Rap music was and is, for me, everything.

Hear the voice of Jason Reynolds, poet of the present age, who declared with unshaken certainty: “Rap music was and is, for me, everything.” These words are not lightly spoken. They carry the weight of a life shaped by rhythm, by words sharpened into truth, by beats that echo the heartbeat of a people. When he says everything, he speaks not of mere entertainment, but of survival, of identity, of a compass that guided him through the labyrinth of his youth. In this confession, there is both reverence and testimony: that art, when embraced wholly, can become the very breath by which one lives.

The ancients too knew of such devotion. To Homer, the epic poem was everything—the lifeblood of memory, the way to carry the names of heroes beyond the grave. To the prophets, the spoken word was everything—a force that could bind nations, console the grieving, and strike down the unjust. For Reynolds, the tradition continues. Rap music is the modern epic, the psalm of the street, the scripture written not on stone tablets, but on the tongues of those who dared to speak their truth in rhyme and rhythm. It is the book of the oppressed, and the hymn of the survivor.

Consider the story of the griots of West Africa—keepers of memory, who carried the history of tribes through generations, armed only with word and drum. Their duty was sacred, for without them, the people would forget who they were. In the same way, rap arose in the Bronx, born from struggle, poverty, and fire. Where textbooks were silent, rap spoke; where society turned away, rap shouted. To the youth abandoned in forgotten cities, it became a mirror and a lantern. For Reynolds, who grew within the embrace of such voices, it was not just sound—it was everything.

And yet, there is deeper wisdom still. To declare something as one’s everything is to confess where the heart has placed its anchor. For many, life scatters in a thousand directions, chasing fleeting desires and hollow pursuits. But the wise find one thing that roots them, one calling that feeds them when all else runs dry. Reynolds found his root in rap, where stories were raw, language alive, and identity unashamed. From this soil he grew as a writer, carrying the rhythm of verses into novels that would one day inspire the young to rise.

We must not dismiss this as mere passion for music. It is more. It is a lesson in the power of devotion. When you give yourself fully to one craft, one truth, one love, it can transform despair into purpose. Just as a river shapes stone by flowing endlessly, so too can devotion shape a life into greatness. Reynolds chose rap not because it was fashionable, but because it was authentic—because it carried the fire of his people, and because in its beat he heard his own name called.

So what must we learn? Seek your everything. Find the art, the craft, the work that does not simply fill time, but fills the soul. Do not be content with fragments of half-lived days. Instead, discover that which makes you say: “This is my compass, my survival, my voice.” For some, it may be music; for others, the forge of science, the quiet of teaching, the brush of painting, or the toil of justice. Whatever it is, embrace it fully.

Practical action is simple yet profound: listen to the call of what stirs your blood. Keep company with it daily, whether in practice, reflection, or creation. Honor those who paved its path, as Reynolds honored rap, for your devotion will not be solitary—you inherit the strength of those who carried it before you. And above all, protect it, nurture it, for your everything will in turn sustain you when storms arise.

Thus, Jason Reynolds speaks not merely of music, but of destiny. To say rap music is everything is to declare: I have found my truth, my weapon, my prayer, my life. Let his words remind us all that in this vast and fleeting existence, the greatest treasure is not to have many things, but to find the one thing that means everything, and to live it with courage.