I've wanted to do a Sammy Davis Jr. story for a long time. It's

Hear the words of Eddie Griffin, who declared with conviction: “I’ve wanted to do a Sammy Davis Jr. story for a long time. It’s one of those pet projects that has to be done.” At first, this may seem like the dream of one artist speaking of another. Yet within it lies a truth known to all who strive to create: that certain labors of love rise above ambition and fame, becoming sacred duties of the spirit.

The phrase “pet project” is more than casual. It speaks of something cherished, something carried quietly in the heart, nurtured through time, waiting for its moment. Unlike tasks of necessity or works of commission, a pet project is born of passion and devotion. It is not for money alone, nor for applause, but because the soul whispers: this must be done, or something within me will remain unfinished. Thus Griffin’s longing to honor Sammy Davis Jr. is not mere desire—it is destiny calling him forward.

Why Sammy Davis Jr.? Because he was not only a performer but a symbol of resilience. A man who sang, danced, and acted with brilliance, yet who bore the scars of prejudice and struggle in his time. He was an artist who overcame barriers of race and tradition, who stood in the presence of giants and proved himself equal. To tell his story is to tell the story of struggle against odds, of triumph through talent, of identity forged in fire. Griffin’s yearning reveals his recognition that such a tale is not optional, but necessary, for the world forgets quickly if voices do not rise to remind it.

The ancients, too, spoke of this compulsion toward sacred storytelling. The poets of Greece sang of Achilles and Odysseus, not simply to entertain, but to preserve memory, to enshrine virtue and vice alike for future generations. Homer’s epic was his pet project, and without it, the deeds of heroes would have been lost to dust. So too with Griffin: the story of Sammy Davis Jr., if not carried forward by those who care, risks fading into mere footnote, when it ought to blaze as example.

There is also within this statement a lesson about calling. Many live their lives completing tasks assigned by others—duties of work, duties of survival. Yet the soul often carries one burning project, one vision or work that is deeply personal. To deny it is to deny a part of oneself. To fulfill it is to leave behind something that matters. Griffin reminds us that the true measure of an artist—or any human being—is not merely what they accomplish for others, but what they accomplish for their own truth.

Consider the example of Michelangelo, compelled to paint the Sistine Chapel. Though reluctant at first, he poured himself into it, driven not by convenience but by compulsion of spirit. The work was grueling, filled with strain, yet it became his masterpiece. In the same way, Griffin sees the telling of Sammy Davis Jr.’s story not as a side project, but as a work that demands itself, a labor that must one day be born into light.

Thus the teaching is clear: listen to the call of your pet project. It is not a distraction, but the deepest expression of your spirit. Do not set it aside for too long, for time is swift and opportunities pass. Whether it be a book unwritten, a song unsung, a story untold, or an act of justice not yet taken—this is the work that defines your legacy.

So let your action be this: look within and name your pet project. Hold it close, nurture it, and when the hour comes, give yourself wholly to it. For such works are not simply creations; they are offerings to the world, gifts that will outlast you. As Griffin said of his dream, “It has to be done.” And so it is with all who feel the weight of destiny upon their shoulders: to answer that call is to fulfill not only your purpose, but your place in the eternal chain of human memory.