Ever since I was four years old, I loved making people smile

Ann-Margret, radiant star of stage and screen, once confessed: “Ever since I was four years old, I loved making people smile, making them think, making them feel good, feel some kind of emotion.” In these words lies not only the memory of a child discovering her gift, but the eternal truth that the greatest calling of an artist—or of any human soul—is to stir the hearts of others. For while wealth and glory fade, the ability to awaken emotion, to lift spirits, to provoke thought, endures as a sacred power.

The ancients knew this well. The Greek dramatists, when they raised their tragedies in the theaters of Athens, did not merely seek entertainment; they sought to make the audience think, to stir pity, fear, joy, and catharsis. Likewise, the great orators of Rome did not aim only to persuade, but to move the heart so that action might follow. Ann-Margret, in her reflection, reveals that even as a child she sensed this mystery: that the true gift is not performance for its own sake, but the awakening of smiles, the planting of thoughts, and the gift of emotion shared.

Consider the story of Charlie Chaplin, who, with nothing but his gestures and a painted face, could cause entire audiences to laugh, to weep, and to ponder the absurdities of life. He was more than a clown; he was a philosopher in disguise, reminding the world of its humanity during times of war and poverty. Chaplin’s legacy echoes the very calling Ann-Margret describes: to be a vessel through which others feel more alive, more human, more whole.

Mark this well: to make others smile is no small thing. A smile can disarm anger, soothe despair, and kindle hope. To make another think is greater still, for a thought planted in the mind may grow into a tree that shelters generations. And to stir emotion—whether joy, sorrow, or awe—is to remind the heart that it still beats, that it has not turned to stone. Such is the noble work she speaks of, a work that begins in childhood but continues as a lifelong offering to the world.

Yet her words also teach humility. She does not speak of seeking her own acclaim, but of loving the act of giving something to others—an echo of the wisdom of the Buddha, who taught that joy is found not in possession, but in the giving of joy. Her art, like the flame of a lamp, is precious not because it consumes itself, but because it illuminates others. In this way, the emotion she creates becomes a bridge between souls, a sacred communion beyond words.

Practical wisdom flows from this: whatever your gift may be—whether words, song, craft, or simply the capacity to listen—use it to bring smiles, to awaken thought, to stir emotion in those around you. Do not underestimate the smallest act: a kind word, a shared story, or a moment of laughter can change the course of another’s day, or even their life. To live for yourself alone is a narrow life; to live so that others are lifted is to walk in greatness.

Therefore, O seeker, take Ann-Margret’s childhood vow as your own. Strive daily to leave those you meet better than you found them. Offer your light freely, for even the faintest glow can pierce great darkness. If, by the end of your days, you have made others smile, made them think, and made them feel, then you will have fulfilled a calling as noble as any conqueror or king—for you will have touched eternity through the hearts of men.