On the subject of literary genres, I've always felt that my

Hear the words of J. K. Rowling, who confessed with candor: “On the subject of literary genres, I've always felt that my response to poetry is inadequate. I'd love to be the kind of person that drifts off into the garden with a slim volume of Elizabethan verse or a sheaf of haikus, but my passion is story.” This statement, though humble in tone, carries a profound teaching about the diversity of human expression. For in it lies the recognition that each soul has its proper food, each mind its natural path, and each artist their chosen vessel of truth.

For poetry, with its concentration of emotion and image, speaks to some hearts as song speaks to birds. It offers moments of stillness, sudden bursts of vision, the distilled essence of thought. But story, the narrative art, speaks to humanity’s universal hunger for meaning stretched across time. It is the thread that ties beginning to end, the river that carries us from origin to destiny. Rowling admits that while she admires the beauty of poetry, her deepest passion lies in the current of storytelling, in shaping the long arcs of lives, trials, and triumphs.

This truth is older than the written word. Long before books and scrolls, human beings gathered around fires to share stories. These were not idle entertainments but the very fabric of survival and identity. The hunter told of the hunt so that others might learn. The elder told of the ancestors so that the tribe might remember. The prophet told of the gods so that the people might believe. Story has always been the vessel of wisdom, carrying both fact and faith. Poetry was the jewel, bright and fleeting; story was the foundation, enduring and communal.

Consider the example of Homer, whose Iliad and Odyssey were not mere strings of verse but great stories that defined a civilization. While the meter was poetry, the heartbeat was narrative, carrying warriors and wanderers across the ages. Or think of Scheherazade, who in the Arabian Nights spun tale after tale not only to enchant but to save her life. She is proof that story is more than art; it is survival, transformation, and redemption. Rowling stands in this ancient tradition, a weaver of narrative who gives meaning to countless lives through the power of story.

Yet her words also teach humility. She does not scorn poetry; she admits a longing to dwell in its gardens. But she knows herself, and in knowing herself, she finds her path. Too often we burden ourselves with the desire to be everything, to master every form, to wear every crown. Rowling’s wisdom is in the recognition that our greatest strength lies in embracing our passion—not forcing ourselves into what looks admirable, but devoting ourselves to what truly calls us. For she could have strained to imitate poets, but instead she listened to her heart, and in doing so, she gave the world stories that endure.

This lesson applies not only to art but to life itself. Each soul is born with inclinations, talents, and longings. To deny them is to live divided; to honor them is to live whole. If your heart beats for music, do not force it into silence for the sake of painting. If your spirit soars with numbers, do not abandon them out of guilt for not being a poet. What matters is not to be everything, but to be true to your gift, and to pour it out with honesty and devotion.

Therefore, O seekers, remember Rowling’s confession: admire what you cannot master, but give yourself wholly to what you love. For in doing so, you will create with authenticity, and your creation will endure. Do not despise your difference, nor feel “inadequate” because another path is not yours. Whether poetry or story, music or silence, your gift is enough. For passion is the flame, and the work born of passion is the light that guides others through the dark.