Becoming a father allowed me to become a much better composer

James Newton Howard once shared with tender honesty: “Becoming a father allowed me to become a much better composer, because it allowed me to have tremendous patience. I have much more tolerance for opposing opinions, short attention spans, changes of heart. And faith in the future.” In these words lies the revelation that fatherhood is not only the raising of a child, but also the remaking of the self. For in the crucible of nurturing life, a man learns patience, tolerance, and faith, virtues that refine not only his art but his soul.

The origin of this insight is rooted in Howard’s life as both a celebrated composer and a father. Known for scores that have stirred the hearts of millions in films, he discovered that artistry alone is not shaped by technique or inspiration, but by the very character of the artist. In the presence of his children, he was tested in ways no orchestra or studio could test him. The unpredictability of a child’s nature—restless, questioning, ever-changing—taught him to embrace flexibility, to listen more deeply, and to create from a place of greater humility and endurance.

History offers us many parallels. Consider Johann Sebastian Bach, who fathered twenty children, several of whom became composers themselves. His life was not merely a tale of genius, but of discipline shaped by responsibility. It was in the balance of fatherhood and music that Bach’s patience deepened, and through the daily demands of raising a family, his compositions gained the depth and structure that still move the soul today. Like Bach, Howard reminds us that the presence of children reshapes the artist’s ear, tuning it to the rhythms of life itself.

Howard’s words also point toward the transformation of tolerance. In the artistic world, egos often clash, opinions diverge, and visions collide. Yet a father, trained by the stubbornness of a child and the tenderness required to guide them, learns to bend without breaking, to listen without anger, to accept difference without fear. This newfound tolerance allowed Howard to thrive in collaboration, to welcome the chaos of creation, and to transform discord into harmony.

Most striking of all is his mention of faith in the future. Parenthood plants a seed of hope in the soil of the soul. Where once an artist may have created for acclaim, for beauty, or for expression alone, fatherhood gives creation a new horizon: the future of one’s children, and of the world they will inherit. This faith infuses his music with greater depth, carrying not only emotion but also vision. It is the faith that tomorrow can be brighter, that patience today sows beauty for generations to come.

The lesson here is timeless: children are teachers as much as they are students. They stretch us, humble us, and force us to become more than we thought possible. They remind us that greatness lies not only in ambition but in endurance, not only in mastery but in gentleness. The parent who learns patience, tolerance, and faith has gained treasures greater than applause, for they have cultivated virtues that endure beyond the fleeting moments of recognition.

Practical wisdom flows from this truth. Embrace the trials of family life as sacred training grounds. When patience is tested, see it as growth. When tolerance is demanded, recognize it as refinement. When faith feels hard, remember that each sacrifice is a seed planted in the soil of the future. In your work—be it art, business, or service—let the lessons of parenthood shape your craft, for they will give it both strength and soul.

Thus, let James Newton Howard’s words echo across time: fatherhood is not a distraction from greatness, but a path to deeper greatness. In the laughter, stubbornness, and unpredictability of children, one finds the forge of patience, the birth of tolerance, and the renewal of faith. And in these virtues, both the artist and the human being rise to their fullest glory.