I recently rewatched the classic 1982 film, Tootsie. I expected to laugh at the clever lines. Instead, I found myself humming along with tears in my eyes to Stephen Bishop’s haunting theme song, It Might Be You. Songs don’t just remind us of happy times. They awaken memories of change, loss, hope, and the people we once were.

When the movie was released over 40 years ago, I was a young mother with a two-year-old.  My days revolved around playtime, diapers, grocery lists, and learning how to be both a wife, a mother, and still myself. Like our friends, we were all stepping into new lives, trying to look like we knew exactly what we were doing.

Looking back, I’m not sure I did.

In the movie, Dustin Hoffman’s character disguises himself as a woman to find work as an actor. It’s an obvious deception, and much of the comedy comes from his elaborate comedic performance. But Hoffman’s acting prowess wasn’t the thing that stayed with me. What lingered is the idea of the roles we all play, not on a stage, but in our everyday lives.

Watching the film again, I thought about how many different roles I’ve played over the years. I played the creative artist, the eager young wife, the patient mother, the dependable friend, the loving daughter, and the woman who smiled through adversity.

Some of those roles were chosen. Others were handed to me by circumstance, expectation, or necessity. I learned my lines as I went, hoping no one would notice that I was adlibbing my way through them.

Sometimes it felt as though I was pretending, not because I wanted to deceive anyone, but because I hadn’t yet grown into the roles life had assigned to me. I acted confident before I felt confident. I acted brave before I found my courage. I acted the part of an adult while secretly hoping others around me would coach me in my performance.

Then, almost without my noticing, the script changed.

My children grew up. My marriage changed over the years and eventually ended.  Suddenly, I found myself auditioning for entirely new roles… living alone, making new friends, taking classes, exploring new interests, and discovering that life still held chapters I had never imagined. I simply kept going.

Each transition quietly forced me to face the questions: What is my role? What part do I want to play? Who am I now?

One of the unexpected gifts of working at JSL is realizing that everyone living here is much more than they first may appear to be. The gentleman walking slowly with his cane may have once built bridges. The woman laughing over coffee taught generations of students while raising 5 children and caring for her aging parents. Every face carries a history of reinvention, sacrifice, joy, and resilience. We have all played many parts before arriving at our latest chapter together.

And that’s why Tootsie touches me so deeply. Life is less about finding the perfect role and more about accepting that the script will keep changing. Just when you’ve memorized your lines, another act begins. I even found myself relating to Charles Durning’s character, who is a widower, who dares to fall in love again.

When I think about all the roles I’ve played, I realize I never auditioned for the one I’m living now. Looking around our JSL community, I imagine many of the residents would say the same. None of us imagined every twist in the script that brought us here. Yet every chapter… joyful, painful, ordinary, and extraordinary has shaped who we became and quietly prepared us for whatever came next.

I don’t know how long I’ll be blessed to play my role. None of us do and that’s one of life’s quiet gifts. With age comes the ability to look back with a little more grace and appreciate every role we’ve performed, knowing that each prepared us for the next act, even the ones we never saw coming.

That’s why I love getting to know the stories of the residents who live at JSL. They remind me that while our roles are different, the journey of becoming ourselves is something we all share. And maybe that’s what life has been asking of us all along…not to play our parts perfectly, but to keep growing into them.

The many stories heard on campus remind me that the most important role we’ll ever play isn’t the one we planned. It’s the one we’re living today.

Shabbat Shalom