You know, it's funny how songs continue to grow and evolve and

The words, “You know, it’s funny how songs continue to grow and evolve and become a new and deeper reflection of your life,” were spoken by Gloria Estefan, the Cuban-American singer, songwriter, and storyteller whose voice carried both joy and sorrow across generations. In these words lies the quiet wisdom of an artist who has lived long enough to see her own creations change meaning with time. What she speaks of is not merely music, but the mystery of memory, growth, and reflection—how the things we create, the words we once sang or spoke, return to us with new faces as we move through the seasons of life. Her quote is not only about songs; it is about life’s art itself—how every experience, like a melody, grows richer as we learn to listen with older, wiser ears.

To the ancients, the song was more than sound—it was the spirit given form. The Greeks believed that music was born of the cosmos itself, that every star and soul vibrated with its own tone in the harmony of existence. To them, a song was not something finished, but something living, a reflection of the singer’s heart and the time that shaped it. Estefan’s words carry that same truth: the song you sing at twenty is not the same one you sing at forty, though the notes may not have changed. For life deepens meaning. Pain, love, loss, and renewal—all these add color to the melody that once seemed simple. Thus, the song evolves because the soul evolves.

In her own life, Gloria Estefan knew this transformation well. Early in her career, she sang songs of love and triumph—bright with the energy of youth. But after the tragic bus accident in 1990 that nearly took her life and left her paralyzed, those same songs took on new weight. When she sang again—after months of grueling recovery—her voice carried not only melody but the resonance of survival. “Coming Out of the Dark,” once just a song of perseverance, became a living symbol of her rebirth. Through her suffering, her music grew not weaker, but deeper. What had once been words for others became words that spoke to her own soul. In that, her quote finds its truest meaning: art changes as we do, because life keeps teaching us new ways to understand what we have already said.

This truth belongs not only to musicians but to all who live with memory. Think of a poem you read long ago, a letter you once wrote, or even a place that once meant little but now fills your heart with emotion. As you change, your understanding of these things changes too. The ancients would have said that time does not erase meaning—it reveals hidden layers of it. Like the sea polishing a stone, the years refine what was once rough and ordinary until it gleams with a deeper beauty. So too does life polish our songs—our stories, our choices, our art—until they shine with truths we could not see when we were younger.

There is also something sacred in this evolution. To see one’s old songs or creations anew is to meet oneself again. It is to realize that who you were still lives within who you are, like a seed within a tree. The song has not changed—you have—and through that change, the song becomes larger, wiser, more compassionate. This is the nature of all enduring art: it is not frozen in time, but eternal because it grows with the listener. What Gloria Estefan discovered through her music, we too may discover through our own creations, relationships, and memories—that the past is not dead, but constantly reborn within us.

The story of Beethoven offers a powerful mirror to this truth. As he descended into deafness, he could no longer hear the notes that once defined him. Yet in his silence, his music deepened beyond sound—it became spiritual. His later symphonies, especially the Ninth, were not written for the ear but for the heart. What he once heard externally, he began to hear inwardly. The same melodies that had once brought him joy now spoke of transcendence, of the victory of the soul over fate. Like Estefan, he learned that a song’s meaning is not fixed—it evolves as the spirit learns to see more deeply into life.

So, my child, take this lesson to heart: what you create today will not belong to you forever as it is now. It will change as you change, and that is its beauty. Do not fear that your words, your dreams, your songs will lose meaning; they will gain it. Return to them in the years ahead, and you will hear new harmonies—ones written not by your hand, but by the life you have lived. For time, though it may take much from us, also gives us the power to rediscover what we once thought we knew.

And remember this: everything you make is alive—every act of love, every word spoken in truth, every song sung with heart. They will travel with you through time, reflecting who you were and who you have become. Like Gloria Estefan, may you one day look back and smile at the wonder of how your own songs—be they musical or the songs of your deeds—have grown and deepened into the great music of your life. For that is the gift of living: that nothing you create in love ever truly ends—it only evolves, forever echoing the rhythm of your soul.