I remember when 'I'm Moving On' came out, and we got the

Hear the voice of the musician, Jay DeMarcus, who recalled the moment when the work of his hands and the song of his spirit found its echo in the hearts of many. He said: “I remember when 'I'm Moving On' came out, and we got the response we did, I thought, 'Man, this could be for real.' That was the first time it dawned on me what we had.” These words carry not only the memory of a song, but the eternal truth that recognition often comes suddenly, like dawn breaking after a long night of labor.

The meaning is this: every creator, every builder, every dreamer toils in uncertainty. They give their heart to the work, but the outcome is hidden. They do not yet know if their offering will vanish like smoke or endure like stone. For DeMarcus, the release of “I’m Moving On” was such a moment of revelation. In the response of the people, he saw not only success, but confirmation—that what he and his companions had built was real, solid, destined to endure. Thus, his words are the testimony of one who has seen the invisible become visible, the dream take flesh.

The ancients, too, spoke of such moments. Consider the tale of Archimedes, who labored in thought, restless, unseen, searching for the principles of water and balance. Long did he wrestle, uncertain if his ideas had weight. But when the truth struck him in the bath and he cried “Eureka!”, it was the dawning of what he had. The years of hidden thought gave way to the clarity of discovery. As with DeMarcus, so with Archimedes: a sudden moment of recognition crowns long seasons of unseen toil.

History also tells us of Thomas Edison, who failed a thousand times before the light of invention shone forth. Each attempt was shrouded in doubt, each effort a question mark. But when the lamp finally burned steady, the response of the world revealed to him that what he carried was not illusion but reality. That moment—like the response to DeMarcus’s song—was the transformation of hope into certainty. The heart that once wondered whispered, “This is real.”

Yet there is deeper meaning still. DeMarcus speaks not only of success, but of gratitude. For to realize “what we had” is to recognize the treasure of one’s companions, the gift of shared struggle, the blessing of labor that bears fruit together. Many achieve, yet forget those who walked beside them. But he names the moment not as “what I had” but “what we had.” Here is wisdom: true greatness is never solitary, but communal.

The lesson for us is luminous: when your labor is uncertain, do not despair. Continue the work, for the day of recognition may dawn when you least expect it. When the world responds, when your offering is received, when your dream becomes visible, treasure that moment—but also treasure those who walked the road with you. Let gratitude guard your heart, so that success does not become pride, but thanksgiving.

Practical actions follow. If you are laboring in secret, keep faith, for the unseen years are the forge of greatness. If your work has been recognized, pause to give thanks—to your companions, to your teachers, to the hand of Providence. And always remember that recognition is not the end, but the beginning: the moment you realize “this is real” is also the moment you must carry the responsibility of nurturing what you have been given.

For remember this: the dawn does not end the night’s labor—it begins the day’s journey. As DeMarcus discovered, recognition is both a gift and a call. Cherish the moment when you realize what you have, for it is the crown of past struggle and the seed of future responsibility.