I hope that I'm also maturing emotionally as a human being as

“I hope that I'm also maturing emotionally as a human being as things go on.” Thus spoke Kurt Elling, the poet of jazz, whose music is not only rhythm and melody, but also reflection and prayer. In this simple yet profound declaration lies the heart of every soul’s journey—the yearning not merely to age, but to mature, not merely to endure, but to evolve. Elling’s words are not those of arrogance or achievement, but of humility—the confession of one who knows that wisdom is not found in talent, nor greatness in fame, but in the quiet, unseen growth of the inner self. His hope is not for applause, but for expansion of heart; not for success, but for the sanctity of becoming.

In the ancient way of thinking, to mature emotionally is to temper the soul, as fire tempers steel. It is to learn patience where once there was anger, understanding where once there was judgment, compassion where once there was pride. The years pass for all, but maturity belongs only to those who seek it deliberately. Elling’s reflection reminds us that time alone does not make one wise—only the honest confrontation with one’s weaknesses, the willingness to grow, and the courage to remain teachable. He speaks as an artist, yes, but also as a man aware of his humanity: that beneath every performance, every triumph, there must be continual self-examination. For art, like life, decays without humility and renewal.

The origin of Elling’s words lies in the long tradition of the artist as pilgrim. Like the wandering bards and poets of old, Elling walks the path of creation as a mirror of the path of the spirit. He understands that emotional maturity is not a final state, but a journey—a rhythm that rises and falls, like jazz itself. Every note of experience, every dissonant chord of hardship, becomes part of the composition of one’s soul. His “hope” speaks to this truth: that even amid success, one must never cease to learn how to feel more deeply, to see more clearly, to love more widely. For to grow in art without growing in soul is to climb a mountain made of shadows.

History, too, offers us examples of this transformation. Consider Nelson Mandela, who entered prison a fiery revolutionary and emerged a statesman of peace. In the long silence of his confinement, he matured not only in resolve but in emotional wisdom. He learned that forgiveness was stronger than vengeance, that reconciliation was a higher victory than conquest. Such growth cannot be taught in books nor imposed by circumstance—it must be chosen. Like Elling, Mandela understood that time does not mature us; reflection does. And through that reflection, a man becomes greater not because the world crowns him, but because his heart has deepened.

To mature emotionally is, therefore, to bring harmony to the chaos within. The ancients would say it is to align the soul with the order of the cosmos—to bring balance to the passions, reason to the heart, and mercy to the will. Elling’s hope that he is maturing “as things go on” is a recognition of the eternal work of being human. For life, like music, is improvised; and maturity lies in learning to find beauty even when the melody changes unexpectedly. Those who resist growth become rigid and bitter; those who embrace it become supple and wise. Thus, to mature is not to harden, but to soften—to be broken open, and to find within that breaking a greater strength.

There is also humility in his statement—a rare quality in an age of pride. To hope for maturity is to admit that one has not yet arrived. It is to live with the awareness that no matter how far one travels, there is always more to learn, always another layer of the self to uncover. The wisest of the ancients, from Confucius to Marcus Aurelius, spoke the same truth: the mark of true wisdom is the recognition of one’s incompleteness. Elling, in his quiet confession, joins their chorus, reminding us that the true measure of a life well-lived is not mastery, but movement—the continual unfolding of the heart toward compassion, patience, and understanding.

So, my child, take this teaching into your own life: do not only grow older—grow deeper. Let each season of your life teach you something new about tenderness, endurance, and joy. When hardship comes, let it refine you, not embitter you. When success arrives, let it humble you, not inflate you. When love changes, let it soften you, not close you. To mature emotionally is to walk through the world awake—to feel without being consumed, to give without demanding, to listen without judgment. This is the wisdom of the ages, and the music of the soul that never fades. For if, like Elling, you live in hope of continual growth, then every moment—whether bright or shadowed—becomes part of your grand and beautiful song.