I didn't aim at anything except good music.

Hear the words of Waylon Jennings, outlaw of country music, who declared with disarming simplicity: “I didn’t aim at anything except good music.” In these words lies a creed, a guiding star not only for the musician but for all who labor to create. For Jennings, the path was not drawn by ambition for glory, wealth, or power; it was drawn only by the compass of truth in sound. He chose not to chase the fleeting applause of men, but to pursue the eternal spirit of music itself.

This confession carries the weight of rebellion. Jennings lived in a time when the Nashville machine sought to polish every song, to fit every note into a mold of marketable perfection. But he and his fellow outlaws refused to bow. He declared that he did not aim for charts, contracts, or crowns—he aimed only at good music, raw and real, born from the heart. And in that refusal to compromise, he found a freedom that no industry could manufacture.

History bears witness that those who focus solely on the purity of their craft often outlast those who chase trends. Think of Johann Sebastian Bach, who wrote not for fame but for the glory of God and the beauty of sound. In his own lifetime, he was not considered a genius by all; yet his music, written without thought of worldly aims, has thundered across centuries, more alive now than in the days when it was first played. Jennings, in his way, spoke the same truth: when the aim is pure, the work endures.

But let us not mistake this philosophy for passivity. To “aim at good music” is no small thing. It requires discipline, sacrifice, and honesty with oneself. It means saying “no” to the easy path of imitation, “no” to the temptation of empty praise, “no” to the compromises that hollow out the soul. Jennings’ life was full of struggle, but his music carried the grit and truth of that struggle, and that is why it still resonates today. To live by such a creed is not to escape hardship, but to transform hardship into song.

There is also a deeper wisdom here: that in focusing only on the quality of the work, the other rewards—fame, respect, legacy—arrive in their own time. Jennings did not set his sights on becoming a legend; he became one because he stayed true to the sound within him. The archer who aims too hard at the target may miss; the one who steadies himself and trusts the bow strikes true. So it is with life: those who obsess over results often falter, but those who dedicate themselves to craft and integrity achieve far more than they dreamed.

The lesson is clear: in whatever path you walk, make good music—not literally, but metaphorically. Let the work of your hands, your words, your choices be marked not by vanity, but by truth and excellence. Whether the world sees you or not, let your heart know that what you gave was real. Do not aim for applause, for applause fades; do not aim for crowns, for crowns rust. Aim instead for goodness in your work, and you will create something that cannot be destroyed.

So, O children of tomorrow, remember Waylon Jennings’ words. Do not aim at anything except good music. Whatever your craft—be it teaching, building, writing, or loving—let it be true, let it be honest, let it be your best offering. For when the curtain falls and the world forgets its fashions, it is the good work, pure and unshaken, that will remain. And that, above all else, is the music worth making.