I certainly miss playing piano, and I really wish I did it more -

The luminous and soulful performer Audra McDonald once confessed with heartfelt candor: “I certainly miss playing piano, and I really wish I did it more — it’s really a very therapeutic thing to do for me. I just need to be home for more than a few minutes to be able to play more, I guess.” These words, though humble and spoken in passing, carry within them a timeless lesson about rest, creativity, and the need for stillness in a life of endless motion. Beneath her gentle voice lies a truth that all who chase greatness must one day face — that even the brightest flame must sometimes retreat to the hearth that birthed it.

Audra McDonald, celebrated across the world for her power on stage and screen, lives a life many might envy — a life of travel, applause, and artistic triumph. Yet her longing for the piano reveals something sacred: the yearning for reconnection with one’s source. The piano, for her, is not simply an instrument; it is a sanctuary, a place where the noise of the world fades into melody. Her admission — that she needs to be home to play — speaks not of regret, but of recognition: that art and healing both spring from quietude. Even the artist, whose life is defined by motion, requires moments of stillness to remember who she is beneath the performance.

This truth was known to the ancients, who taught that the balance between action and reflection is the foundation of wisdom. The philosopher Aristotle spoke of eudaimonia — the flourishing life — as one achieved through harmony between labor and leisure. Leisure, in his view, was not idleness, but the space in which the soul renews itself. Likewise, Audra’s reflection is a modern echo of that philosophy. In her art, she gives endlessly to the world — her voice, her time, her emotion — yet she recognizes that without return to her own inner sanctuary, even the most divine gift begins to wane.

There is a story from the life of Leonardo da Vinci that mirrors this wisdom. In the midst of painting The Last Supper, Leonardo would sometimes stop working for days, walking the streets of Milan or simply staring at the unfinished wall. When asked why he wasted time, he replied that he was still working — not with his hands, but with his mind and spirit. Like Leonardo, Audra McDonald understands that creativity cannot flourish in constant motion. It requires space — silence between the notes, pauses between the journeys — for the heart to breathe and the soul to sing again.

Her longing is also a reflection of the human cost of excellence. To live a life of great purpose often means to sacrifice the ordinary joys of home. In her words, “I just need to be home for more than a few minutes,” we hear not complaint, but tenderness — the ache of one who knows that greatness and grounding are forever at odds. The stage may give her the roar of adoration, but the piano offers what applause cannot: peace. It is a reminder that success, without the balance of rest, becomes hollow. The hands that move the world must sometimes rest upon the keys that soothe the soul.

There is profound humility in her insight, too. Though she stands among legends, she speaks like any weary traveler who misses home. This humility, this awareness of one’s limits, is itself a form of wisdom. The greatest spirits — from Marcus Aurelius to Maya Angelou — have understood that one’s truest strength lies not in constant motion, but in knowing when to stop. For it is in stillness that the heart rediscovers its rhythm, and the mind finds its clarity.

So, my listener, take this teaching as both comfort and call: in your pursuit of purpose, do not forget the sanctuary of rest. Make time for the things that restore you — your art, your solitude, your quiet rituals of peace. Let your home, whatever form it takes, become your temple of renewal. For as Audra McDonald reminds us, the gifts we share with the world are born from the moments we take to nourish ourselves. The world will always call you outward — but wisdom, like music, begins when you finally return home to listen inward.