I think that the journey of self to truth is always kind of a

The words of Jacob Collier—“I think that the journey of self to truth is always kind of a gnarly one.”—speak with the honesty of one who knows that the path of discovery is not smooth or simple. In his phrase, the word journey becomes a living image: winding, unpredictable, filled with struggle, beauty, and strangeness. To seek the truth of oneself is not to walk a straight road lined with flowers, but to wrestle through thorn and storm, to stumble, to doubt, and yet to press forward. Collier acknowledges what the ancients long taught—that to know oneself is among the hardest labors of life.

The origin of this thought comes from Collier’s own art, which thrives on complexity and exploration. As a musician, he pushes the boundaries of harmony and sound, never satisfied with the easy or the conventional. His creative path reflects his words: the truth is not handed down in simplicity but uncovered through experimentation, failure, and renewal. The “gnarliness” he describes is not despair—it is the raw, unpolished texture of growth. Just as in music dissonance often leads to greater beauty, so too in the soul, confusion often precedes clarity.

The ancients, too, spoke of this gnarly journey. Consider Odysseus, striving for ten long years to return home. His voyage was filled with storms, monsters, temptations, and detours. Yet each trial revealed not only the world around him but also the truth of who he was: clever, flawed, enduring, and deeply human. So it is with us. The journey of self is not meant to be easy, for ease does not transform the soul. Struggle, resistance, and perseverance carve us into beings capable of holding truth.

History gives us powerful testimony. Think of Nelson Mandela, who spent 27 years in prison. His journey of self to truth was indeed “gnarly”—marked by injustice, solitude, and pain. Yet in that crucible, he discovered a deeper truth: that forgiveness, not vengeance, was the path to freedom. When he emerged, it was not bitterness that defined him, but wisdom and compassion. His life shows that the harshest journeys often yield the most luminous truths.

Collier’s words also remind us that the gnarliness itself is part of the beauty. To face confusion, doubt, and pain is not to fail, but to grow. The tree that twists its branches toward the sun, despite wind and storm, becomes strong and unique. So too with the human soul: the very obstacles we dread become the shaping forces of our truth. What feels tangled and chaotic today may tomorrow be revealed as the very texture of our becoming.

The lesson is clear: do not fear the difficulty of the path. Do not imagine that others who seem serene have avoided struggle. Every soul that has reached wisdom has walked through storms. To seek the truth of self is to accept the hardship as sacred. Let the gnarliness teach you patience, humility, and courage. Let it strip away illusion, until only what is real remains.

Therefore, take these actions: embrace your struggles as part of your path. Do not flee from discomfort, for it often conceals hidden truth. When you stumble, rise again, knowing that the journey is not linear but winding. Reflect deeply, listen inwardly, and trust that even the tangled roads lead home. For as Jacob Collier has told us, the journey of self to truth will always be gnarly—but it is precisely in that rawness that its beauty and power are found.