirit through art, and the training of the body through discipline. Johnson lived this same balance in his own youth, though in a different form. His life divided between song and study was not division in truth—it was preparation, the weaving together of threads that would make his destiny strong.

Consider the life of Leonardo da Vinci, whose days were divided between art and science. He sketched the human form with a painter’s eye, yet studied anatomy with a scholar’s rigor. His genius did not spring from choosing one path over the other, but from embracing both. In like manner, Johnson’s dual devotion to music and books gave him a rare power: he could speak to the heart and to the mind, to the spirit of his people and to the intellect of the world.

The deeper meaning of Johnson’s reflection is this: greatness often requires the holding of two worlds at once. To devote oneself only to discipline is to risk dryness of spirit. To devote oneself only to passion is to risk aimlessness. But to carry both—the fire of music and the weight of books, the dream and the duty—this is to build a life of depth and power. Johnson’s youth, though divided, was in truth united by purpose, preparing him for the fullness of his future.

The lesson for us is clear: do not despise the tension between your duties and your passions. Do not imagine that one must destroy the other. Instead, let each strengthen the other. Let discipline give form to your art, and let art give life to your discipline. Like Johnson, you may one day find that what seemed divided in your youth becomes unified in your destiny.

Practically, this means: pursue your studies with diligence, even if your heart longs for song. Pursue your passions with courage, even if your duties call you elsewhere. Balance the two, and trust that life will weave them together in time. For the soul that cultivates both knowledge and creativity becomes not narrow, but expansive—able to dream boldly and to bring those dreams into reality.

So let us carry the wisdom of James Weldon Johnson’s reflection: a life divided between music and school books is not divided at all, but enriched. Let us hold our passions and our duties with equal reverence, knowing that together they form the foundation of greatness. For from such balance is born the harmony of a life well-lived—a life that sings and teaches, that dreams and builds, that endures and inspires.