Musical theater is great; you get painted up, you get to play

In the spirited and joyful words of Chris Pine, we find a truth that rises beyond the stage and into the very soul of human expression: “Musical theater is great; you get painted up, you get to play princesses and witches, and you sing. The joy alone of that can really carry a lot.” Beneath the lightness of his words lies a deep wisdom — the ancient and eternal recognition that joy, when joined with art, is one of the purest forms of strength. It is the flame that carries the human spirit through hardship, the music that turns labor into play and solitude into celebration.

The origin of this reflection lies in Pine’s early experience with the theater, long before fame had crowned him. As an actor who has traversed both stage and screen, Pine understands the rare freedom that performance grants — the chance to become another being, to sing another heart’s song, to step for a moment outside the prison of self. The paint, the costume, the song — these are not mere decorations; they are ancient symbols of transformation. For in every culture and every age, from the temples of Greece to the courtyards of Asia, humans have adorned themselves not to hide, but to reveal the deeper truth that dwells within — that art allows us to touch eternity through play.

The ancients knew this sacred power well. In Athens, during the Festival of Dionysus, citizens gathered to watch dramas that mingled laughter with tragedy, myth with truth. The actors wore masks, but through those masks, something divine spoke — the joy of creation, the spirit of life that cannot be contained by one name or one face. To act was not to deceive, but to embody a thousand possibilities of the soul. Chris Pine’s joy in the theater is a modern echo of this ancient fire — the understanding that through art, we are made larger, freer, and more alive.

To “get painted up,” as Pine says, is to partake in a timeless ritual of becoming. When an actor dons makeup and costume, they cross a threshold between the ordinary and the extraordinary. They enter the sacred realm of imagination, where the heart can take flight and the impossible becomes real. In this transformation, there is liberation — not from truth, but into it. For sometimes it is through pretending that we most clearly discover who we are. The witch, the princess, the villain, the hero — all these are mirrors of the human soul. The actor, by living them, reveals the infinite shapes of the human heart.

Consider the story of Julie Andrews, who once sang of hills alive with music, her voice carrying not just melody, but the boundless joy of being. She played princesses and nannies, dreamers and singers — yet beneath each role was the same current of innocent wonder. Even in hardship, she brought grace to the stage, proving that the act of singing — of expressing joy through sound — is itself a form of courage. When life struck her voice from her, and she could no longer sing as before, she spoke with serenity: “My voice was my gift, and I had it for many years.” In those words, as in Pine’s, we hear the same truth: that joy is both the expression and the reward of art.

What Pine teaches, though spoken lightly, is a profound lesson: that joy itself can carry a lot. Life often demands endurance — long hours, unseen effort, disappointments that test the spirit. But joy, when kindled, becomes a kind of armor. It sustains the artist, the worker, the dreamer through trials. The one who sings, even when weary, transforms struggle into meaning. In the theater of life, joy is not frivolous — it is fuel. The laughter of the actor, the song of the musician, the dance of the child — these are not escapes from reality, but triumphs over it.

Therefore, my child, learn from this: do not despise joy, nor treat it as something shallow or fleeting. Cultivate it as you would a sacred flame. Whether through art, music, storytelling, or simple play, find the thing that allows your spirit to breathe. Paint your face, sing your song, and let your heart rise beyond fear. For the one who can create joy — even alone, even in darkness — holds the oldest power known to humankind: the power to transform.

So let Chris Pine’s words be your guide: find your stage, however small, and fill it with light. Be unafraid to be both princess and witch, both hero and fool, for in all these roles there is wisdom. And when the burdens of life weigh heavy, remember that the joy alone can really carry a lot. It is not escape — it is endurance made radiant. Let joy be your art, your ritual, and your rebellion against despair. For where joy is found, life sings again, and the soul remembers that it was born to shine.