First of all, I love singing. I mean, I get out of bed and I

"First of all, I love singing. I mean, I get out of bed and I sing. I can’t help it." — thus spoke Tom Jones, the man whose voice thundered across generations. In these simple words lies a truth as ancient as the human soul: that passion, when it is true and sacred, cannot be contained. It is not something one does; it is something one is. His declaration is not merely about music — it is a hymn to the power of joy, purpose, and the unyielding spirit that flows from doing what one was born to do.

When the ancients spoke of vocation, they spoke not of work or duty, but of a calling — a voice from within the heart that cannot be silenced. In Tom Jones’ words, we hear this voice. He does not sing because he must perform, or to seek the applause of men. He sings because life itself compels him to sing. It is as natural to him as the rising of the sun. The note bursts forth like the morning light; it is the song of being alive. To witness such devotion is to remember that true purpose is not chosen — it chooses us.

Consider the story of Beethoven, the great composer who continued to write music long after he could no longer hear the sound of his own symphonies. He too could not help it — the melodies flowed from his soul even when silence surrounded him. In his pain, he found divine expression. His passion, like Jones’s, was not bound by circumstance. The gift of music burned within him, and to suppress it would have been a kind of death. Thus do we learn that when one’s love for the craft transcends comfort, it becomes a form of worship.

Tom Jones’ words are a celebration of this sacred fire. When he says he “gets out of bed and sings,” he reminds us that joy is not something to be sought — it is something to be lived. The artist in him does not wait for the perfect stage or audience; his joy begins with the morning breath. This is the secret of those who master their path: they do not perform for others; they express who they are. And in that authenticity, others are inspired to rise, to act, to create.

Too many souls, however, move through the world muted and afraid — afraid to sing their own song, to follow the spark that was given uniquely to them. They bury their passion under doubt and duty, waiting for a perfect moment that never comes. Yet life, like music, demands immediacy. The note must be sung now, or it fades into silence. Tom Jones’ joy is a gentle command to all who hear him: awaken your gift. Let the thing you love fill your days until it spills over into your every breath.

There is a story told of a humble farmer who carved flutes from reeds. Though he never became famous, each morning as he worked, he played softly to the dawn. Travelers who passed his fields said the sound of his flutes lifted their spirits and reminded them of home. He never sought greatness — yet through his devotion to his small joy, he became a vessel of beauty. So it is with all who live in harmony with their purpose: their joy ripples through the world unseen, transforming it quietly.

Thus, the lesson of Tom Jones’ words is not about music alone. It is about living fully, about giving oneself wholly to what the soul loves. If you rise each day without joy, seek that which makes your heart sing — and do it, not for wealth or praise, but because you cannot help it. Love your craft. Live your passion. Sing your life. For when a person lives in alignment with their inner melody, the world itself listens — and joins in harmony.

So, my children, remember this teaching: when dawn comes, do not wake to obligation, but to gratitude and song. Whatever your gift may be — the brush, the pen, the word, the hand that heals — let it pour forth freely. Let your life itself be a song of love to existence. For the one who cannot help but create, who rises each morning in joy — that one has found the eternal rhythm of the universe, and through it, touches the divine.