It's not a struggle, but sometimes when you're gone for a month

Willow Shields once spoke with the sincerity and balance of youth learning the rhythms of devotion and distance: “It's not a struggle, but sometimes when you're gone for a month or two, you start to miss your friends. I love acting so much that it fills that gap of being sad about not being able to see my friends.” These words, though soft and simple, carry the weight of an ancient truth: that passion, when true and pure, can console the heart in times of separation. It does not erase loneliness, but transforms it—turning absence into fuel, and longing into purpose.

In the old days, the poets and philosophers taught that every great pursuit demands a sacrifice. The warrior left his home for honor, the scholar left his kin for wisdom, the artist left her familiar world for the light of creation. And yet, though they walked far, they carried the warmth of love as their hidden companion. Shields’ reflection is born from this same lineage. Her love for acting, her craft, becomes her lantern in the dim corridors of solitude. It is not that she does not feel the ache of distance—she simply chooses to let that ache remind her of why she walks the path at all.

The ancients would have called this harmony between longing and purpose equilibrium of the soul. It is the state of one who knows that sadness need not be an enemy, but a teacher. When Shields says, “It’s not a struggle,” she is practicing acceptance—the art of embracing life as it is, not as one wishes it to be. She does not deny her sadness, nor does she drown in it. Instead, she allows her passion to bridge the gap. In this, she mirrors the wisdom of those who understood that joy is not the absence of sorrow, but the mastery of it.

Consider, for example, the journey of the great voyager Marco Polo, who left his home for many years to explore the unknown. Though surrounded by wonder, he often wrote of his yearning for Venice, for the laughter of friends, for the familiar scent of home. Yet it was this longing that deepened his experience of the world; his distance made his discoveries luminous. Like Shields, he found a way to let the love of his craft—his exploration, his purpose—soften the sting of absence. To miss is to remember; to create while missing is to transcend.

What Shields teaches us is that devotion to one’s purpose must coexist with devotion to one’s relationships. The heart that gives itself fully to work must also keep a sacred space for love, friendship, and rest. The balance between passion and companionship is not easily won, but it is essential for a life both meaningful and whole. For if we chase our purpose without remembering who we love, we grow hollow; but if we cling only to comfort, we lose the strength to grow. The wise soul learns to hold both in harmony—the longing and the labor, the distance and the delight.

Her words also reveal the power of art itself: that it is not merely an occupation, but a form of communion. Through her acting, Shields finds a way to stay connected—to people, to emotion, to humanity itself. Acting becomes her bridge between solitude and society, between the inner world and the outer one. And so, what might have been a wound becomes a window. The artist, even in isolation, speaks to many; she transforms her loneliness into empathy, her absence into connection.

Therefore, let this teaching be remembered: when distance comes, do not despair. Let passion become your companion, and let love be the quiet fire that keeps you warm. When you miss those dear to you, let that longing remind you of the beauty of your bonds, and let your work—whatever it may be—become a vessel for that love. For the one who learns to turn solitude into creation will never truly be alone. As Willow Shields reminds us, the heart that loves deeply, whether through art or friendship, will always find a way to be full, even in the spaces between.