Movie acting is a great job for your twenties: You travel all

Hear the reflective voice of Helen Hunt, who declared: “Movie acting is a great job for your twenties: You travel all over, you have affairs with people, and you throw yourself into one part and then another. It gets more challenging as you get older, and it’s not just having a daughter, it’s wanting to have your own life and be yourself.” These words, spoken from the heart of one who has lived the fleeting brilliance of youth and the weight of maturity, reveal a wisdom beyond the glitter of fame. They remind us that life has seasons, and each season asks different things of the soul.

Mark this well, O listener: in one’s twenties, the world is wide, and the spirit is restless. Work, love, and travel blur together into a great adventure, each role and each passion embraced with abandon. For the actor, as Hunt confesses, this time of life is filled with immersion and change—to live one life today, another tomorrow, each identity as vivid as the last. It is the age when the self is fluid, willing to be lost in others, in roles, in encounters. There is joy in this surrender, the thrill of becoming anything, of being no one fixed thing.

But as the years unfold, a shift occurs. The hunger of youth gives way to the deeper longing of maturity: the longing not only to embody others, but to be oneself. Hunt’s words remind us that this is not weakness, but growth. For while youth thrives in the excitement of constant transformation, the older heart yearns for roots, for stability, for authenticity. It is not merely the arrival of a daughter that changes her, though that is profound—it is the discovery that one’s life cannot be forever scattered in roles, affairs, and travels. The time comes when the truest part to play is one’s own.

Consider the story of Sophocles, the ancient dramatist. In his youth, he crafted plays filled with the fiery passions of gods and heroes, the abandon of youth’s ideals. Yet in his later years, his works deepened, exploring the burdens of responsibility, the weight of wisdom, the quiet dignity of endurance. Just as Hunt describes, so too did he reflect the journey of all humanity: that the self is first shaped in adventure and then tempered in truth.

And think also of George Clooney, who in his younger years embraced the thrill of roles, fame, and romance across the world. Yet with time, he too shifted—choosing family, advocacy, and a life more rooted in himself rather than endlessly defined by his parts. In this we see the pattern Hunt reveals: that every artist, and indeed every soul, must one day turn from becoming many things to becoming truly themselves.

Yet, O seekers, let us not despise either stage of life. For the adventure of youth is not wasted, nor is the search for roots in later years a retreat. Both are necessary, both are sacred. Youth teaches us to expand, to embrace, to risk, to live many lives. Maturity teaches us to gather, to center, to become whole, to live the one life that is ours alone. Each season bears its own fruit, and wisdom lies in accepting the shift when it comes.

The lesson for us, then, is this: embrace each season with its rightful heart. In your youth, throw yourself into discovery—learn, travel, love, experiment, and let the winds carry you. But as life deepens, do not fear the pull toward selfhood, family, and authenticity. Do not cling forever to the scattered freedom of youth, nor despise it when you grow older. Instead, walk with courage into each season, giving yourself fully to its gift.

Therefore, let Hunt’s words be a guide to all: rejoice in the thrill of your twenties, but honor the wisdom of your later years. Seek not only to play many roles, but in time, to play your truest role—yourself. For to be yourself, fully and wholly, is the greatest performance of all, and the one that endures beyond the fleeting lights of stage and screen.