My idea of my music is constantly changing so I feel like how

Hear the words of Tate McRae, who spoke with honesty: “My idea of my music is constantly changing so I feel like how other people react to my old songs just ends up putting more pressure on myself from my own perspective.” In this confession lies the eternal struggle of the artist, the tension between growth and memory, between the living flame of creation and the frozen shadows of the past. For the soul that creates is always moving, always searching, always shedding its old skin. Yet the world often clings to what has already been made, asking the artist to remain where they no longer belong.

To say that one’s music is “constantly changing” is to recognize that true art is not static but alive. Just as rivers carve new paths and seasons shift from bloom to decay, the heart of an artist transforms with time. What was once a true reflection of the soul becomes but an echo as the spirit grows and changes. Yet the world, enchanted by the echo, holds it close, asking the artist to repeat yesterday’s voice while their inner self cries for tomorrow’s. This is the pressure McRae names—the weight of expectation colliding with the need for evolution.

History has seen this struggle before. Think of Bob Dylan, who electrified his music and angered those who loved his old acoustic songs. Crowds booed, critics jeered, but Dylan pressed forward, for he knew that to remain chained to the past was to betray his own spirit. Or consider Picasso, who shed style after style, never content to be imprisoned by one form. Both endured the pain of disappointing admirers, but in doing so, they preserved the truth of their art. Their courage teaches us that growth demands sacrifice, and the truest loyalty is to the evolving spirit within.

The meaning, then, is clear: the world may love your old creations, but you must not let their love trap you in them. For every song, every work, every achievement is but a step on the longer journey of becoming. To dwell too long on the past is to suffocate the present. Yet the artist, like the soul itself, must walk forward, even if the echoes of yesterday call them back.

This teaching is not only for musicians or painters, but for all who live. Every person changes, every spirit evolves. Yet often we are bound by the expectations of others—family, friends, society—who remember who we were and resist who we are becoming. Their reactions can become chains, holding us in place. But the wisdom of McRae is this: it is not their judgment that binds us most, but our own willingness to carry the pressure of their gaze within our hearts.

The lesson is urgent: do not measure yourself only by how others react to your past self. Honor who you were, but do not be enslaved by it. Allow yourself to grow, to shed, to transform. For life itself is a constant re-creation, and only by embracing change can you remain true. To cling to what you once made is to betray the living fire of what you might yet make.

Practical action lies within reach. When others praise your past, receive it with gratitude, but do not let it dictate your future. Remind yourself daily that your worth lies not in repeating yesterday’s song, but in discovering tomorrow’s. Create bravely, even when misunderstood. And above all, do not place upon yourself the burden of being who you once were—choose instead to be who you are becoming.

Thus let the words of Tate McRae endure as wisdom for all generations: “My idea of my music is constantly changing…” So too must our lives, our work, and our spirits constantly change. Do not fear this movement, for it is the sign of life itself. Honor the past, but live for the present, and create for the future. In this way, the pressure of expectation will vanish, and you will walk in freedom, true to your ever-changing soul.