As time goes by, I realize that I do trust the wind. And I often

"As time goes by, I realize that I do trust the wind. And I often write my songs for myself." These words, spoken by David Friedman, carry with them a deep reflection on trust and the personal nature of creativity. As the winds of time blow through our lives, we begin to understand that there are forces beyond our control—forces that shape and guide us, like the invisible wind that carries the song of the world. To trust the wind is to place faith in the intangible, in forces that cannot always be seen but can always be felt. It is to trust in the flow of life, in the rhythm of the universe that moves us even when we do not understand where it leads.

The ancients often spoke of the wind as a symbol of both change and mystery. In Greek mythology, the anemoi—the gods of the winds—were seen as powerful, unpredictable forces, each representing different aspects of nature’s breath. The wind, though unseen, was believed to carry the will of the gods, shaping the world and guiding the lives of mortals. In this sense, the wind was not merely a natural element but a metaphor for the unseen forces that shape our destiny. To trust the wind was to trust in fate and in the unseen paths that life sets before us, knowing that even in uncertainty, we are part of something greater.

Likewise, the Romans saw trust as an essential component of virtue. For them, fides—trust and faithfulness—was the foundation of both personal relationships and societal stability. But it was not a blind trust. It was a trust that acknowledged the unknowns of life, that embraced the uncertainty of the future. In this way, Friedman’s reflection on trusting the wind resonates with the ancient wisdom that to live fully, one must learn to surrender to the forces of the world while still walking the path with purpose. Trust in the wind is not passive; it is an active engagement with life, an acknowledgment that we must both direct and yield to the forces that guide us.

The second part of Friedman’s statement, "I often write my songs for myself," speaks to the intimate and personal nature of creation. In the ancient world, creativity was seen as a divine gift, a way to connect with the gods. Homer, in his epic works, did not merely tell the stories of men; he gave voice to the deepest human emotions and struggles. His stories were not only for his audience but were a reflection of his own soul, his own understanding of the world. Friedman’s words echo this deep personal relationship with creativity, for when we create, we do so not just for the world, but for ourselves. The act of creating is a sacred practice, one that allows us to reflect on who we are and how we understand the world.

This personal connection to creativity is mirrored in the life of Leonardo da Vinci, whose paintings were not only masterpieces of technique but were deeply personal expressions of his inner world. Da Vinci’s famous painting, Mona Lisa, is often seen as a representation of universal beauty, but it is also a deeply personal expression of the artist’s own contemplation of the human soul. He painted not merely for fame, but to understand and explore the complexity of life. Just as Friedman writes songs for himself, da Vinci created his art as a way of engaging with his own thoughts and emotions, ultimately creating works that resonate deeply with humanity.

As time moves forward, we often find ourselves in the same position as Friedman—realizing that the winds of change are not to be feared but embraced. Trusting the wind does not mean surrendering to chaos, but rather understanding that we are part of a larger flow, a greater rhythm that connects us all. Similarly, the songs we write, whether they are literal or metaphorical, are not just for others; they are a means of expression, a way of understanding our own journey. Creation is an act of self-discovery, a chance to connect with what is deepest within us, to understand the forces that shape us and how we can contribute to the world around us.

Thus, the lesson from David Friedman’s reflection is clear: trust the wind of life, and create from a place of authenticity and self-understanding. In our own lives, we must recognize the unseen forces that shape us—whether they are external challenges, inner desires, or the currents of life that carry us forward. We must learn to trust those forces, knowing that they guide us toward growth. And in doing so, we must create for ourselves, not just for others. The song we write, the work we produce, must come from our heart, for only then can it truly resonate with others. Like Homer, like da Vinci, and like Friedman, we must honor the personal nature of creation and the sacred trust we place in the unseen forces that guide us on our journey.

May we take these lessons with us as we face the winds of change, trusting that each gust carries us forward, and that our creativity—born from self and trust—can shape the world in ways we cannot yet imagine.