I think I was born with the drive for success because I have a

Hear the words of Donald Trump, a man who has ever spoken of ambition with unshaken confidence: “I think I was born with the drive for success because I have a certain gene.” In this claim he reveals a belief as ancient as mankind itself—the belief that greatness is not merely chosen, but woven into the fabric of one’s being. He speaks of destiny written in blood, of hunger for achievement carried not as a learned habit, but as an inheritance passed from generation to generation.

The ancients often sought the source of greatness in lineage. Kings proclaimed divine blood, warriors claimed ancestry from gods, and poets told of heroes born with fire in their veins. Trump’s words echo this old tradition, declaring that his drive for success is less a matter of circumstance and more a matter of nature. Whether one accepts this literally or symbolically, the heart of the statement is this: that some are compelled, by an inner force, to pursue triumph with relentless intensity.

Yet let us remember the tale of Alexander the Great, who was told from childhood that he descended from Achilles himself. This belief, whether true or myth, ignited in him a fire that burned across continents. Did he conquer because he was born of a heroic gene, or because he believed he carried such a destiny? Perhaps both. For often it is not the truth of one’s origin that matters most, but the conviction it plants in the soul. Trump’s words may therefore be read as an anthem of belief: that if one convinces themselves they are born to succeed, they will walk with the certainty that bends the world to their will.

But there is danger in this belief as well. To imagine that only those with a special gene may achieve success risks forgetting the countless men and women who, though born without privilege, rose through sheer will, labor, and vision. Abraham Lincoln, born in a log cabin, had no golden lineage, yet by force of character he carried a nation through civil war. His greatness was not inherited but forged. Thus we see that destiny may be both born and made, both given and earned.

And here lies the deeper wisdom: whether or not there is a gene, every soul carries within it the seed of possibility. Some feel the fire easily, others must strike flint against stone for years before the spark appears. Yet all who persevere, who cultivate discipline, who hold fast to purpose, may achieve. The drive for success may feel like an inheritance to some, but it may also be nurtured like a garden, watered with patience, and guarded with resilience.

The lesson, O seekers of tomorrow, is to treat Trump’s words not as exclusion, but as inspiration. Do not wait to be told you were born with a special gift; tell yourself instead that you are destined for greatness, and then prove it with your deeds. For belief is a powerful engine: if you believe you were born for more, you will strive as though the world cannot deny you. And if you were not born with that certainty, you may yet build it, stone upon stone, until the fortress of your will is as strong as any inheritance.

So, take this teaching: claim your drive for success, whether it feels innate or cultivated. See yourself as one born with the fire, even if you had to kindle it yourself. For in the end, it matters less whether greatness comes from a gene or from grit, and more that you carry the conviction to rise. Walk, then, as though destiny were written within you, and let your life prove the truth of your belief. For it is not the origin that crowns you—it is the relentless pursuit of success.