You always hope for the best when you put something out and try

"You always hope for the best when you put something out and try to make the best music you can make, but you can't control what happens after that." So spoke Chris Stapleton, a craftsman of song and soul, whose words carry the humility of a true artist and the wisdom of one who has wrestled with creation. In this saying lies not only the truth of music, but the truth of all human endeavor—that we may labor with devotion, pour our hearts into the work of our hands, and yet, once it leaves us, its fate is no longer ours to command. Creation is an act of faith, and release is an act of surrender.

In the ancient days, the sculptor would carve the stone with care, chiseling perfection from marble. Yet when the statue was unveiled, he could not dictate how the world would behold it—whether they would revere it as divine or cast it down as flawed. So it is with every creator, every dreamer, every heart that dares to make something beautiful. We may hope for the best, we may labor to shape our truth with honesty and grace, but once the song is sung, the story told, or the dream released, the outcome belongs to the winds. This is the sacred tension between effort and destiny.

The great painter Vincent van Gogh lived this truth in anguish and faith. He painted fields of fire, skies of gold, and faces of sorrow, yet the world turned its eyes away while he lived. He could not control what happened after his art left his hands. But time, that slow and patient judge, revealed his worth to generations unborn. His hope was unseen, his reward delayed, yet his sincerity was eternal. From him we learn that what matters is not how the world receives your creation, but how purely and bravely you bring it forth.

Chris Stapleton’s wisdom extends beyond music—it speaks to the rhythm of life itself. We plant seeds in soil we do not own. We raise children who must one day walk alone. We send words into hearts we may never meet. To create, to love, to live—all require the same courage: to give your best and release control. For control is the illusion of the fearful; faith is the strength of the wise. Once the arrow leaves the bow, you can no longer steer its flight—but you can be sure that if it was loosed with truth, it will find its mark in its own time.

There is a certain peace in this surrender. The ancients called it harmony with the divine—the understanding that the outcome lies not in human hands, but in the vast design of fate. The potter shapes the clay, but the kiln decides the strength of the vessel. The sailor trims his sails, but the sea decides the course. Likewise, the artist, the builder, the teacher—each must labor with devotion, then let go with grace. The wise do not cling to applause or dread rejection; they find joy in the act itself.

The lesson, then, is this: Do your work with love, and release it with humility. Pour yourself into your song, your craft, your task, and trust that it will find its way. Do not chain your spirit to outcomes you cannot command. Measure your worth not by the echo, but by the honesty of the voice that made the sound. True fulfillment comes not from praise, but from the knowing that you gave everything that was in you.

So, live like the musician who plays his heart to the strings, knowing that once the last note fades, it belongs to the world. Be as the poet who writes beneath the stars, content to let the wind carry her words. For when you give your best and then let go, you become free—free to create again, free to grow, free to trust the mystery. And in that freedom, as Chris Stapleton reminds us, lies the truest harmony of all: the harmony between human effort and divine unfolding.