When I see a friend play Hamlet or see an inspirational

In the words of Andrew Lincoln, a man who has walked between worlds — the stage, the screen, and the soul of storytelling — we find a revelation both personal and universal: “When I see a friend play Hamlet or see an inspirational performance, I absolutely get excited by the idea of changing things up.” Though simple in phrasing, these words carry a current as deep as the river of art itself. They speak not only of admiration, but of awakening, of that sacred spark which one artist ignites in another — the reminder that creation, like life, must never grow still.

When Lincoln speaks of Hamlet, he invokes more than a play — he invokes the mirror of the human condition. For in Shakespeare’s troubled prince lies the eternal questioner, the restless seeker who cannot be content with appearances. To see a friend take on that role is to witness a soul wrestling with truth. And when Lincoln calls such moments inspirational, he reveals how art begets art — how one performance can move another artist to rise higher, to break the mold, to change things up. Thus, his statement becomes not a mere reflection on acting, but a parable of renewal — the call to embrace change as the lifeblood of creativity.

In every age, the artist faces the same danger: the comfort of repetition. Success tempts one to remain still, to do again what once worked. But the true artist, as Lincoln reminds us, must resist the stillness of stagnation. The ancients understood this as well. The sculptor Phidias, who carved the gods of Greece, would begin each new statue by unlearning the habits of the last. “The gods demand something new,” he said, “for they grow weary of seeing themselves the same way.” Likewise, to the actor, the writer, the creator — and indeed, to every human being — the divine voice whispers the same challenge: become more than you were yesterday.

To be inspired by another’s performance is to recognize greatness not as competition, but as communion. When Lincoln feels the fire of inspiration watching his peers, he shows the humility of the true craftsman — one who honors excellence wherever he finds it. This is the essence of artistic brotherhood: to be stirred, not threatened, by another’s brilliance. The ancient philosopher Aristotle taught that virtue thrives when admiration replaces envy — for to admire is to learn, and to learn is to grow. So too does Lincoln remind us that inspiration, when shared, multiplies. One actor’s courage to explore the unknown becomes another’s courage to reinvent himself.

There is also in his words a deeper call, one that extends beyond the stage. To “change things up” is not merely to shift technique or style — it is to embrace transformation itself as a sacred duty. In life, as in art, the moment we cease to evolve, we begin to fade. The wise man knows that identity is not a fixed monument, but a flowing river. The great Buddha once taught that “life is change; to resist change is to suffer.” Thus, Lincoln’s excitement at renewal is a sign of spiritual vitality — an understanding that creativity, like faith, is born of motion.

Consider, for a moment, the example of Picasso, whose genius did not remain in one form. From the blue melancholy of his early years to the fractured energy of cubism, he never stopped changing things up. Each transformation was an act of courage, a refusal to be bound by his own past. So too must we live — not as prisoners of habit, but as explorers of possibility. When Lincoln speaks of excitement at transformation, he echoes this ancient truth: that joy is found not in mastery, but in the act of becoming.

In this way, his quote is a beacon to all who create — and indeed to all who live. Let the success of others inspire, not discourage you. Let beauty move you to act, let greatness awaken the courage to begin anew. When you witness brilliance, do not shrink from it — let it remind you that the same divine spark burns in your own breast. Seek always to “change things up,” to question, to evolve, to reach toward the unknown.

So, dear listener, remember this: to grow is to live, and to be inspired is to be reborn. Carry with you the humility to admire, and the daring to transform. As Andrew Lincoln teaches, the sight of another’s greatness is not a threat but an invitation — to rise, to change, to create anew. For life itself is a performance forever unfolding, and only those who dare to change their role will ever discover the full breadth of their own soul.