If you are a chef, no matter how good a chef you are, it's not

The words of will.i.am—“If you are a chef, no matter how good a chef you are, it’s not good cooking for yourself; the joy is in cooking for others—it’s the same with music.”—echo with the spirit of generosity and the eternal truth of art’s purpose. They remind us that mastery is never meant to be hoarded, that gifts are not treasures to be locked away, but rivers meant to flow outward, nourishing those who thirst. A dish prepared only for oneself may sustain the body, but it is when the table is set for many that true joy blossoms. Likewise, a melody heard only by its maker may stir the soul, but it is in being shared with others that music fulfills its highest calling.

At the heart of his words lies the recognition that art is communion. The chef labors in the kitchen, not only to perfect flavors, but to witness delight in the faces of those who eat. The musician composes and performs, not merely to hear the sound themselves, but to awaken emotion, to bind hearts, to heal wounds, to lift spirits. Thus will.i.am reveals that both food and music are sacred offerings, their true worth found not in self-indulgence, but in the joy of service.

The ancients knew this well. In Greece, feasts were not solitary affairs but communal celebrations, where food and music united the people in fellowship. In Israel, psalms were not sung for the psalmist alone but for the congregation, echoing through temples and fields alike. Even in the East, the tea ceremony was not about one person drinking, but about shared ritual, an offering of peace and presence. Across cultures, the greatest arts—cooking, song, poetry, dance—found their purpose in giving, never hoarding.

History gives us vivid examples. Consider the life of Ludwig van Beethoven. Though struck deaf in his later years, he still composed music of transcendent beauty. He could no longer hear the notes himself, yet he labored tirelessly because he knew his music was not for him alone—it was a gift to the world. His Ninth Symphony, especially the “Ode to Joy,” is not a self-portrait of sound but a banquet for humanity, a feast of melody meant to bind nations together. Beethoven’s story proves will.i.am’s words: the joy is never in keeping the gift, but in giving it.

Think also of Mother Teresa, who often spoke of feeding the hungry not just with bread, but with love. Her “kitchen” was not of spices and pans, but of service. Yet the principle is the same: what use is the bread if one eats it alone, while others starve? What use is a song if it never reaches the ears of those who need its comfort? The chef, the musician, the servant—all find their fulfillment when their gifts flow outward, touching lives beyond their own.

The meaning of this teaching is profound: greatness is not measured by skill alone, but by generosity. A chef who hoards his recipes, a musician who hides his song, a leader who serves only himself—all betray the very essence of their gifts. The true measure of mastery is the impact it has on others, the lives it nourishes, the joy it creates. To give is to magnify, for in sharing, the gift grows beyond what one person could ever achieve alone.

The lesson for us is clear: whatever your gift—whether it be cooking, speaking, building, teaching, writing, or singing—do not keep it for yourself. Pour it into the lives of others. Seek the joy not of self-indulgence, but of contribution. This does not diminish your art; it exalts it. Just as a banquet is greater than a solitary meal, so too is a shared song greater than one kept silent.

Practically, this means finding ways to serve with your talent. Cook a meal for family, not only for yourself. Share your music with friends, or with strangers who may need its healing. Use your skills in ways that uplift, encourage, and build community. For when your gifts cease to serve yourself alone and begin to serve others, you will discover, as will.i.am declared, the true joy that lies at the heart of creation.

Thus let his words endure: the joy is in cooking for others—it’s the same with music. This is the secret of fulfillment: to live not as a hoarder of gifts, but as a giver, a servant, a sharer of beauty and sustenance. In this way, every table becomes an altar, every song a prayer, and every gift a seed of joy sown into the hearts of many.