I firmly believe, only because I've been doing this for so long

“I firmly believe, only because I’ve been doing this for so long, every show takes three years. 90% of them don’t get three years. It just does. It takes a long time to build a community, build a friendship with your characters. It’s hard for people to grasp on and make them care about you.” Thus spoke Kaley Cuoco, an actress seasoned by time, whose words reveal not only the wisdom of experience but the patience of creation. Beneath her reflection lies a truth that reaches beyond the world of performance and into the heart of all human endeavor: that connection, whether in art or life, is not born in haste. It must be cultivated, tested, and tended like a garden through the changing seasons. For friendship, trust, and community—even within the stories we tell—are not conjured in an instant; they are earned through endurance.

The origin of this insight comes from Cuoco’s long journey through the world of television and storytelling. Having lived within the rhythm of series that rose, flourished, and sometimes fell, she learned what few ever see—that the art of capturing the human heart requires time. In the beginning, characters are strangers, even to their creators. The audience watches with curiosity, not love. The cast itself learns to move together, to breathe as one body, to speak with one spirit. Only after years of labor, failure, and growth does a show transform into a living world—a mirror of life, rich with friendship, laughter, and pain. And then, as she says, people begin to care.

In her words, we hear an echo of an ancient law: that greatness ripens slowly. Just as an oak does not spring from the soil as a towering tree, nor a friendship begin as unbreakable, so too the bonds between artist and audience, between character and soul, must deepen through time and familiarity. The first year is the sowing, uncertain and fragile; the second is the growing, filled with adjustment and discovery; the third is the flowering, when the roots are strong and the fruit is ready to bear. To demand meaning before its hour is to uproot the tree before it blooms.

This truth has been proven across ages. Consider the story of Michelangelo, laboring for years upon the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. At first, his work was met with skepticism; few understood his vision. But he persevered through exhaustion and solitude, shaping the ceiling inch by inch, stroke by stroke, until his art became eternal. So too it is with the worlds an artist builds on screen. The audience may not understand in the beginning. They may not yet feel affection or awe. But through persistence, through the patient weaving of story and spirit, the bond between creator and witness is formed. And when that bond is finally sealed, it becomes unbreakable.

Cuoco’s reflection also reminds us of something deeply human: that relationships, whether real or imagined, are slow to mature. The same patience required to build a beloved show is needed to build a beloved life. We wish to be known quickly, to be loved without delay—but hearts, like audiences, must learn us over time. The friendships that endure are not born in the fires of excitement but in the quiet rhythms of consistency, honesty, and care. The community she speaks of—whether on screen or in the soul—is crafted through small, steadfast acts repeated over years.

And yet, she laments that “90% of them don’t get three years.” In this, she mourns a truth of the modern world: that we abandon what has not yet fully grown. Impatient for results, we discard the seed before it sprouts. We seek instant attachment, instant success, instant connection, forgetting that the most enduring stories, the most beloved characters, and the most loyal relationships are those that have weathered the trials of time. To demand depth without duration is to ask the river to flow without rain.

The lesson, then, is both artistic and spiritual: endure. Whether you build a show, a friendship, a craft, or a life, give it time. Be patient with the slow unfolding of meaning. Do not turn away when the world seems indifferent, for the world itself takes time to care. As Cuoco reminds us, it is hard to make people care—but when they finally do, it is because something real has taken root. To create connection, one must first persist through loneliness. To build a story worth loving, one must labor past the seasons of doubt.

So let her words stand as a torch for all who strive: the artist, the dreamer, the friend, the lover, the builder. Three years—or three thousand—may pass before your work bears fruit, before your world is seen and felt. But do not despair. Continue. For in that slow journey lies the essence of creation: the gradual weaving of hearts into harmony. And when, at last, your story has found its audience, your art its community, your soul its companions—you will know, as Cuoco knows, that all things worth loving take time, and all friendship, whether on the stage or in life, is a masterpiece of endurance.