I don't consider myself to be a major talent, so the only solace

Hear, then, the words of Paul Simon, a poet of melody and measure, whose voice once wandered through the quiet corridors of the human heart. He said with humble grace: “I don’t consider myself to be a major talent, so the only solace I can take is to hope I’m growing.” At first glance, these words seem clothed in modesty, the reflection of a man uncertain of his own greatness. But beneath their gentle humility burns a fierce and enduring fire — the ancient truth that growth is the truest measure of the soul.

Many who achieve greatness are quick to rest upon the pedestal of their renown. Yet Simon, a craftsman of song whose verses once echoed through the ages, turned instead toward the path of the learner. He knew that talent is but a seed, while growth is the sun that draws it from the earth. To believe oneself great is to become still; to see oneself as ever incomplete is to remain in motion, alive and becoming. Thus, his words are not of doubt, but of devotion — devotion to the endless labor of self-transformation.

Long ago, in the time of the sculptor Michelangelo, this same truth was carved in marble. When asked how he created such divine beauty from cold stone, he answered: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” Even in his final years, when others hailed him as the greatest artist of his age, he wrote in his journals, “I am still learning.” See how greatness bows before the eternal mountain of improvement! The wise understand that no summit is final, and that the moment we cease to climb, the spirit begins to fade into the valley of complacency.

In Simon’s words there lies a quiet heroism — not the roar of the conqueror, but the steady resolve of the pilgrim. He speaks not as one crowned with certainty, but as one walking through the wilderness of his own becoming. His solace is not in fame nor mastery, but in the sacred act of growing — that invisible movement by which the spirit deepens, the craft refines, and the heart learns to listen anew. It is a comfort born not of arrival, but of the journey itself.

And this, O listener, is a teaching older than any empire: humility is the doorway to wisdom. The great river never boasts of its depth, and the tallest tree bends before the storm. Those who claim to know all are already empty; those who admit they are still learning are filled each day anew. Simon’s humility is not weakness, but strength disguised — the strength to continue creating, questioning, evolving, even when the world offers praise enough to stop.

Take this lesson into your own heart: do not seek to be a “major talent,” but to be a growing soul. Whatever your craft — be it song, art, work, or love — let your goal be not perfection, but progress. When you fail, rejoice, for failure is proof that you have stretched beyond comfort. When you are praised, accept it gently, but do not linger. Move forward again, for the horizon is wide and endless, and there are still wonders waiting to be found.

In the quiet of your days, ask yourself not, “Am I great?” but rather, “Am I growing?” Tend to your growth as one tends a sacred garden — with patience, care, and persistence. Read what challenges you. Speak with those who differ from you. Create, even when you doubt your gift. For every day that you reach beyond yesterday’s self, you honor the wisdom of Paul Simon — who, though he walked among fame and melody, chose instead to walk the humbler, holier road of becoming.

And when your years have passed and your hands grow weary, may you too find comfort in this ancient truth: that life’s worth lies not in what you are, but in what you are still becoming. For the soul that grows never dies, but continues its song in the hearts of those who come after.