Columbia was a wonderful label for me. Wonderful. The records I

Hear the voice of the Queen of Soul, Aretha Franklin, who once said: “Columbia was a wonderful label for me. Wonderful. The records I made there garnered me an audience. I won a number of polls during the years that I was at Columbia. The Downbeat Jazz Poll. Leonard Feather, who was a huge critic back in the day, different polls that he had. The Playboy poll, a number of polls. So the music was great.” These words, though spoken with modest calm, conceal within them a truth of profound weight: that every stage of one’s journey, even those that may seem lesser compared to later triumphs, lays down the foundation for the greatness to come.

For many recall Aretha for her soaring hymns of soul, her immortal cries of Respect and Natural Woman. Yet before these anthems, there was Columbia, a chapter sometimes overshadowed by her later years at Atlantic Records. And here she reminds us that the beginning is never wasted, for in those years she built her craft, reached her first audience, and earned recognition from voices that mattered in the world of jazz and music. It was not yet the full fire of her destiny, but it was the spark that kindled it.

The ancients understood this truth well. When Heracles was young, he was not yet the hero who would slay monsters and earn immortality. He was first a boy, practicing strength through humble labors, honing skills that one day would make him mighty. Just so, Aretha Franklin’s years at Columbia were her early labors, the shaping of her voice, the gathering of her first crowns—not yet the legend, but already the path to it.

She names the Downbeat Jazz Poll, the Playboy Poll, and the work of Leonard Feather, the critic whose words shaped public taste. These honors were no small matter. They were affirmations that her gift had already touched ears and hearts. She remembers them not as fleeting victories, but as markers of a road well-traveled, signs that the music was great, even if the full blaze of her power was still to come. In these words, we hear gratitude, not dismissal—recognition that every season has value.

What then is the lesson for us? It is this: honor the early stages of your journey. Do not despise beginnings because they do not yet reveal the fullness of your glory. The job that trains you, the audience that first listens, the small recognitions and victories along the way—they are all stones in the foundation of greatness. Without them, the tower could not rise. With them, you are prepared for the heights to come.

Practically, let us cultivate remembrance and gratitude. Reflect on where you began, and honor those who gave you opportunity, even if that stage was not your final home. Like Aretha Franklin, speak of those years not with regret, but with thanks. And as you labor now, know that today’s efforts, though small, are tomorrow’s legends. The critic, the teacher, the mentor, the audience—all of them may be the first to recognize your gift, before the world does.

Thus, Aretha Franklin’s words stand as a gentle yet powerful teaching: that success is not born all at once, but grows in stages. Columbia was not the final chapter, but it was a vital one, and she remembered it with reverence. Let us learn likewise: to cherish every step, every beginning, every seed of recognition. For when we do, our lives become not a tale of sudden greatness, but of steady, faithful ascent—each stage preparing us for the moment when our true voice is heard across the world.