It's a big theme in my life, learning about myself and being a

The words of Rick Rubin—“It’s a big theme in my life, learning about myself and being a better person. I’m a work in progress; I have revelations every day.”—resonate with the quiet power of a man who has walked far on the road of creation and self-discovery. Known for shaping the sound of generations—from hip-hop to rock, from Johnny Cash to the Beastie Boys—Rubin’s statement is not about fame, but about the inner art of becoming. In his humility lies a universal truth: that the most profound masterpiece we ever create is ourselves, and that this creation is never finished. Each day offers a brushstroke, each failure a chance to correct the line, each revelation a spark of new light upon the canvas of the soul.

The origin of this quote lies in Rubin’s philosophy of creativity and mindfulness. Though celebrated as a music producer, Rubin is as much a seeker as an artist. He has often spoken of meditation, stillness, and the power of awareness—of learning not just how to make music, but how to listen deeply: to others, to silence, to oneself. His journey has been one of stripping away illusion, much like a sculptor removing stone to reveal the form within. To call oneself a “work in progress,” as Rubin does, is to embrace impermanence, to accept that life is a process of continual awakening rather than a fixed state of achievement. It is the confession of a wise man who knows that mastery does not end with success—it begins with humility.

The ancients knew this truth well. The philosopher Socrates declared, “I know that I know nothing,” not in despair but in freedom. For he understood that wisdom is not possession, but pursuit. The Buddhist monk, too, speaks of the path, not the destination; of enlightenment as a practice, not a trophy. In these traditions, to be a work in progress is not weakness—it is the very essence of life. The river that flows is alive; the one that stagnates, dies. So too, Rubin’s words remind us that self-knowledge is not found in arrival, but in motion, in the gentle unfolding of insight through time and experience.

Consider the story of Nelson Mandela, who spent twenty-seven years in prison and emerged not with bitterness, but with a deeper understanding of forgiveness and unity. When asked how he endured, he said that those long years had taught him about himself, about patience and humanity. Mandela was not born the man who would reconcile a nation; he became him, piece by piece, through struggle and reflection. Like Rubin, he saw life as a process of becoming, where every day can bring a revelation—some painful, some liberating, but all essential. The work of the soul, like the work of art, is never done; it is lived into being.

Rubin’s emphasis on “learning about myself” speaks to the discipline of introspection. In a world that rushes toward noise and distraction, few dare to sit in silence with their own thoughts. Yet the ancients called this the highest form of education. To learn oneself is to discover the roots of one’s desires, fears, and potential—to unearth the divine architecture hidden beneath the rubble of habit and ego. As Rubin says, this is not a task completed in a single moment; it is the daily practice of awareness. Each revelation, however small, brings us closer to harmony with who we truly are.

There is also deep courage in Rubin’s words. To admit one is “a work in progress” is to reject the illusion of perfection. The world teaches us to mask our flaws, to present the image of completion—but the wise know that growth and vulnerability are intertwined. The seed must break to become a tree; the artist must fail to find his form. Rubin’s philosophy invites us to celebrate imperfection, to see it not as weakness but as evidence of life’s movement through us. For every day that brings a revelation also brings renewal—a chance to begin again, wiser, gentler, and more whole.

The lesson, then, is luminous: never cease to learn, never cease to listen. Be as Rubin—curious, humble, and awake. Let your days be a series of small awakenings, each one a whisper from the soul reminding you of who you are becoming. Read deeply, travel inward, sit in silence, create without fear, and treat every mistake as a teacher. Remember that life’s perfection lies not in completion but in continuity, not in certainty but in wonder.

So let us take these words as a timeless teaching for our own journey. Like Rick Rubin, let us be artisans of the self, shaping our character through patience, reflection, and revelation. Let us live as students of life, finding wisdom in both harmony and dissonance. For the greatest song we will ever compose is not the one the world hears—it is the one we play within, day after day, as we learn the sacred art of becoming better human beings.