Recently, well-meaning colleagues encouraged me to focus on marketing my book, pursuing grants, and building revenue streams around my ideas. And yes, I’d love for my book to be a bestseller. Financial success would be welcome.

But as I sat with their advice, I realized: that’s not why I wrote it. That’s not what I actually want.

What I want is for people to see what I see. To recognize the beauty in these ideas. To be helped by them. I want this thing I’ve labored over to live in the world—to flourish and do good.

My book and other writings are part of my life’s work: my opus, in the classical sense. Not my job, not my career, but the work that defines me. And I suspect many creative people feel the same way about something they’ve made or are making.

Mr. Holland’s Lesson

In the 1995 film Mr. Holland’s Opus, a music teacher spends decades believing his opus, his great work, is the symphony he’s composing on the side. But in the end, he discovers his real opus was his students: the lives he shaped, the musicians and people he helped bring forth into the world.

That film captures something profound. The word opus comes from Latin, meaning one’s defining work. It’s cognate with the Greek ergon (ἔργον)—work, characteristic activity, the thing that makes you you. Your opus isn’t what pays your bills. It’s what you’re here to contribute.

And 25 centuries ago, Plato gave us language for why this matters so deeply.

Giving Birth in Beauty

In the Symposium, a wise woman named Diotima teaches Socrates about the true nature of eros: love, desire, longing. Her insight cuts against everything we assume about ambition.

She introduced a phrase: tokos en kalōi (τόκος ἐν καλῷ), or giving birth in beauty. This, she argued, is what eros is ultimately about. Not possession, but creation. Not acquisition, but bringing forth something beautiful into the world.

Diotima observed that all human beings are pregnant—some in body, some in psyche. Those pregnant in body seek continuity through biological children. But those who are kyountes en tais psychais (κυοῦντες ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς)—pregnant in their psyches—carry ideas, visions, works that long to be born.

She called these psychic offspring ekgona (ἔκγονα). The beautiful thing gestating in your psyche seeks to come forth into a world that can recognize and receive its beauty. That’s the deep longing: for beauty to meet beauty.

A Pattern I’ve Seen for Years

This isn’t a new observation for me. I’ve recognized this pattern throughout my career.

I’ve heard teachers describe running into former students who tell them, "You were my favorite teacher" or "You changed my life." They light up when they talk about it. That moment means more than any salary increase or administrative recognition ever could.

I’ve seen the same with therapists who encounter former patients years later, now thriving—married, employed, at peace. The fee they collected was necessary. But that encounter? That’s the real payoff.

In my own clinical work, I need to earn a living like anyone else. But what I actually want is for my patients to get better. When someone who came to me in crisis is now living a full life, that’s my ekgona flourishing. That’s what I’m really here for.

The Fulfillment Trap

Many people feel persistently unfulfilled despite success because they’re measuring the wrong thing. They track downloads, revenue, and followers when what they crave is evidence that their creation is alive and beautiful in the world.

This isn’t about rejecting compensation. Creators deserve to be paid. It’s about recognizing what’s actually driving you so you can pursue it directly instead of through proxies that never satisfy.

Reorienting Toward What Matters

If this resonates, try this: Think of something you’ve created, something you put real care into. Ask yourself:

1. What would it look like for this to truly flourish independent of any benefit to you?
2. When have you felt the deepest satisfaction? Was it at external recognition, or some other moment?
3. If no one knew you were the source, but your creation was alive and helping people, how would you feel?

Your answers reveal whether you’re oriented toward your ekgona itself or toward what you hope it will give you.

An Ancient Permission Slip

There’s something countercultural about Diotima’s teaching. We’re immersed in advice about monetizing our gifts and building personal brands.

But beneath the strategy, there’s often a quieter voice: I just want this thing I made to matter. I want it to be seen as beautiful. I want it to live.

That voice isn’t naive. According to one of the oldest accounts of human desire we have, it’s telling you exactly what you most deeply want.

Listen to it.

References

Plato. (c. 385–370 BCE). Symposium (A. Nehamas & P. Woodruff, Trans.). Hackett Publishing Company, 1989.