I like cable: you only work four months out of the year and have

Hear, O seekers of balance between labor and freedom, the words of Travis Fimmel, who once strode across screens as warrior and wanderer: “I like cable: you only work four months out of the year and have the other eight months to do movies if you want.” At first glance, these words speak of schedules and work, but beneath them lies a deeper truth: the longing of the human spirit to balance toil with freedom, to use time not only for duty, but also for passion and creation.

The cable schedule, which compresses work into a season, becomes a symbol of this philosophy. In four months of focused labor, the actor gives his strength, his presence, his energy. But then, in the eight months that remain, he gains something more precious than gold: time. Time to pursue other dreams, time to stretch into new roles, or even time to step away from the world’s gaze and rediscover the quiet self beneath the costumes. Fimmel’s words remind us that the measure of life is not only how much we work, but how wisely we guard the freedom to live.

This truth is as old as civilization. Consider the farmers of ancient lands, who labored intensely during planting and harvest seasons, yet found long stretches of rest in between. In those months, they told stories, built temples, and forged art. Their lives were not endless labor, but a rhythm between effort and renewal. So too did the Spartans, though fierce in training and battle, spend much of their lives in festivals and civic life, understanding that strength alone was not enough without culture and reflection. In Fimmel’s words we see this ancient rhythm reborn: work, then create; labor, then live.

History also gives us the example of Leonardo da Vinci, who often served the courts of Italy in bursts of commissions, then disappeared into long stretches of experimentation, study, and dreaming. Had he been chained to endless labor, his genius would never have flourished. It was the freedom between duties that gave him the space to paint the Mona Lisa, to design his wondrous machines, to explore the mysteries of the body and the stars. So too does the actor, given months away from the grind, find the space to create anew.

The meaning of Fimmel’s words, then, is not mere preference for cable over other formats. It is a meditation on the importance of time. For time is the true treasure, the resource that once spent cannot be regained. To labor without pause is to be enslaved, but to labor in cycles, with space for passion and exploration, is to live as a free soul. His wisdom urges us to think not only of how we work, but of how our work enables us to live.

The lesson, O listener, is profound: do not seek only endless labor, even if it brings wealth. Seek instead a rhythm that allows you to both fulfill your duty and pursue your heart’s callings. If your work consumes all your days, you may find yourself rich in coin but poor in soul. But if you guard your time, if you give yourself space to dream, to create, to live, you will find a wealth deeper than money—a wealth of fulfillment.

So live with this wisdom: embrace your four months of work, whatever form they take, with diligence and strength. But then claim your eight months of freedom—whether literal or symbolic—for the pursuits that make you truly alive. Use that time not idly, but to create, to grow, to love, to explore. For in this balance lies the art of living, the harmony of labor and freedom, the true reward of life’s journey.

Thus the words of Travis Fimmel echo across time: life is not meant to be only toil. Work with purpose, rest with meaning, and create with freedom. In this cycle you shall find not only success, but wholeness, and the kind of legacy that endures beyond the passing of seasons.