It was never my plan to be a teen idol.

Hear, O seeker, the words of David Essex, singer and actor of the 1970s, who declared with honesty: “It was never my plan to be a teen idol.” These words, spoken not in arrogance but in humility, remind us that destiny often moves outside of our designs. Many chase fame with outstretched hands and never touch it. Others, who seek only to follow their craft, find fame thrust upon them unbidden, like a crown placed suddenly upon the head of one who never sought to rule.

For what is a teen idol but a symbol, a mirror of youthful longing, a figure elevated not merely for talent, but for the passions projected upon him by others? Essex confesses that this was not his design. He sought not to be a fleeting icon of adoration but a musician, an artist, a man shaping sound and story. Yet the tides of culture lifted him into that role, whether he wished it or not. His words reveal the tension between intention and outcome, between what one plans for and what life delivers.

This is no new tale. Recall the story of Alexander the Great, who as a youth was trained to lead armies but never imagined that before the age of thirty he would conquer the known world. His plan was to rule Macedon; his destiny was to rule empires. Or think of Rosa Parks, who did not set out to be a symbol of resistance when she sat upon the bus. She planned only to hold her seat; history turned her into an icon of freedom. So it is with Essex: the man’s plan was music, but the world’s gaze crowned him something more.

There is danger, however, in crowns not sought. To be idolized is to be imprisoned by the image others cast upon you. The teen idol may struggle to be seen as an artist, to be heard for his true voice and not the fantasy that fans project. Essex’s words thus carry not only humility but also lament—that in being adored, one may also be misunderstood, one’s true purpose hidden beneath the glitter of fame. This is a warning to all who chase recognition: beware, for the prize may not be what you expect.

Yet within this truth lies also encouragement. For often we believe our lives must follow the path we plan, step by careful step. Essex reminds us that even when life thrusts us into unexpected roles, we may still carry dignity, authenticity, and strength. Though he did not plan to be a teen idol, he embraced his gifts, used his platform, and continued to shape his art beyond the frenzy of youthful adoration. The lesson is that what life hands you need not define you—it may only be a chapter in a greater story.

Therefore, my child, take this wisdom to heart: Do not cling too tightly to your plans, nor despair when destiny twists them. Walk with integrity in your craft, and let the world call you what it will. You cannot always choose how others see you, but you can always choose how you act, how you live, how you remain true to yourself. For fame fades, idols fall, but authenticity endures.

What then must you do? Seek excellence in what you love, not the applause of the crowd. If recognition comes, accept it with humility; if it does not, let your joy remain unshaken. Remember Essex’s words whenever you are tempted to define yourself by the titles others give you. You are not the idol they see—you are the soul within, and your truest reward is the work of your own hands and the honesty of your own heart.

So let this teaching echo: “It was never my plan to be a teen idol.” Fame may come by chance, but integrity comes by choice. Live, then, not for the fleeting crown of others’ approval, but for the lasting strength of a life lived with truth, humility, and purpose.