I would be sad if it ended now. It's been the best job I've had

Sarah Chalke once revealed with luminous sincerity: “I would be sad if it ended now. It’s been the best job I’ve had by a long shot, especially creatively because the writing is so good. Every week I get the script and I laugh out loud and get excited for the different stuff we get to do.” These words, though born from the world of acting, speak to a truth that resonates across all crafts: the joy of meaningful labor, the gift of creation, and the sorrow that comes when one feels the thread of such joy may soon be cut.

At its heart, this reflection is about the rare treasure of finding work that nourishes both spirit and skill. Many toil in tasks that sap rather than strengthen, that offer wages but little fulfillment. Yet here Chalke proclaims that she has found the best job—not because of wealth or fame, but because of the creative fire it awakens in her. This is wisdom for all: true work is not measured only by reward, but by whether it makes the soul come alive.

The writing, she declares, is the source of her delight. Week after week, she receives the script and finds herself laughing aloud, thrilled by what is yet to be performed. This is the power of great storytelling—it does not merely instruct the performer, it inspires them. From the ancients onward, stories have been the heartbeat of culture. The tragedians of Greece, the dramatists of Shakespeare’s age, all knew that when the writing is strong, the actor is not a puppet but a vessel for something larger than themselves. Chalke’s joy reflects this lineage, where performer and text meet in union to create something beyond either alone.

Consider the tale of Molière, the French playwright who both wrote and acted in his own works. His words, rich with wit and insight, gave him roles that ignited his spirit. He too laughed at his own lines, delighted by the interplay of text and performance. It is said that he died on stage, performing even as his body failed—a testament to how deeply the union of writing and acting can inspire devotion. Chalke’s words echo the same sentiment: when art is true, it binds you with joy so fierce that you fear its end.

But her phrase, “I would be sad if it ended now,” carries another ancient truth: all things must pass. Every performance, every season, every beloved role has its curtain call. The awareness of ending sharpens the sweetness of the present, reminding us to treasure what is before us. The sorrow of impermanence is not a curse but a teacher, whispering: “Do not take for granted what you love, for it is fleeting.”

The lesson for us is this: seek work, projects, and relationships that fill you with laughter, wonder, and excitement. If you are given a role—whether in art, in labor, or in life—that makes you eager to rise each morning, cherish it deeply. Do not wait until its end to recognize its worth. And if your present path does not yet bring such joy, be patient but persistent in seeking it, for life is too short to be lived only in toil without meaning.

Practically, cultivate gratitude in your work. If you love it, speak that love aloud. If it inspires you, let that inspiration move you to excellence. And when endings come, as they always do, let your sadness be proof that what you had was precious. Then carry its lessons into the next chapter, building again spaces where your spirit can thrive.

Thus, Sarah Chalke’s words, though simple, carry the weight of ancient wisdom: that the true measure of labor is not its duration nor its prestige, but the joy it brings to both the worker and those who receive its fruit. May we all strive for lives where, like her, we look at the work before us and say with laughter and excitement: “This is the best I have had.” And when the curtain falls, may we leave not in bitterness, but in gratitude for having lived it fully.