I like to think that if it hadn't gone as well as it has, if I

"I like to think that if it hadn't gone as well as it has, if I wasn't able to make a living off of playing music, I would still be playing the music. But, of course, I wouldn't likely have had the opportunity to travel, and a lot of the places have inspired songs." Thus spoke Bruce Cockburn, and in his words shines the timeless truth that passion precedes reward, and that the fire of art burns regardless of fortune. For the true artist does not create for gold, nor applause, nor the gates that success may open, but because his soul would wither if he did not. To play the music is itself life, whether or not the world bestows its gifts.

The ancients knew this spirit well. The poets of Greece, who sang epics long before they were ever written, did not sing for wealth but because the song demanded to be born. Homer’s verses rang out not in palaces but in open marketplaces, in firesides, in the humble gatherings of men and women who needed to remember their heroes. Likewise, the bards of Ireland carried their harps not for riches, but because to play the music was to keep the spirit of the people alive. They would have sung whether crowned or forgotten, because the song itself was their breath.

Cockburn also acknowledges the other truth: that travel has given him new inspiration, that to walk the earth and see its many faces has fed his craft with visions and melodies. Here is the paradox—art is born from within, yet it blossoms when nourished by the world without. The streets of a distant city, the voice of a stranger, the rhythm of a foreign land—these are seeds that fall into the heart of the artist, and from them grow songs that could never have been born in isolation. His journeys gave him not only audiences, but also the landscapes of inspiration.

So it has always been. Think of Leonardo da Vinci, who wandered from Florence to Milan to France, and in each place absorbed new colors, new ideas, new wonders that shaped his work. Think of Rabindranath Tagore, whose travels across continents gave his poetry a universality that touched the East and the West alike. Without the opportunity to travel, their genius might still have shone, but it would have been confined to a smaller garden. It was the journey that expanded their horizons, as it did for Cockburn, turning personal art into a bridge across worlds.

Children of tomorrow, learn this: true devotion to your craft is not dependent on reward. If your gift is real, you will tend it even when no one listens. Like the seed that pushes through the soil in silence, you must create because you must, because it is your nature. Yet know also that the world itself is your teacher. Do not close your eyes to it. Walk new roads, listen to unfamiliar tongues, taste the food of distant lands. Let the earth be your mentor, for from it will spring new visions to deepen your art, your work, your life.

Practical wisdom lies here: do not measure your worth by recognition alone. Build your craft in quiet faithfulness, whether or not riches come. If success opens doors, use them not for indulgence but for experience—for places inspire songs, ideas, and growth. If fortune does not favor you with travel, seek inspiration in the worlds nearby: the faces of neighbors, the shifting skies, the hidden corners of your own town. The world is always vast, even in small spaces, to the eyes that are open.

Thus, the lesson is clear: create because the song is within you, not because others demand it. When the world blesses you with journeys, let them deepen your art. But whether you stand before thousands or alone in your chamber, play the music, paint the vision, write the word. For the true reward is not applause, but the flame kept alive within the heart. Cockburn’s words remind us that destiny may grant or withhold success, but passion must remain unbroken, for in it lies the very meaning of life.