Do you want to be an artist and a writer, or a wife and a lover?

The words of Stevie Nicks—“Do you want to be an artist and a writer, or a wife and a lover? With kids, your focus changes. I don’t want to go to PTA meetings.”—rise like a cry from the heart of one who chose the path of creation over the path of convention. They are not words of disdain for family life, but words of honesty about sacrifice. For in the realm of mortals, no one may hold all crowns at once. To be an artist is to give one’s soul to the fire of inspiration, to labor for song, story, and vision. To be a parent is to give one’s soul to the nurturing of another life. Both are sacred, but each demands so much that they cannot easily coexist without one dimming the other.

The ancients often told of this tension: the hero who left hearth and home to pursue glory, and the mother who remained to preserve the line of her people. Achilles chose glory on the battlefield, knowing he would never live to old age. Penelope chose devotion, weaving and waiting through the years. Each path was honorable, but neither was without loss. So too does Stevie Nicks speak of this crossroads. She chose to guard the flame of her art, rather than scatter its embers in the countless duties of family life. Her refusal of PTA meetings is not the rejection of love, but the rejection of a life that would scatter her energy away from her true calling.

History gives us many mirrors of this struggle. Consider Virginia Woolf, who declared that a woman must have “a room of her own” if she is to write. She knew that to create enduring art, one must have solitude, focus, and freedom from endless domestic duty. In times past, many women were denied that freedom, their gifts buried beneath the weight of expectation. Stevie Nicks, standing in her truth, echoes Woolf’s cry: if she is to be true to her songs, she cannot divide herself endlessly. She chose the room of creation over the room of committee meetings, and thus the world was given music that has endured for generations.

But these words are not only for artists; they are for all who wrestle with the question of focus. Every life must choose what it serves. Some serve through family, some through art, some through public service, some through devotion to craft or knowledge. To imagine we can do all things at once is to live in illusion. Nicks’ wisdom is in her clarity: she knew what her spirit was made for, and she refused to bind herself to roles that would betray that destiny. There is bravery in such refusal, for the world often demands conformity.

Yet, there is no shame in the other path. Those who give themselves fully to family, who attend the meetings, who set aside their art for the nurture of children, are heroes of another kind. Their legacy may not echo in song or book, but it lives in the souls of the children they shape. What Nicks reminds us is not that one path is superior, but that one cannot walk both with equal strength. To live fully, one must choose, and in choosing, one must embrace both the glory and the loss.

The lesson, then, is this: know your calling. Do not live by the demands of the crowd, but by the fire within. If your heart is drawn to art, guard it with ferocity. If your heart is drawn to family, serve it with all your strength. But do not imagine you can serve both equally without sacrifice. The tragedy of many lives is not in choosing wrongly, but in refusing to choose, and thus doing all half-heartedly.

Therefore, let your actions be these: examine your soul honestly. Ask yourself what legacy you long to leave, and what weight your heart can carry. Accept that in choosing one life, you set aside another, and let that knowledge deepen your devotion to the path you embrace. And most of all, honor the choices of others—be they the artist who forsakes domestic duty, or the parent who forsakes the stage—for each has chosen a sacred burden, and each is worthy of reverence.

Thus, Stevie Nicks’ words endure as a guide: life is a song of choices, and the strength of the melody depends on the courage of the one who sings. Whether you sit in the halls of art or the halls of family, let your voice be true, your devotion undivided, and your spirit unashamed. For the greatness of life is not in doing all things, but in doing one thing with love, fire, and faithfulness.