When I was making the early stuff, I never expected it to be so

Hear the voice of The Weeknd, who spoke with candor and reflection: “When I was making the early stuff, I never expected it to be so big. I was in my own kind of bubble. I never wanted to tour; I just wanted to create music and make a diary I could put out into the world. And sometimes, I became the characters.” These words carry the weight of an artist who stumbled upon greatness not by chasing glory, but by surrendering to honesty. He did not aim to conquer the world’s stage, yet the world came to him, drawn to the raw confession of his soul.

The ancients knew this path of unintentional greatness. Consider the poet Homer, who sang of heroes not to gain crowns of fame, but to preserve memory and feeling. His verses, passed down through ages, became the foundation of Western literature. Like The Weeknd, Homer wrote a kind of diary for his people—a record of longing, of struggle, of triumph. And just as The Weeknd confessed that he sometimes became his characters, so Homer lived through Achilles’ rage and Odysseus’ cunning, embodying their spirits through his song.

What The Weeknd reveals is the power of creation born in solitude. His bubble was not isolation, but a sacred space where the noise of expectation could not corrupt him. It was in this space that truth was born, unpolished, vulnerable, and therefore powerful. Many chase greatness with ambition, but greatness often comes to those who first seek authenticity. The Weeknd’s early works, made without calculation, became monumental precisely because they were not designed for grandeur—they were designed for truth.

There is a warning and a wonder in his words: the artist who creates from the soul sometimes blurs the line between self and story. “Sometimes, I became the characters,” he says, reminding us that art transforms not only its audience but its maker. The actor becomes the role; the poet becomes the voice he channels; the singer becomes the confessions he writes. This merging can be dangerous, for it consumes identity, but it is also the source of art’s deepest power. The Weeknd teaches that to write with honesty is to risk becoming the very emotion you seek to express.

History offers another example: Franz Kafka, who wrote not for fame, but as a private exorcism of his anxieties and dreams. He left behind works that were, to him, a personal diary, yet to the world they became revelations of the human condition. Kafka, too, was consumed by his characters—the tortured souls in his stories were extensions of his own life. Like The Weeknd, he created in a bubble, never expecting his writings to grow vast, yet his confessions reached far beyond his imagining.

The lesson is this: true art is born not from the pursuit of recognition, but from the courage to be honest. If you create for the crowd, your work may fade with their shifting tastes. But if you create from the heart, as from a diary, it will carry the timelessness of authenticity. The Weeknd’s rise shows us that the world is always hungry for truth, even when it comes from unexpected places.

Practical wisdom follows: when you create—whether in music, in writing, in work, or in living—do not begin with thoughts of greatness. Begin instead with honesty. Make your own bubble, free from distraction and pressure, and allow your voice to flow unguarded. Do not fear if your words or actions reveal parts of yourself, for sometimes becoming the characters is the only way to speak what cannot otherwise be spoken.

So let these words of The Weeknd be remembered. He teaches us that greatness comes not from striving to be great, but from daring to be true. Create as though you are writing a diary to eternity, and let the world discover you in its time. For in the end, authenticity is the seed of all lasting success, and to become one with your art is to live a life that speaks even beyond your own.