I think we all have a dream of what it would be like not to work

“I think we all have a dream of what it would be like not to work and grow heirloom tomatoes, and I do have that dream. It would be lovely. I do love gardening and all of that, but I do love my work.” Thus spoke Helen Mirren, the luminous actress whose life has been one of both discipline and delight, of labor and longing. In these words, she captures a truth that has echoed through the ages: the eternal tension between rest and purpose, between the dream of simplicity and the duty of creation. It is the yearning of every heart — to step away from toil and dwell among the quiet joys of the earth — yet it is also the realization that work, when loved, is itself a kind of garden.

The origin of this quote lies in Mirren’s own reflection upon her life in the arts — a life filled with public recognition, yet also relentless effort. In the midst of fame and the constant performance of roles, she confesses a longing shared by many: to trade the spotlight for sunlight, the stage for a field, the applause for the whisper of wind in the leaves. Her mention of heirloom tomatoes is no accident — for these fruits, nurtured by time and care, represent continuity, patience, and authenticity. They are the symbols of things grown not for profit or display, but for love. In this vision, she imagines the simple life, where meaning is measured not by acclaim, but by the sweetness of what one has tended with one’s own hands.

Yet, Mirren’s wisdom lies not merely in dreaming of escape, but in her recognition of balance. “I do love my work,” she declares — and thus she affirms that the true fulfillment of life is not found in rejecting labor, but in transforming it into joy. She does not despise her work, nor does she idolize rest. Instead, she embraces both — the garden as a symbol of peace, and work as the expression of passion. This is the art of a mature soul: to live between effort and ease, between creation and contemplation. For neither idleness nor endless striving brings peace; only the harmony of both can satisfy the spirit.

The ancients knew this truth well. The philosopher Seneca wrote that the wise man “is never idle, though he may appear so,” for even in rest he is at work within, cultivating his soul. Likewise, Helen Mirren reminds us that even in the dream of gardening, there is the echo of her craft — for to act, to create, to bring life to the world is its own kind of gardening of the spirit. The farmer grows food for the body; the artist grows stories for the soul. Both labor from the same divine impulse — the desire to bring forth beauty from the raw materials of existence.

Consider also the story of Leo Tolstoy, the great Russian writer, who in his later years retreated from the grand estates of privilege to live a simpler, humbler life. He took up farming, walking barefoot in the fields, longing for purity and peace. Yet even there, his pen did not rest. His heart still burned with the need to create, to serve truth through his work. Like Mirren, he found that the longing for simplicity did not erase the call to purpose — it deepened it. The two are not enemies, but companions, each feeding the other. The peace of the garden nourishes the energy of creation; the labor of creation makes the quiet moments more sacred.

In Helen Mirren’s words, there is also an invitation to gratitude. Many dream of a time without labor, imagining that happiness lies in freedom from effort. Yet she reminds us that work, when it springs from love, is not bondage but blessing. The problem is not that we work, but that we forget why we work. When our labor loses meaning, the spirit yearns for escape; but when our labor is aligned with passion and purpose, it becomes a joy. To love one’s work is to transform it from duty into devotion — just as tending a garden transforms soil into abundance.

Therefore, my child, take this lesson to heart: cherish your work, but do not let it consume your soul. Dream of your garden, whatever form it may take, and let that dream remind you of life’s simplicity. At the same time, let your work be an act of cultivation — a place where your gifts grow and bear fruit. When weariness comes, rest your hands in the soil; when restlessness comes, return to your craft. For the fullness of life is not in choosing between the two, but in allowing them to nourish each other.

And so, when you find yourself longing, as Helen Mirren does, to “grow heirloom tomatoes” — to live a life of peace and authenticity — remember that you already hold the seeds of that dream within your daily labors. Work with love, rest with gratitude, and your days will become a garden — rich, fragrant, and filled with the quiet joy of purpose fulfilled.