51st State was one that I loved doing because the character was

In the vast tapestry of human experience, there are moments when we step into roles that feel so far removed from our everyday selves, yet they leave an indelible mark on our souls. Emily Mortimer’s reflection, "51st State was one that I loved doing because the character was so out there, and in a way I was sad to leave the character behind. I'm afraid I could never be that cool in real life!" reveals a profound truth about the human condition: the allure of characters who embody traits we admire or desire, and the internal conflict that arises when we are called to let go of something that felt so real and empowering. This sentiment speaks not only to the actor’s craft but to the universal longing for identity and the search for the parts of ourselves that we have yet to fully uncover.

In the ancient world, the notion of assuming different roles was seen as an essential part of self-discovery. The great Greek philosophers believed in the fluidity of the self, that we are not bound to a single identity, but rather can embody different virtues and qualities throughout our lives. Socrates, the master of self-examination, would often change his approach, his manner of questioning, depending on who he was speaking to and what he hoped to uncover. He understood that the self is not fixed, but constantly evolving, and through experience, we can explore different facets of our character, much like an actor stepping into a new role. Mortimer’s reflection on the character in 51st State speaks to this ancient understanding—that sometimes we are more than the sum of our parts, and it is through stepping into different roles that we discover who we truly are.

Similarly, in the plays of Shakespeare, the characters he created were often complex, filled with contradictions, and were shaped by their circumstances. Consider the character of Hamlet, who grapples with the duality of his identity: the young prince seeking revenge, and the reflective philosopher questioning his place in the world. Hamlet is at once bold and insecure, a reflection of how the human soul can be pulled in multiple directions. Just as Mortimer felt a deep connection to her character in 51st State, the actors who embodied Shakespeare’s roles would often find themselves deeply intertwined with their characters' fates, leaving behind parts of themselves in the process. Shakespeare, through his intricate characters, revealed that identity is a dance between what we wish to become and the circumstances that shape us.

Consider the story of Leonardo da Vinci, whose art was not merely the expression of his skill but also of his search for the deepest parts of his own soul. Da Vinci’s numerous sketches, from the human form to inventions, were not just technical drawings, but explorations of the potential of the human spirit. He often embodied the role of the scientist, the artist, the engineer, and the philosopher, weaving these roles together to uncover the mystery of human potential. In this, we see that the power of playing a role, as Mortimer found in her portrayal, is not about being “cool” or superior, but about embracing and exploring aspects of self that lie dormant, waiting to be realized.

Mortimer's quote also speaks to the universal desire to be someone greater, someone more confident or adventurous, and the pain that sometimes accompanies the realization that the character we portray may seem more complete than who we feel we are in reality. This tension—between the character's strengths and the perceived limitations of our real-life selves—is not unique to acting, but part of the human experience. In ancient mythologies, heroes such as Hercules or Achilles often represented ideals of strength and valor, yet their stories also spoke to the internal struggles and vulnerabilities they had to overcome. These heroes were mortal, just like us, yet through their roles in the stories, they embodied the possibilities of what we could become. The story of Mortimer’s character is no different—she engages with a version of herself that is empowered and fearless, but that cannot replace the deeper exploration of the self.

The lesson that emerges from Mortimer’s words is one of acceptance and self-awareness. We are often drawn to the versions of ourselves that seem more empowered or complete. But the deeper wisdom is in realizing that we are already in the process of becoming, and that the characters we embody, the roles we play, are simply mirrors of the potential within us. Like Socrates or Hercules, we too must engage with the various parts of ourselves, not in a way that seeks to become someone else, but in a way that invites us to embrace the fullness of who we can be.

In our own lives, we must ask: How can we channel the bravery and confidence we admire in others into our own actions? What roles are we being called to play—not in the world of theater, but in the drama of our everyday existence? The act of stepping into new roles, whether it’s taking on a new challenge, pursuing a passion, or learning a new skill, is an opportunity to expand and transform our understanding of ourselves. Mortimer’s reflection is a reminder that the role we play today—whether it feels monumental or small—is a chance to explore the uncharted depths of our own potential.

Thus, let us embrace the characters we embody in life, not as masks to wear, but as opportunities to uncover more about who we are becoming. Like Mortimer, we may find ourselves deeply attached to the roles we play, but it is in letting go of the need to be “perfect” or “cool” that we find our true selves. Life, like acting, is about stepping into new possibilities, embracing the unknown, and realizing that the potential for greatness lies not in being someone else, but in becoming the fullest version of who we already are.