I work on myself daily to be a better person. When I react in a

Hear the voice of Lizzo, the herald of self-love and truth, who declares: “I work on myself daily to be a better person. When I react in a negative way to somebody, I sit back and think about why I did it, so I’m always working on myself, and my music is the same.” These words are more than confession; they are a teaching, a path, a discipline. She speaks not of perfection already achieved, but of the eternal labor of the soul—of waking each day to refine one’s spirit as a smith hammers steel into a sword.

To work on oneself daily is to recognize that growth is not a single moment but a lifelong pilgrimage. The ancients knew this truth well: the philosopher did not cease to question himself, the warrior did not cease to train, the poet did not cease to search for beauty. Lizzo reminds us that the greatest victories are not over others, but over the unexamined impulses within. To pause after anger, to ask “why did I do this?”, is an act of courage as noble as facing an enemy in battle. For the hardest foe is not the stranger without, but the shadow within.

Consider, O listener, the story of Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome and student of the soul. Amid wars and endless burdens, he kept a journal of self-reflection, writing each night not of conquest, but of the flaws in his temper, the temptations of pride, the need for patience. His power stretched over continents, yet he knew that his truest duty was to work on himself daily. Like Lizzo, he saw that the discipline of the heart mirrors the discipline of the art—that greatness outside begins with honesty within.

So too does Lizzo bind her music to her self-examination. She does not merely perform; she pours her reflections, her triumphs, and her struggles into her songs. Her melodies become testimony to a soul that wrestles with doubt yet chooses joy, that falters yet rises. In this way, her art and her spirit walk hand in hand: each day of inner growth becomes another note of truth, each act of self-honesty becomes another chord of power. Thus, her music does not mask her humanity; it magnifies it.

But let us not mistake her words for ease. To look inward after a negative reaction, to ask why, is to endure discomfort. It is easier to blame the other, to harden the heart, to flee from one’s reflection. Yet she reminds us: progress is forged in reflection. Healing is born in honesty. Transformation is lit by the fire of self-awareness. This is no idle pastime, but a discipline fit for heroes of the spirit.

The lesson is clear: live as artisans of the soul. Each day, examine your heart as a painter examines his canvas, asking what strokes were clumsy, what colors were harsh, and how the picture may be refined. Do not fear the mistakes, for they are the raw material of growth. Do not despise the shadows, for they reveal where light is most needed. And let your own music—whether in song, in work, in kindness—be the echo of that inward labor, so that others may find courage through your honesty.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, take up this ancient practice: pause before your anger, sit with your wounds, ask the difficult questions. In this way you will not only become better persons, but creators of harmony in a world so often discordant. And when your work, your words, or your music reach others, they will carry not emptiness but strength, not illusion but truth. For the greatest song is not the one that entertains, but the one that testifies: “I worked on myself, and in that labor, I found light.”