I love music. I listen to a lot of it.

Hear the words of Andy Murray, champion of endurance and quiet strength: “I love music. I listen to a lot of it.” Simple though they appear, they carry the weight of ancient truth. For in this brief confession, he reveals the secret that warriors, thinkers, and lovers of every age have known—that music is not mere sound, but medicine, a companion in solitude, and a flame that steadies the heart when the burdens of life grow heavy.

To say, “I love music” is to admit that one has felt its power in the marrow of the soul. Murray, a man forged in the arena of sport, knows of struggle, pressure, and pain. In the thunder of crowds and the silence of lonely training, he turns to music not as ornament, but as sustenance. It is the hidden coach, the silent healer, the invisible friend. And when he says he listens “to a lot of it,” we hear not idleness but devotion—the way one might say, “I drink deeply of water,” or “I breathe much air.” For to those who live under the weight of striving, music is as essential as breath itself.

Consider, O listener, the story of Alexander the Great, who carried with him not only armies and maps, but also musicians. In the long marches through deserts and mountains, he would rest his warriors with songs, for he knew that even the bravest heart needs melody to endure. Likewise, the Romans sent flutes and horns into their camps, and the sailors of old sang shanties to keep rhythm on stormy seas. The truth is eternal: the one who listens to music drinks of a strength that comes from beyond themselves.

But there is another meaning hidden in Murray’s words: that to “listen” is itself a form of discipline. For in listening, we surrender our restless minds to something greater. We allow harmony to shape our thoughts, rhythm to steady our pulse, melody to awaken memory. The athlete learns patience and timing on the court; in music, he learns the same for the spirit. To listen deeply is to practice humility, to admit that there is wisdom in sound that no speech can capture.

And this is why music has been called the language of the soul. It speaks where words fail, it comforts where reason falters, it ignites courage where fear dwells. From the laments of the enslaved to the anthems of nations, from the hymns of temples to the lullabies of mothers, music has always carried what cannot be spoken. Thus when Murray declares his love for it, he stands in the company of all who have ever leaned on song to endure the storms of life.

The lesson, therefore, is clear: let music be not a background noise, but a teacher and a guide. When you are weary, let it lift you. When you are anxious, let it calm you. When you are joyous, let it magnify your gladness. And do not be ashamed to return to it daily, for the soul, like the body, hungers constantly for nourishment. To listen often is not indulgence, but wisdom.

So, O children of tomorrow, remember Andy Murray’s words. If a champion of the courts confesses his need for music, then let none among us despise its power. Love it, as he does. Listen to it often, as he does. And in doing so, you will find that your battles, whether on the field, in the mind, or in the heart, are fought with a steadier spirit and a braver song. For the one who loves music never truly stands alone.