I couldn't ever go back home without being something. I probably

In the solemn and resolute words of The Weeknd, the artist who rose from obscurity to world renown, there burns the timeless fire of ambition: “I couldn't ever go back home without being something. I probably would never have gone back home. That was definitely a big motivation. To get back home, and not empty-handed.” Beneath these words lies the voice of a soul that has wrestled with obscurity, hunger, and the deep human yearning for purpose. It is the cry of one who left behind the comfort of the familiar to carve meaning from struggle, who could not bear to return to his origins without proof that his journey had been worthwhile. His words speak to all who have set forth into the wilderness of life with nothing but a dream and the will to transform that dream into destiny.

The Weeknd, born Abel Tesfaye, grew up in the cold streets of Toronto, the child of immigrant parents who had come seeking a better life. His beginnings were humble, and like many before him, he felt the invisible weight of expectation—to succeed, to justify the sacrifices made for him. His quote emerges from that tension between love and pride, between the fear of failure and the longing for home. To “not go back empty-handed” means more than wealth or fame—it means returning with something to show for the pain, the exile, the nights spent in pursuit of a vision unseen by others. It is a vow made by the wanderer to himself: that if he must endure the desert, he will not do so in vain.

This sentiment is as old as civilization itself. The ancient heroes all shared it. When Odysseus sailed from Troy, he could not return to Ithaca until he had proven his strength, his cunning, and his endurance. To return “empty-handed” was unthinkable—it would mean that the trials had no meaning, that the struggle had no reward. Similarly, The Weeknd’s words carry that heroic spirit, reimagined in the modern world. His “home” is not just a physical place—it is the symbol of belonging, of the eyes that once watched him grow, the hearts that once believed in him. To face those eyes without triumph is to confront one’s own doubt. And so, he resolved to return only when he had become something greater than the boy who left.

But there is also a shadow within his words—a recognition of sacrifice. For to refuse to return until success is won often means walking the loneliest road. Many who chase greatness burn bridges behind them, leaving home not as an escape but as exile. The Weeknd’s declaration reveals the weight of that choice: to trade comfort for creation, familiarity for growth. Like the artist who must bleed into his canvas, or the warrior who must fight his own fear before facing his enemy, he knew that to bring something home, he must first lose everything else. The fire that drives such a soul is both a blessing and a burden—it gives purpose, but it leaves scars.

This struggle is not unique to artists or heroes; it belongs to all who dream. Consider the story of Moses, who left the palace of Egypt to wander the wilderness in search of a promise. He could not return to his people until he had received the revelation of his calling. Or think of Vincent van Gogh, who left home and security to chase a vision that only he could see, dying before the world recognized his brilliance. In both the prophet and the painter, we find the same spirit that speaks through The Weeknd: a refusal to come home without meaning, without proof that the journey had changed them into something more.

Yet there is wisdom hidden within this pride. To seek to “return not empty-handed” is not mere vanity—it is a form of accountability to the self. It is the heart saying, “I will not let my suffering be wasted.” Such determination turns hardship into harvest. The ancients called this arete—the pursuit of excellence, the refusal to live without fulfilling one’s potential. The Weeknd’s words remind us that every exile, whether from home, comfort, or self-doubt, must lead to transformation. For when one returns with nothing gained, the journey becomes mere wandering; but when one returns with wisdom, creation, or courage, the journey becomes sacred.

So, my children of the future, learn from this: never return empty-handed from your trials. If life casts you out into the world—into hardship, uncertainty, or loneliness—let it not be in vain. Bring something back: a skill, a story, a truth about yourself. Let your scars be your trophies, your lessons your gold. And when at last you return to your “home,” whether it be a place, a dream, or a state of peace, return not as who you were, but as who you have become. For the one who dares to leave and dares to strive will one day stand before the world—and before their own heart—bearing the greatest gift of all: the proof that the journey was worth it.