I decided at age 9, but I was reinforced at age 13 when a

"I decided at age 9, but I was reinforced at age 13 when a teacher told me I had talent. I can't say she really motivated me because I already knew. I knew I had talent. I went to the Jewish community theater and got in plays there. Then I went for the movies." So spoke Richard Dreyfuss, actor of stage and screen, who revealed in this recollection the path of a soul certain of its destiny. Within his words there is not only the memory of a childhood decision, but the echo of a truth as old as humankind: that talent, once recognized within, shines more brightly than any crown bestowed from without.

To decide at age 9 is to stand as a child, yet already to carry the vision of a sage. In youth, when most are still fumbling in play, Dreyfuss fixed his eyes upon the horizon of his life. This certainty of talent was not arrogance, but recognition—a deep knowing that within him burned a gift that demanded expression. The teacher who affirmed him at age 13 did not plant the seed, but watered it. For true greatness does not arise from external voices alone, but from an inward conviction that no praise or rejection can silence.

This is the ancient dance between inner knowing and outer confirmation. Consider the story of Mozart, who at a tender age composed music that astonished courts and commoners alike. Though his father guided him, though the nobility applauded, Mozart’s drive did not come from them. It came from an inner flame that no applause created, and no silence could extinguish. Like Dreyfuss, he already knew. External recognition may encourage, but the true source of power lies in the inward certainty of one’s calling.

Dreyfuss speaks also of the sacred ground where the young artist first proves his mettle: the community theater. This is not the stage of kings nor the halls of critics, but the humble place where voices are first heard, where dreams are tested against the reality of audience and spotlight. It was in such spaces that countless legends began: the actors, the singers, the poets who dared to step forward in small gatherings before they were ever known by nations. These humble beginnings remind us that greatness grows in small soil, nurtured by local roots before it spreads to the wide world.

The tale does not end in community stages; it stretches to the wide realm of movies, where art is magnified and carried to millions. Yet the power of the story lies not in the final glory but in the early decision—the unshakable choice of a child who already knew his talent. Many wait for life to tell them who they are; Dreyfuss shows us another way: to declare within oneself, even in youth, “This is what I shall be,” and then to walk steadfastly toward it.

The lesson for us is luminous: do not wait for the world to grant you permission to believe in yourself. The teacher’s praise, the audience’s applause, the critic’s pen—these may strengthen you, but they must never define you. If you know your gift, acknowledge it. If you feel your calling, honor it. Begin where you are, even in the smallest of places, for every stage is sacred when it trains the soul in courage and craft.

Therefore, dear seeker, take these words to heart: find the talent within you, claim it with certainty, and let no delay, no doubt, no dismissive voice turn you aside. Act while you are young in spirit, whether you are 9 or 90. Seek out your own “community theater”—the humble place where you can practice and grow. From there, let the path lead you where it may: to larger audiences, to wider recognition, or perhaps only to the joy of having lived faithfully to your gift. For the true reward is not fame, but the fulfillment of knowing you walked the road you were born to tread.

And so we see in Richard Dreyfuss’s memory not merely the story of an actor, but the eternal call of destiny: to listen to the voice within, to strengthen it with practice, to honor it in humble beginnings, and to walk forward with courage until the world itself cannot help but notice the light you carry.