For the longest time, I didn't even want to admit I was serious

"For the longest time, I didn't even want to admit I was serious about music. Before the Shins, I would tell myself, 'Oh, I'm going to figure something out someday.' I had this romantic vision of being this old dude maybe making guitars or something." These words by James Mercer evoke the quiet conflict that often resides within the heart of an artist. The tension between dreams and reality, between the pull of passion and the weight of responsibility, is a struggle that has faced creators throughout history. Mercer’s confession speaks to a deep self-doubt and the reluctance to fully embrace one's calling. It is the story of an artist who, despite feeling the stirring of his artistic spirit, hesitates to claim it, unsure of the seriousness with which he should pursue it. Like so many before him, he wrestles with the romantic ideal of what an artist should be—someone who creates out of pure inspiration rather than the practicalities of career or public expectation.

In the world of the ancients, there were countless stories of artists, poets, and musicians who, like Mercer, hesitated to embrace their own creative destiny. Socrates himself, before becoming the philosopher we know today, lived a life of self-questioning. Though he was deeply gifted in the art of dialogue, he did not immediately see himself as a teacher or leader. His path to self-actualization was marked by a gradual recognition of his own calling. Like Mercer, Socrates’ romantic vision of being an ordinary man led him to downplay his own potential for greatness. The ancient Greeks understood that the journey to discovering one’s purpose was rarely linear; it was filled with moments of uncertainty and hesitation. It was only through self-reflection and the courage to step forward that many, like Socrates and later figures, were able to embrace their roles as creators and philosophers.

Mercer’s romantic vision of himself as an “old dude maybe making guitars” represents a longing to be connected to something greater, yet not necessarily to the harsh realities of career success. This vision is akin to the idealization of the artist’s life—an existence focused on craft, where the creator, removed from the pressures of the world, creates in the solitude of their own space. Vincent van Gogh, for example, lived in a similar romanticized reality. Though he created some of the most famous and beloved works of art, he was often disconnected from the commercial world, and his self-doubt was pervasive. Van Gogh, like Mercer, did not initially see himself as a serious artist, but was instead driven by a deep, almost obsessive love for his craft. His romanticism about creating art in a simple, almost isolated way was a key part of his process, even if it meant not receiving the recognition he deserved.

However, Mercer’s words also hint at a turning point—the moment when the artist decides to let go of the romantic ideal of creation and embrace the reality of his art. Like Michelangelo, who famously struggled with his own sense of purpose before accepting the monumental task of painting the Sistine Chapel, Mercer’s transition from doubting his future to taking serious action in music reflects a broader truth: commitment to one’s art requires more than just passion or vision; it requires a willingness to step into the world and embrace the challenges that come with pursuing that vision. Michelangelo could have continued to create in isolation, but he chose to bring his art into the light of the world, despite the immense difficulty that lay before him. Mercer, too, faced a choice: would he continue to live with his romantic vision of a life creating in the background, or would he step forward and own his role as a musician?

Mercer’s story also underscores the power of fear in shaping creative paths. The fear of failure, the fear of commitment, and the fear of accepting one’s potential often hold people back from embracing their true calling. Throughout history, many artists have faced this fear, and it is often only through overcoming these fears that they can break free and create something truly meaningful. Take Beethoven, for example, whose later years were marked by the gradual onset of deafness. Despite this immense obstacle, he chose to embrace his art, pushing past the doubts and fears to create some of the most powerful music the world has ever known. Like Beethoven, Mercer had to overcome his own doubts about his future in music, moving from a place of hesitation to one of full embrace.

The lesson in Mercer’s reflection is clear: embracing one’s calling requires both self-recognition and action. To be an artist is not simply to dream, but to actively engage with one’s art, even in the face of uncertainty and fear. Mercer’s journey from romantic vision to commitment reminds us all that it is in the decision to move forward, despite our doubts, that we begin to actualize our potential. It is not enough to merely imagine a future; we must take steps toward creating it, acknowledging both the beauty and the difficulty of the process.

In our own lives, let us not shy away from the romantic visions we hold. Embrace your dreams, but also recognize the necessity of action and commitment. Whether we are artists, creators, or dreamers, it is not enough to simply imagine what we could be—it is in the embrace of that vision, despite the uncertainty, that we truly begin to shape our futures. Let us be like Mercer, who took the leap from uncertainty to purpose, knowing that the journey of creation is not without its doubts but is also filled with the power to transform the world around us.