I just do what I do. I like to make music.

“I just do what I do. I like to make music.” Thus spoke Neil Young, a man who clothed his truth not in grand declarations but in simplicity, like a river that flows without boasting of its strength. His words, though humble, carry a profound teaching: the path of greatness is not found in chasing the shadows of fame, nor in bowing to the demands of others, but in the steady devotion to what one loves. Here lies the wisdom of the ancients—that the most enduring work comes from sincerity, not from the pursuit of reward.

In the days of old, the philosophers said: “Know thyself, and act according to thy nature.” This is the spirit that burns within Neil Young’s words. He does not claim to labor for riches, nor bend his art to please the crowd; instead, he follows the call of his own heart. To simply “do what I do” is to walk in the light of authenticity, unshaken by the winds of public opinion. And to “make music” is to give voice to the soul’s fire, whether it be met with applause or silence.

Consider the tale of Vincent van Gogh, whose paintings now shimmer as jewels of eternity. In his lifetime, he knew no success, no wealth, and little recognition. Yet he painted with unrelenting passion, declaring in every brushstroke, “I just do what I do.” He painted fields of wheat, burning skies, and trembling stars—not for the approval of men, but because his soul compelled him to. Though the world scorned him then, his legacy now testifies that the pure act of creation, done in love, endures beyond rejection, beyond time itself.

In the same way, Neil Young’s words warn us against the burden of pretense. Many live their lives chasing the masks that others place upon them, laboring not for joy but for appearance. Such men and women exhaust themselves, and their works ring hollow, for they are born of fear rather than love. But the true creator, the true craftsman, labors because he must—because something within him cannot be silenced. He does not ask, “Will this be popular?” but instead, “Is this true to who I am?”

This teaching is not only for musicians or artists but for every soul. Whatever your craft—be it teaching, building, healing, or guiding—ask yourself: “Do I labor from love or from the hunger for approval?” For to act from love is to build upon rock, but to act for applause is to build upon shifting sand. Authenticity is the root of lasting strength, while imitation leads only to weariness and emptiness.

The lesson is thus: do not fear the simplicity of your calling. If you love to create, then create. If you love to build, then build. Do not wait for permission, nor bend your work to the expectations of others. The truest power is found in the quiet persistence of being yourself. From this springs joy, peace, and the kind of legacy that outlives empires.

Practical action flows from this teaching: each day, devote time to what you love, even in small measure. Protect it from the noise of the world, as a shepherd guards his flock. Do not measure your worth by recognition, but by faithfulness to your gift. And when doubts come—as they always do—remember Neil Young’s words: “I just do what I do.” Say them as a shield, and return to your labor with renewed heart.

So, O children of the future, remember this: the world is filled with noise, but your truth is a single, clear note. Sing it without shame. Play it without fear. For only in such honesty will your life become a melody worth remembering, a song that, like Young’s, endures in the hearts of generations yet unborn.