When I was six years old, I decided I wanted to make movies. Granted, at six, I had no idea what that meant; I just knew I wanted to be a part of what I saw on television and in theaters. As a child, everyone tells you, "You can do anything you put your mind to," but ninety-nine percent of those people are simply trying to pacify you, trying to tell you what you want to hear because you're a kid and they don't want to break you too soon.
By the time I hit twelve, most people had heard enough about movies and Hollywood and acting and production and drama. So by the time I hit twelve, most people had started telling me that pipe dreams are pipe dreams for a reason and that I needed to drop the Hollywood thing and focus on a real future.
So, I eventually took up photography. I figured that if I wasn't going to be around giant movie cameras and lights, I could have my own digital camera and I could take photos, and that would be close enough. I didn't know it then, but the thing about film and television that I was in love with was the simple capturing of moments -- single moments in time that will never happen the same way again; rays of light that completely change the way something looks; single smiles and expressions that someone may not even know they're making.
From the age of about thirteen to now, I have been a photographer. I look back at my earliest "photo shoots" and cringe harder than I ever thought possible. I mean, honestly, who out there thought those pictures were actually good? Sure, there was a good shot here and there but overall, those pictures were sloppy. The angles were all wrong; I had no concept of how to use light and shadows; I didn't pay attention to random objects in the background that had the power to completely ruin the foreground; a slightly blurry hand went under my radar; and my edits -- oh, dear, my edits were so, so terrible.
But now, I'm pretty good (if I do say so myself). I have a nice camera, I've learned the proper angles and use of light, and I actually set up shots and what surrounds them, rather than just pointing a camera at someone and hoping for the best.
I love photography. I really do. I love capturing still moments for people. I love catching a look and freezing it, asking time if I can borrow a split second to have forever. I love it.
But it's not film. Something entirely different happens in me when I'm catching something that moves, that breathes on its own, that feels. Photography is a powerful medium, I can't deny that. But cinema? Cinema understands people. Moving images move us just as much as we move them. It's a symbiotic relationship, a push and pull, a give and take. I've never cried at a photograph, no matter how sad or moving it was.
I can't count the number of times I've cried in a theater.
Sometimes, while watching movies or television shows, I catch myself crying at moments that are entirely insignificant. All that's happening on screen is a character walking into their house -- no poignant emotions, no looming threat, but I'm choking back tears because I love it so, so much. And maybe that sounds psychotic to someone who doesn't understand and that's totally understandable.
Imagine going your whole life having never seen or played with a dog in person. You've seen photos of dogs and videos of dogs, and you've heard them barking in distant neighbor's backyard, but you've never seen one or petted one or loved one for yourself. You love the idea of dogs and you absolutely crave the experience of having a dog, more than anything in the world, but you've never gotten the chance. Then, one day, a puppy shows up in your back yard, at your front door even, and you get to pick it up for the first time. Imagine that.
That rush of emotion, that feeling of holding something in your hands that you love with every fiber of your being for the first time, that feeling of finally having it? That is why I cry a moments that don't matter. That is why a single ray of light creating the perfect glare on screen is all it takes to make me look for tissues.
I didn't understand that as a kid. I didn't know why I cried all the time when I watched things alone. I honestly thought I was a little crazy. I just knew I loved movies, and that was enough for me then. I looked for other things to love so that people would stop thinking I was weird or crazy or chasing after something that would never happen for me. I looked at the world through a camera, I wrote terrible screenplays in my free time, and I did my best to put a lid on my dreams.
Obviously that didn't work out.
I'm twenty-one years old now and the first time I worked on a set was when I was eighteen and nineteen. I cried the first time I heard my director say action, although no one on set knew, and I cried in the shower at night after every fifteen hour day we had because I was so thrilled with what I was doing. A year later, I made my own short film for a film festival on campus. I wrote it, directed it, shot it, and edited it in less than a week. I cried when I was done. A month later, it made it into the top sixteen films and I cried at the screening. Six months later, I took my first production class and produced three short films. I cried.
Maybe for you, you cry whenever you teach someone. Or when you learned how to give a shot for the first time. Or when you build a robot that works. Or when you design and code programs. Or when you finish a drawing that you've worked on for weeks. Or when you nail the song you've been writing. Or when you model. Or when you make a scientific breakthrough. Or when you put on your firefighting suit for the first time.
Whatever it is for you, whatever you love so much that it makes you cry, that's what you should do. Whatever you're so passionate about that you just can't shut up about it, that's what you should do. Whatever makes your heart beat faster and your hands sweaty, that's what you should do.
I stopped listening to those who told me that my dream was a pipe dream. I still want what I've always wanted. I still want to make movies. I understand what it takes now, so I'm applying for any industry job that will allow me to be a part of it. I'll pretty much do anything if it'll put me near a studio or a network, and I'm okay with that. I know I have to start somewhere and if that somewhere is behind a desk at some indie studio no one's ever heard of, I'm okay with that.
I still want to make movies. I want to write, to direct, to act, to produce. I want to be a cinematographer, an editor, a boom mic operator, a gaffer. I want a hand in it all, no matter how small a part it may be. I just want to be there, on set or in a writer's room or in an editing bay, making movies. I just want to get started.
I'm nowhere near where I want to be, but I'm closer than I was when I was twelve, and I'm okay with that. I'll keep being a photographer, and I'll keep writing and applying for jobs, and I'll keep dreaming of living on the California coast, and I'll keep unashamedly wearing shirts that say "Los Angeles" on them, and I'll keep crying at moments that don't matter because if I don't, I'll go crazier than most people already think I am.
If you love it so much that you can't breathe without it, that's what you should do. Keep dreaming.