Nothing is ever quick. You have to grow an audience, keep them

In the words of Karen Civil, we hear a truth that echoes through the chambers of time: “Nothing is ever quick. You have to grow an audience, keep them engaged, give them a reason to keep coming back so it will never be an overnight success. Have patience!” Though she speaks of building a following in the modern age, her wisdom is ancient, for it addresses the eternal law of growth, endurance, and the slow weaving of trust between creator and community.

For what is an audience but the gathering of souls around the flame of one’s labor? To summon such a gathering is not done with haste, nor can it be forced by mere ambition. It is like tending a vineyard: the seeds must be planted, the soil cared for, the vines pruned, and only after long seasons do the grapes appear. Civil reminds us that to build something lasting—whether art, reputation, or influence—requires steady work, not the illusion of instant triumph.

Consider the story of the Parthenon in Athens. It was not raised in a single day of frenzy, nor in one season of labor, but through decades of careful design, craftsmanship, and endurance. The Athenians did not seek an “overnight success,” but built with patience so that the temple might stand as a beacon for centuries. And so it does, weathering the ages. In the same way, Civil’s counsel is clear: anything built too quickly will not endure; only what is tended with patience will stand the test of time.

She also speaks of the need to keep an audience engaged. This is not unlike the duty of the ancient bard, who did not merely sing once and vanish, but who returned again and again with new songs, new stories, keeping the hearts of his people kindled. The bard knew that the bond between storyteller and listener is not a single spark, but a fire that must be continually fed. So too in our time, those who would create must provide reason after reason for others to stay, to return, to give their trust again and again.

Yet Civil also strikes at the impatience of our age. We live in a time where many crave the illusion of sudden greatness—overnight success delivered like lightning. But she warns that this lightning fades as quickly as it flashes. True greatness, she insists, is not found in the sudden spark but in the steady flame. This wisdom mirrors the teaching of the ancients, who knew that the tortoise, slow but unwavering, will outlast the hare who burns his strength too quickly.

The meaning of her words, then, is a call to endurance. If you labor in art, in business, in teaching, or in any endeavor, you must prepare for the long road. You must not despair when the harvest does not come quickly, nor envy those who seem to rise overnight. Instead, you must remember that growth unseen is still growth, that the roots beneath the soil prepare the tree for its towering height. Patience is not weakness, but the highest strength, for it sustains you when all else fails.

The lesson for us is clear: whatever you build—be it career, family, craft, or community—tend to it as a gardener tends to his field. Give it time, nourish it with effort, and guard it with faith. Do not chase only the applause of the moment; instead, aim to create something that draws people back, again and again, across the years. And when discouragement comes, remember Civil’s charge: “Have patience!” For it is patience that transforms labor into legacy.

So live by this wisdom, children of tomorrow: build slowly, engage deeply, endure faithfully. For in the end, nothing quick will last, but what is patiently grown will bear fruit more abundant than you ever dreamed, and your work will not fade like a fleeting spark, but endure like a flame burning bright across generations.