I really, really, really want to do a silly romantic comedy where

In the words of Laurie Holden, “I really, really, really want to do a silly romantic comedy where I can just have a crush on the guy, trip over myself, and laugh and be goofy. I just feel like all I do is cry, sob, and fight zombies and the bad guys.” Though lighthearted, these words reveal a truth about the human spirit: that it longs not always for battle, nor always for sorrow, but also for joy, for laughter, for simplicity. The soul grows weary when it is fed only with struggle; it requires delight as much as it requires endurance.

The ancients spoke often of balance. In the writings of Ecclesiastes, it is said: “To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven… a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” So too does Holden remind us that though her craft has demanded tears and battles against the monstrous—both literal and symbolic—there remains within her a yearning for the lighter season: the joy of romantic comedy, the innocence of crushes, the freedom of goofiness. For even the strongest warrior longs, at times, to lay down her sword.

History, too, provides us such examples. Consider Queen Elizabeth I of England, who bore the heavy weight of rule, wars, and political intrigue. Yet even she, called the Virgin Queen, delighted in masques, dances, and pageantry—moments of joy that softened the iron of her crown. She understood, as Holden does, that no spirit can endure only the harshness of combat. To fight endlessly without reprieve is to become hardened, brittle, and joyless. But to allow space for levity, even silliness, is to remain human.

In Holden’s imagery, zombies and bad guys are not only roles from her work but symbols of the endless conflicts of life itself: the battles against despair, injustice, or adversity. To wish instead for a story where she may laugh and stumble in love is to confess a universal need—that beyond our daily struggles, beyond our constant defenses, we all long for the sweetness of simple love and the healing power of joy. It is not weakness to desire this; it is wisdom, for joy restores what sorrow erodes.

The lesson in her words is clear: do not let your life become only battle, only burden, only tears. Seek also the stories of laughter, the places of gentleness, the moments where you may be playful, awkward, even foolish. For it is in these moments that the heart breathes freely. Just as a bow kept under tension will snap, so too will a soul crack if it is never released into joy.

Therefore, O listener, remember: strength is not only in how well you fight the bad guys, but also in how freely you can laugh, how openly you can love, how unashamedly you can be goofy. The heroes of the ancients knew this; after battles, they feasted and sang, for without joy, their victories would have turned to ash. So too must you allow yourself space for laughter, or the weight of your struggles will make life hollow.

And what must you do? Make room for delight in your days. Watch a lighthearted story, laugh with a friend until your sides ache, let yourself stumble without shame in the presence of someone you care for. Do not believe that life is only for the serious and the sorrowful; instead, embrace the full spectrum of experience. For to love and laugh, to cry and fight, to mourn and rejoice—all these together form the music of life. And the wise know that without the softer notes, the song is incomplete.