If you were to ask my family to describe me in three words, they would say something along the lines of "extroverted, optimistic, and maybe a little dorky, but in an endearing way". Nevertheless, of all the words one may use to describe me, "daring" would not make the cut. While I may not meet the average standards for the word “daring”, I consider myself a daredevil on a different scale.

Towering over my long list of fears are bees. My aversion towards a wide variety of flying insects developed at the age of seven while visiting my grandparents in the rural farmlands of southern Germany. Eager as ever, I raced towards the front door ready to unlock it for the first time. Fumbling for the key in this highly anticipated moment, a bee flew out of nowhere, landing on my small hand. As I shooed it away, more appeared. Soon enough a small army of carpenter bees surrounded me. My panic rose and I was caught in a situation that, to a second grader, seemed fatal. They swarmed around me, taking turns stinging me like I was their target practice. The event was a traumatic one and from that day forward, bees and I have had a less-than-friendly relationship.

Seven years later, I found myself involved with the Tribeca Film Institute pursuing my dedication to film. I had one week to produce a documentary on a subject of my choice. My research on a local beekeeper led me to a strangely captivating yet risky subject that fascinated and terrified me simultaneously. I had to choose between my comfort and my passion; the choice was clear.

When it came to filming, I was on my own. I began by cautiously tiptoeing my way around the bee-farm and reminding myself of the risk I was about to take. Surrounded by the buzzing of a thousand bees, I used every ounce of my will to fight the urge to swat the critters away. Grasping my camera in my unsteady hand, I inched closer to the swarm with worries flooding my mind. However, the moment I focused my vision through the viewfinder something had changed. I recognized the bees for their stripes, their wings, their communal nature- everything that made them beautiful. It was as if every worry had vanished into thin air and was swallowed by the swarm of bees. My perspective through the camera lens was different. I was lost in my art, the buzzing in my ear no longer bothered me, it comforted me.

Regardless of the profession we pursue, there will always be obstacles. If we are truly consumed by our passion we will not be distracted by the frustrations and fear along our journey, but instead, be fulfilled by the result. How are you suppose to know if it is your passion? Your passion should entice you. It should have you jumping out of your bed to work in the morning and end your day with satisfaction, not mediocrity.

The first time I watched my bee documentary, Liquid Gold, on a theater screen, applause swarmed my senses creating one of the best feelings of my eighteen years. Now, bees hold a very special place in my heart- and while I am not welcoming them with open arms into my home, the pure symbol of the creature represents all the sacrifice I put into my art and just how focused, driven and daring we may become to achieve our passion.