Actually, acting turned out to be the perfect job for me

John C. Reilly once reflected upon his path with these words: “Actually, acting turned out to be the perfect job for me, because I had a lot of different interests. I thought about being a priest at one point. I thought about being a teacher. I thought about being a lawyer. But I think acting is probably the best job for me.” In this confession lies the story of a man who sought many callings, yet found in the art of acting the vessel large enough to contain them all. His words teach us that one craft, if chosen rightly, may encompass the spirit of many paths.

To desire to be a priest is to feel the longing to serve the soul, to stand as a bridge between heaven and earth, speaking words that stir faith and meaning. To dream of being a teacher is to yearn to shape minds, to kindle the light of wisdom in the hearts of others. To imagine being a lawyer is to thirst for justice, to defend the weak, to wield words like weapons in the struggle for truth. These three paths—spiritual, intellectual, and moral—are noble indeed. Yet Reilly discovered that in acting, he could walk them all, slipping into the skin of each, embodying the priest’s devotion, the teacher’s insight, the lawyer’s fire.

The ancients, too, revered the performer. In the theaters of Greece, the actor was more than an entertainer—he was the living voice of myth, the one who made gods and heroes visible to the people. Through masks and voices, the actor became all things: warrior, king, fool, and sage. In this way, the stage became a mirror of life, and the actor a vessel of universality. Reilly’s discovery is thus not new, but eternal: that to act is to live many lives, to explore the breadth of human experience, to gather into one art the fragments of countless callings.

History gives us many who embodied this truth. Consider Laurence Olivier, who in his lifetime was Hamlet, Othello, Henry V, and countless others. Was he merely an actor? No—he was a philosopher when he spoke Shakespeare’s questions, a soldier when he led armies in verse, a judge when he pronounced justice on stage. His craft contained within it multitudes. So too with John C. Reilly: by choosing acting, he did not forsake priest, teacher, or lawyer, but found a way to live each of them in turn, transformed through story.

There is also a heroic dimension in his words. For many fear that their many interests mean they are unfocused, destined to wander without purpose. Reilly’s life shows the opposite: that those who love many things may find one path that embraces them all. The danger is not in the diversity of interests, but in the failure to recognize the art or calling that can unify them. Acting, for him, became the loom upon which all threads could be woven, a tapestry of service, teaching, justice, and imagination.

The lesson, O seekers, is this: do not despair if you are drawn to many roads. The world will tell you to choose one, to abandon the others. But know this—there may be a path that allows you to embody them all, if you seek it with patience. Like Reilly, you may find that the perfect job is not one that narrows you, but one that expands you. The priest may speak through you, the teacher may act through you, the lawyer may argue through you, even if you bear another name.

Practical wisdom flows here. Reflect on your interests, on the many callings that whisper to your heart. Instead of seeing them as rivals, ask how they might unite. Seek crafts or professions that allow transformation, versatility, or breadth. It may be acting, or it may be another art, another service, another vocation that wears many faces. Do not shrink yourself to fit the world; instead, find the work that grows large enough to hold the fullness of who you are.

Thus John C. Reilly’s words stand as both confession and guidance. “Acting turned out to be the perfect job for me.” His truth reveals a greater law: that the perfect work is not that which denies your many callings, but that which embraces them, turning scattered desires into one shining purpose. Let us then seek not the narrow path, but the true one—the path wide enough for all the voices within us to sing.