I have my own dance and production companies, and acting is my

The words of Brian J. White are spoken with the fire of devotion and the humility of discipline: “I have my own dance and production companies, and acting is my creative outlet. It's what I'm passionate about. I've actually created a lifestyle where I could act for free. I could get a job to pay the bills and act on the weekends to make me smile.” Here is not merely the testimony of an artist, but the proclamation of one who has learned the balance between necessity and passion, between survival and joy.

To confess that one could act for free is to reveal the essence of true calling. A calling is not measured in the coin it earns but in the joy it gives. White does not act for fame, nor only for wealth, but because within acting he finds his soul’s expression. Even if no audience applauded, even if no paycheck came, he would still step upon the stage, for there he finds himself most alive. This truth has echoed across the ages: the greatest works of art, the noblest deeds of history, were not born of payment but of passion.

The ancients gave us many such examples. Vincent van Gogh sold almost nothing in his lifetime, yet he painted endlessly, for the act itself was his survival. His art was not sustained by money but by the inner compulsion of his spirit. Likewise, White’s words remind us that when something is true passion, it becomes its own reward. To act on the weekends, simply to smile, is to testify that joy itself is wealth, and that no worldly treasure can surpass the freedom of expression.

Yet White is no dreamer cut off from reality—he also speaks of jobs that pay the bills. This is wisdom as old as the earth: that passion may feed the soul, but bread must feed the body. The balance between practicality and passion is what gives endurance to a life well-lived. Many great teachers and artists of history lived in this duality—working by day to survive, creating by night to thrive. Consider T.S. Eliot, who worked as a banker while crafting poetry that would shape the twentieth century. It is this balance that White himself embraces.

The smile at the heart of his statement is the clearest sign of fulfillment. For what does it profit a man to gain all wealth and yet lose his joy? White reminds us that it is better to labor humbly, pay the bills, and still have time for one’s art, than to forsake passion for mere comfort. A weekend of joy, freely chosen, may outshine a lifetime of empty luxury. The smile, then, is the crown of his discipline—the proof that his life is aligned with his heart.

The lesson is powerful: build a life that makes space for your passion, even if it is not your profession. Do not abandon your art, your joy, your creative fire simply because it does not pay. Instead, find the balance—work to survive, but live to create. Let your weekends, your nights, your moments of freedom become the altar where your spirit offers its true gift. For in that space lies the secret of fulfillment: the union of duty and joy.

Therefore, let us act with courage and foresight. Do not let your passions wither under the weight of responsibility, nor let your responsibilities collapse under the weight of your passions. Like Brian J. White, learn to weave both into the fabric of your life. For a life that only works is empty, and a life that only dreams cannot stand. But a life that works and dreams—that both pays the bills and smiles on the weekends—is a life that is truly whole.

Carry forward this wisdom: “I could get a job to pay the bills and act on the weekends to make me smile.” Let it remind you that true wealth is not measured only by income, but by joy, not only by necessity, but by fulfillment. And may you, too, create a life in which your duties sustain you and your passions set you free.