You have to keep hobbies in L.A. Otherwise, it's sad.

When Lake Bell said, “You have to keep hobbies in L.A. Otherwise, it's sad,” she spoke not merely of the glittering city of Los Angeles, but of the human condition that lives beneath all cities of ambition. Her words carry the quiet wisdom of one who has seen how the chase for fame and success can hollow out the spirit if not balanced by purpose, play, and personal joy. To the ancients, this truth was eternal — that man cannot live on glory alone; the heart requires nourishment that neither wealth nor recognition can provide. Bell’s remark, humorous on the surface, is in truth a lament for a generation distracted by brightness, yet starving for depth.

In a city built upon dreams and appearances, the hobby becomes the last refuge of authenticity. Los Angeles, with its endless parties, red carpets, and digital illusions, can seduce even the strongest soul into believing that the performance is the person. But a hobby — the act of creating, planting, building, reading, or painting — restores the human being to himself. It reminds him that life’s worth does not come from applause but from engagement with what is real. Bell’s insight reveals a spiritual defense against the loneliness that haunts those who have everything except themselves.

In the time of the ancients, the wise understood this balance. The great Emperor Marcus Aurelius, though ruler of vast Rome, found solace in philosophy. Amid war and power, he wrote meditations on patience and humility. His “hobby” — contemplation — kept his spirit alive while others were consumed by ambition. Likewise, the poet Hesiod once wrote that work and craft are not burdens but blessings, for they keep the hands busy and the heart pure. What Bell calls a “hobby” is, in truth, the ancient practice of maintaining one’s inner harmony amid outer chaos.

Los Angeles is but a modern Rome — dazzling yet demanding, filled with triumph and tragedy. Many who enter it in pursuit of fame forget the stillness that sustains the soul. They burn like meteors — bright, brief, and lost to darkness. Yet those who carve wood, raise gardens, hike mountains, or paint for no audience preserve something unbreakable. The hobby becomes an altar, a place where the self can breathe freely again. To lose it, Bell warns, is to lose one’s anchor — to drift in a sea of vanity and illusion until even joy feels hollow.

Consider Robin Williams, a man who made millions laugh but carried within him a quiet storm. His heart, though filled with art, longed for peace beyond performance. He once said that he found refuge in cycling — that when he was on his bike, he could escape the noise and remember who he was. That simple, humble act of motion was his therapy, his way of reconnecting to the rhythm of life. So too, Bell’s words remind us that joy is found not in success, but in participation in creation — in doing something for no reason but love.

To the wise, this truth is not sadness but salvation. The mind must have rest, and rest is not idleness — it is the renewal of meaning through small acts of passion. The sculptor who shapes clay, the mother who tends her garden, the musician who plays only for the wind — all live richer lives than those who chase fame without reprieve. For the soul that creates for pleasure alone touches eternity, while the one that performs only for approval fades like smoke.

Thus, the lesson of Lake Bell’s words is both simple and profound: tend to your passions as you would tend to your spirit. Whether you live in Los Angeles or anywhere the world demands performance, let hobbies be your sanctuary. Let your hands remember what joy feels like when untouched by expectation. For in such moments, you are not an actor, not a worker, not a seeker of praise — you are simply alive.

So remember, O seeker: keep your hobbies, or lose yourself. Create, not for applause but for peace. Laugh, not for an audience but for your own healing. For the heart that forgets to play grows cold, and the spirit that ceases to create becomes hollow. As Lake Bell wisely reminds us — in a world obsessed with shining — it is the small, quiet acts of joy that keep the soul from fading into sadness.