I used to consider the listener. But now I'm in a space where, if

Hear the words of Kendrick Lamar, poet of the streets and prophet of his generation: “I used to consider the listener. But now I’m in a space where, if I’m not inspired, I can’t really do the music. I can’t feel it.” These are not the words of a man careless of his audience, but of one who has discovered that true art does not begin outside the soul—it begins within. The listener may be the receiver, but the inspiration of the artist is the fountain. Without it, the music becomes empty sound, a mask without a face.

The origin of this truth lies in the ancient struggle between authenticity and expectation. In his early years, Lamar carried the weight of what his audience demanded—songs shaped to please, rhythms formed to fit what others desired. Yet with time, he came to see that the greatest gift he could give was not to mirror the crowd, but to offer what flowed from his truest self. For if the artist feels nothing, the people too will feel nothing. Only when the heart burns with fire can its sparks ignite the hearts of others.

History proves this wisdom. Consider Vincent van Gogh, who in life sold almost no paintings, mocked and dismissed by the very world he longed to reach. Yet his art was not born of catering to listeners or patrons, but from the furnace of his own inspiration. He painted the world as he felt it—tormented, vivid, aflame—and though his contemporaries could not yet understand, his truth endured beyond his lifetime. Lamar’s words echo the same law: art must be felt by the artist before it can be felt by the world.

In music too, the lesson repeats. Bob Dylan, when he turned from folk traditions to electric guitar, was jeered by his audience. They cried betrayal, for he no longer sang what they expected. Yet Dylan followed not the crowd, but his inspiration, and by doing so transformed modern music. His choice to create what he truly felt, rather than what was demanded, proved that timeless art comes not from obedience to listeners, but from loyalty to one’s inner voice.

Lamar speaks also of a deeper spiritual law: that creation without feeling is lifeless. Just as prayer without sincerity is an empty ritual, so music without inspiration is hollow noise. To create is to breathe out part of one’s soul. If that soul is unmoved, the work will be powerless. But when the creator is aflame with vision, even the simplest note or word can pierce through generations. Thus, he reminds us that inspiration is not a luxury—it is the very lifeblood of creation.

The lesson for all is clear: in your work, in your art, in your daily living, do not begin by asking what others expect. Ask first, “Do I feel this? Does it live within me?” For only what is alive within you can come alive in others. Seek the fire of inspiration, even if it leads you against the tide of expectation. The world may not always understand, but if your creation is true, it will endure when the applause has faded.

Therefore, O seekers of purpose, let Kendrick Lamar’s wisdom guide you: do not trade inspiration for approval. Create, act, and live from the wellspring of truth within you. For when you feel deeply, your work will carry power. And when you refuse to move without that feeling, you honor not only yourself but also those who will one day be moved by the authenticity of your gift. In this way, the artist becomes not a servant of fleeting praise, but a vessel of timeless truth.