It took me 40 years to write my first book. When I was a child, I

“It took me 40 years to write my first book. When I was a child, I was encouraged to go to school. I was not encouraged to follow the career of a writer because my parents thought that I was going to starve to death.” Thus spoke Paulo Coelho, the great Brazilian author whose pen would one day awaken millions of souls across the world. Yet before the triumph of The Alchemist, before his words were carried by the winds of destiny, there was a long silence — forty years of waiting, wandering, and wrestling with doubt. In this confession, Coelho unveils not merely his own story, but a universal truth: that the path to one’s calling is rarely swift or straight. It is carved through patience, pain, and perseverance — through the struggle between what the world demands and what the heart knows to be true.

The origin of this quote lies in Coelho’s early life, marked by conflict between duty and dream. As a young boy in Rio de Janeiro, he longed to become a writer — to weave stories, to seek meaning through words. But his parents, fearing poverty and failure, urged him toward a safer road. In their eyes, the life of an artist was one of starvation, not success. They wished to protect him from uncertainty, yet in doing so, they nearly smothered the flame of his destiny. Coelho obeyed them for a time, studying law, working ordinary jobs, and drifting through the currents of society. Yet deep within, a voice persisted — a whisper of purpose that would not be silenced.

When Coelho says, “It took me 40 years to write my first book,” he does not speak only of time, but of transformation. Those forty years were not wasted; they were the forge in which his spirit was tested. He traveled through rebellion and restraint, through faith and doubt. He lived among musicians, poets, and dreamers. He wandered the road to Santiago, seeking not fame but meaning. And when at last he returned to the page, he did so not as a youth chasing approval, but as a man who had lived deeply enough to understand what he wished to say. The forty years were his apprenticeship in life, and from that apprenticeship was born a story that would touch eternity.

His experience reflects an ancient pattern — that of the delayed calling, the destiny that ripens only through endurance. Moses wandered the desert for forty years before leading his people to freedom. Joseph languished in prison before becoming a ruler. Colonel Sanders was past sixty when his first Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise succeeded. And Vincent van Gogh, whose art was misunderstood in his lifetime, painted his masterpieces in the final years of his short existence. In each of these lives, we see the same truth that Coelho discovered: that purpose has its own timing, and the soul must mature before it can create its masterpiece.

When Coelho recalls that his parents feared he would “starve to death,” he speaks to the conflict between security and vocation — between the hunger of the body and the hunger of the spirit. Many are born with a calling that the world does not understand. They are told to be practical, to be sensible, to follow the paths already paved. Yet the voice within calls them elsewhere, toward the unknown. To follow that inner voice is to walk a dangerous road — one that may indeed lead through hunger and rejection. But it is also the only road that leads to freedom. For to deny one’s calling is to die slowly, even while living.

In this, Coelho’s words become not lament but encouragement. They remind us that it is never too late to begin, and that no delay can destroy a true dream. The years of waiting, of working in silence, of feeling misunderstood — all are part of the preparation. The soul grows stronger in the shadow, until the time comes when its light must shine. The world often discourages what it does not understand, but destiny does not forget its children. It calls again and again until they answer. Coelho’s first book was not written in haste, but in faith — the faith that even after forty years, it was still possible to begin anew.

The lesson, then, is clear: trust the timing of your calling. Do not let fear, whether your own or another’s, dictate your path. The world may not recognize the worth of your dream, but time will reveal it. Be patient with your journey. Learn, live, and endure, for every experience — even rejection and delay — is shaping the story you are meant to tell. And when the moment arrives, write your own book, paint your own canvas, build your own vision, no matter your age or circumstance.

So remember the wisdom of Paulo Coelho: “It took me 40 years to write my first book.” Let it remind you that destiny does not wither with time — it deepens. The years that seem lost are often the years that prepare the soul for greatness. Do not fear the slow unfolding of your dream. Walk faithfully, listen inwardly, and when at last the call returns, answer it with all your heart. For even if it takes forty years, what is born of truth will endure for eternity.