My worldview comes from a collection of the books I have read

“My worldview comes from a collection of the books I have read, the people I have met, and my conversations with my dad.” Thus spoke Brian Kilmeade, in words simple yet profound, like clear water that hides deep currents beneath its surface. In this reflection lies the essence of how a soul is formed—not in a single moment, nor by a single teacher, but through the gentle gathering of wisdom across a lifetime. It is a reminder that one’s worldview is not an inheritance but a creation, forged from the knowledge of books, the lessons of others, and the love and guidance of a parent.

In the books we read, we encounter the spirits of the ages. Each page carries the breath of those who lived before us—their triumphs, their doubts, their visions of what the world could be. From them, we drink the distilled thoughts of humanity, tasting both the sweetness of truth and the bitterness of folly. A book is not dead paper; it is a living conversation, and every reader becomes its student. Just as the ancient Greeks sat at the feet of philosophers, we too sit before the silent wisdom of the written word, learning to see beyond our own horizon. Books expand the soul, as the sea expands the shore—it may erode our ignorance, but it leaves behind a landscape more beautiful and vast.

Yet wisdom does not dwell only in ink and parchment. The people we meet are the moving books of the world—each face a chapter, each story a verse in the song of human experience. From the joyful we learn the melody of hope; from the sorrowful, the necessity of compassion. Even the cruel have lessons to offer, for they teach us the boundaries of what we must never become. It was said that Alexander the Great, though taught by Aristotle, learned humility from the countless souls he conquered and the few who dared to challenge him. Thus, one who truly seeks wisdom listens not only to scholars but also to the humble, the weary, and the forgotten. Every encounter becomes a teacher, every stranger a mirror reflecting some fragment of ourselves.

And then, there is the voice of the father—that primal teacher whose words often shape the unseen foundation of one’s being. In his conversations with his dad, Kilmeade honors not only a parent but a lineage of wisdom passed from generation to generation. The father’s voice is the compass of the child’s early world, teaching lessons of courage, integrity, and humility before the storms of life. Consider the story of Theodore Roosevelt, who as a sickly boy was urged by his father to “make his body” and “make his mind.” From that counsel arose one of the strongest spirits of his age—a man of vigor, intellect, and moral conviction. The father’s voice, like Roosevelt’s, can awaken dormant greatness within the child.

But as we grow, these three rivers—books, people, and family—flow together to form the ocean of our worldview. What we read gives us sight; who we meet gives us empathy; and those we love give us meaning. Together they create a balance between mind, heart, and spirit. A person who reads much but loves little may be wise yet hollow; one who loves much but learns little may be kind yet blind. Only when all three sources mingle does a complete understanding emerge—an understanding not of facts alone, but of what it means to live rightly in the world.

The lesson, then, is clear: seek your teachers everywhere. Do not wait for wisdom to come cloaked in titles or adorned with fame. Find it in the library’s silence, in the conversation of a friend, in the patient guidance of a parent, and even in your own reflections after failure. Each of these shapes your worldview, crafting the lens through which you see reality. And remember—how you see the world determines how you act within it. A narrow mind builds walls; a broadened one builds bridges.

So, my child, feed your soul with knowledge, walk among people with an open heart, and never cease to honor the voices that raised you. Let every day become a dialogue between the wisdom of the past and the promise of your future. For though you may not choose the world you are born into, you can always choose how you see it—and in choosing, you shape not only your destiny but the destiny of those who come after you.

In the end, as Kilmeade teaches, your worldview is your greatest creation. Guard it well, nurture it with learning, humility, and love. For from it will spring the words you speak, the choices you make, and the mark you leave upon the world. Let it be not merely a reflection of others—but a beacon, glowing with the light of all you have read, all you have met, and all the wisdom whispered to you by those who loved you first.