When I started acting, I thought if I got one or two jobs a year

When James McAvoy declares, “When I started acting, I thought if I got one or two jobs a year I’d be lucky. So yeah, my career has gone so much farther than I ever suspected it would, and as such I feel lucky for everything I get. I feel thankful and grateful,” he speaks with the humility of one who remembers his beginnings. These words are not the cry of arrogance, but the quiet song of a man who knows that his path was never guaranteed. He reminds us that success, though often sought with desperate labor, arrives not only by talent and effort, but also by fortune, timing, and the unseen grace of opportunity.

The origin of this gratitude lies in the nature of the acting profession itself, where countless men and women labor for years with little recognition. In such a world, to secure even one or two jobs a year is to survive, to keep the dream alive. McAvoy, like so many who began at the bottom, knew the uncertainty of this life. Yet as he grew into roles of depth and renown, his awareness of how far he had traveled never left him. His thankfulness flows from this memory of struggle, from never forgetting that what now seems abundant was once a distant hope.

This lesson is echoed across history. Consider Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor who in his writings often marveled at the blessings of his life. Though he bore the weight of empire, he counted himself fortunate to have good teachers, wise mentors, and the chance to live a life of learning. He knew, as McAvoy knows, that much of what we achieve is not solely our own doing. Gratitude is the mark of the wise, for it honors the mystery of fate and the countless forces that shape our journeys.

McAvoy’s humility also teaches us the importance of perspective. Many who achieve success fall into pride, believing it was always meant to be, that their rise was inevitable. But McAvoy remembers the uncertainty, the doubt, the thought that even survival in the craft would be a victory. Because he remembers, he does not boast, but instead calls himself lucky, and therefore grateful. This perspective keeps the soul grounded, ensuring that fame does not corrupt the heart.

There is also wisdom here about the danger of expectation. Had McAvoy begun with grand visions of certain greatness, his heart might have soured with entitlement or disappointment. But by beginning with modest hopes—one or two jobs a year—he found joy in every step forward, every opportunity granted. In this way, gratitude is born not of having everything, but of recognizing the gift in even the smallest achievement.

The lesson for us is profound: we must live with thankfulness for what we have, not bitterness for what we lack. Success, however great or small, is never wholly ours—it is shaped by others, by circumstance, by fortune. To recognize this truth is to live in humility and joy, rather than pride or resentment. Like McAvoy, we must carry the memory of our beginnings and measure our lives not by what we still desire, but by how far we have already come.

Practical wisdom follows. Set your goals, but begin with modest expectations. When blessings come—whether great or small—pause to give thanks, naming them aloud so they do not pass unnoticed. Do not compare your path to others; instead, honor your own journey and the unseen graces that have carried you forward. And when success arrives, resist pride. Remember, as McAvoy remembers, that luck and timing are companions of talent, and that gratitude is the crown that makes achievement noble.

Thus, in the words of James McAvoy, we hear an ancient teaching renewed: that to live with gratitude is to live wisely. To remember our humble beginnings is to protect ourselves from arrogance. To call ourselves thankful and grateful is not weakness, but strength, for it keeps our hearts open, our spirits humble, and our joy unbroken. Let us then walk with this spirit, rejoicing in every blessing, whether small or great, and passing that gratitude on to the generations yet to come.