When I was in my teen years and in my 20s and even 60s, it was

Hear the words of Paul Rodgers, a singer whose voice thundered through the ages of rock, who once said: “When I was in my teen years and in my 20s and even 60s, it was okay to drop everything and disappear and become a road warrior for all those months. But after a while you get... y’know, one likes to have some home life.” At first glance, these words seem to speak only of touring and of music. Yet beneath them lies a timeless truth: that life is a journey of changing seasons, where what once seemed glorious can give way to the longing for roots, and where the restless road eventually bows before the quiet hearth.

Rodgers recalls his days as a road warrior, when the fire of youth—and even the fire of age renewed—drove him to forsake comfort for the open road. In youth, the wanderer craves adventure, the thrill of the unknown, the roar of the crowd, the endless horizon. And truly, these are noble pursuits, for in the going forth we test the soul and discover its strength. Yet, as he confesses, there comes a time when the heart turns back toward home life, not because the road has lost all meaning, but because the spirit seeks balance, stability, and the tender joys of belonging.

Consider the story of Odysseus, who spent years wandering after the Trojan War. Though he was cunning, though he faced monsters, storms, and temptations, his heart yearned not for endless conquest but for Ithaca, for the hearth, for Penelope, for the simple life of a man rooted in his land. His journey teaches the same lesson Rodgers speaks: that the warrior, however mighty, eventually longs for peace. To live always as a wanderer is to deny the other half of the human soul, which craves not only adventure but also rest.

Rodgers’ words remind us of the power of time to shape desire. What feels thrilling in the teen years, when energy is boundless, can become burdensome when the weight of years and wisdom accumulates. In youth, the body thrives on movement; in age, the heart thrives on connection. This is not weakness, but growth. For the young warrior who seeks only battles has not yet learned that victory also lies in tending the fire at home, raising the cup with loved ones, and finding meaning not only in conquest but in constancy.

Yet his confession is also heroic in its honesty. Many resist this truth, clinging to the road long after it has ceased to nourish them, fearing that rest is defeat. But Rodgers speaks with the voice of one who has seen both sides—the glory of the wandering years, and the quiet nobility of home life. His wisdom is not to despise either, but to honor both in their season. There is a time to go forth boldly, and there is a time to return gratefully. To know when each time has come is the mark of a wise soul.

From this teaching flows a lesson for all: do not fear the changing seasons of your own heart. If you are young, embrace the road when it calls, for it will shape you. But when the day comes that you yearn for home, do not mistake that longing for weakness—it is simply the other half of the journey. To live fully is to know both the freedom of the wanderer and the rootedness of the dweller. Both are sacred paths.

And so, the practical call is this: learn to listen to your soul’s changing needs. Do not cling to the past season out of pride, nor rush into the next out of fear. If the road calls, go boldly. If home life calls, return without shame. For in the dance between leaving and returning, you will find the rhythm of a whole life. And let Rodgers’ words remind you: even the road warrior, whose voice once filled stadiums, discovered that true music is also played in the quiet moments at home.