My music is a luxury.

Hear the words of Lana Del Rey, the chanteuse of longing and sorrow, who spoke with simplicity yet with depth: “My music is a luxury.” At first glance, these words may seem only modest, a reflection of gratitude. Yet hidden within them is a wisdom profound: that art, though born of struggle and desire, is not necessity like bread or water, but rather a gift that graces existence, an adornment to life that lifts it beyond mere survival.

When she names her music as luxury, she confesses that it is something beyond the realm of survival. Many live their lives bound by toil, laboring for shelter, food, and clothing. But to create music is to step into the realm of abundance, to fashion beauty not out of necessity but out of longing, memory, and imagination. This does not diminish music—it magnifies it. For luxuries are treasures that adorn the soul, that make life more than endurance, that give us the sense that we are not only creatures of flesh, but beings of spirit.

Yet in this statement, there is also humility. Lana Del Rey recognizes that music, however beloved, is not owed to her or to the world—it is a gift, fragile and precious. By calling it a luxury, she acknowledges the blessing of being able to make art at all, when so many cannot. In this humility lies strength, for to know that something is luxury is to treat it with reverence, not entitlement.

History offers us mirrors of this truth. In ancient Greece, music and poetry were not considered necessities of life, yet they were cherished as divine luxuries bestowed by the Muses. A man might survive without them, but he would not thrive. During the darkest hours of war, soldiers in the trenches sang songs—not because they needed them for survival, but because such songs gave them strength, courage, and meaning. Thus, music is revealed as a luxury that sustains the soul, even when the body struggles.

Consider also the life of Frederic Chopin, whose delicate compositions were played in salons, not battlefields, yet whose works have outlived empires. To some, his music seemed an ornament of the privileged classes, but to those who listened deeply, it was medicine for the heart. So too with Lana Del Rey: her music, drenched in nostalgia, melancholy, and longing, may not feed the hungry, but it feeds the spirit in ways unseen. It is a luxury, yes, but a necessary one for the soul that yearns.

The lesson here is twofold. First, we must never take art for granted, for it is not guaranteed. It is a luxury that must be cherished, supported, and nurtured, lest it vanish. Second, we must remember that while survival sustains the body, it is luxuries like music, literature, and beauty that give meaning to existence. Life without them may continue, but it will be barren, stripped of its higher joys.

O children of tomorrow, take this teaching to heart: do not scorn luxuries of the spirit. Seek them, honor them, create them if you can. If you are an artist, treat your gift as sacred, not trivial. If you are a listener, do not dismiss the luxury of song as frivolous—understand that it carries a weight beyond gold, for it enriches the unseen parts of you. Let your life contain not only necessities, but also the treasures that make life radiant.

So remember the words of Lana Del Rey: music is a luxury. It may not feed the body, but it nourishes the heart. It may not clothe you, but it wraps you in memory, beauty, and meaning. Treat such luxuries as the true treasures of existence, and you will find that your days are not only endured, but deeply, beautifully lived.