Sometimes you read one sentence and realize your dreams are bullshit

What the fuck am I doing with my life?

When I was a kid, I wanted to be an actor. And in high school, I was pretty good and even won some awards. And then I got a bit uncertain and scared about what that path would look like, so I adjusted the trajectory of my dreams a few degrees and went to college for film directing. And again, I was pretty good and even got some short films into festivals. And again, I got a bit uncertain and scared about what that path would look like, so I adjusted the trajectory of my dreams a few more degrees and moved to L.A. to become a film editor.

And I did it! I am a film editor. And I’m proud of so much of the work I’ve done in my career.

But then, about a year ago, I read this passage from The Artist’s Way:

Shamed at their supposed lack of talent, shamed by their “grandiose” dreams, [artists] may channel their gifts into commercial endeavors and then forget their dreams of doing more groundbreaking (and risky) work. They may work as editors instead of writers, film editors instead of film directors, commercial artists instead of fine artists, and get stuck within shouting distance of their dreams.

So two things shocked me about this passage: first, the simple fact that I encountered the words “film editor” in a book that wasn’t specifically about film editing. Like, people know film editors exist, in theory. But they don’t really know what we do, exactly. Kinda like asteroids. “They’re… up there, in space! I hear. You know, doing… flying, floating, you know, asteroid stuff.”

The second shocking thing was the underlying point of the passage, which is essentially that film editors work in the shadows of real artists. Which I could argue is false and wildly offensive.

And indeed, it might be offensive to someone who has confidently chosen to be a film editor out of pure passion. But I don’t really feel like I chose this path as much as kinda just ended up here. The truth is, I wish I had been offended by this passage. But it was worse. I was hurt. I felt seen. Wait, no… “seen” makes it sound good, like when a friend listens closely to your story and responds in that oh-so-perfect way that lets you know they just get you. It was more like… “exposed.” In a rare, specific, and pointed way: caught. As though the universe created a single sentence to remind me that I veered away from my dreams—and, in an effort to disguise its scheme, wrote an entire book around it as camouflage.

Clever girl, that universe.

At a few pivotal moments in my life, I bumped into fear, doubt, and uncertainty. And those feelings adjusted the trajectory of my dreams a few, tiny degrees. And over the course of 20 years I woke up and realized that yes, I am indeed stuck within shouting distance of my dreams. I guess I am an asteroid after all, caught in the Backup Plan System—a stable, predictable star system where the gravitational pull of safety keeps me orbiting too comfortably to risk breaking free and exploring the challenges of the unknown.

Combine this orbit with a year of unemployment during the 2023 Hollywood labor disputes, and suddenly it feels like the perfect time to ask: what the fuck am I doing with my life?

A friend of mine who is also a film editor once told me that they think editing is a “perpetually subservient position.” Now, even if you consider film editors true artists, the work really is always in the service of someone else’s story. And as an editor, you can believe in that story all you want.

But it’s not yours.

And I guess if we’re going to live in an interdependent society, then on some level we’re always going to be serving someone. A boss, a company, a customer who’s waiting on you to literally serve them a pumpkin spice latte because you quit the entertainment industry and are now a barista.

Kidding!

Kidding?

Actors are magicians. They inhabit roles that speak to them. Roles that speak to all of us. They pretend to be someone else just to show us the specific, personal problems of that person. And it turns out when an actor is really good, they have the power to change our lives by saying, “hey, the specific, personal problems this character is going through are the same shit we’re all going through, and here’s how to get out of that shit.” I think that Jim Carrey and Robin Williams did far more for me as actors than all of the therapy in my life has. And when my kid-self realized that actors could change lives, I wanted to become one so that I could pay that forward.

But fear.

But doubt.

But uncertainty.

On some level, film editing does have that same power. I go to work. I make good money. And I do my best to fight to make the work as intelligent, cohesive, and resonant as possible—no matter what film I’m working on. But I often feel like a congressman trying to enact change in a corrupt political system. Hollywood seems increasingly owned by those uninterested in the “show” of show business.

It’s exhausting.

And then I’m at a party the other night where a friend of mine who I haven’t spoken to in a few years comes up to me and brings up my old blog from 2009. Back then, I was moving to Los Angeles and realized that documenting my journey might give others a rough template to follow. Apparently, it did just that, as my friend explains as we’re refilling our sangrias, “I don’t think I would have been able to make it out to L.A. without your blog. You literally changed my life.”

This moment meant everything to me.

And yet, I’ve never heard someone tell me that their life has changed because of the editing I’ve done on a film.

So as I continue to excavate my frustrated desire to exert real change on the world, I am focused on a simple question: how best with the time I have left in this life do I make the biggest impact on the people I’m lucky enough to encounter?

I honestly don’t know.

But I know I’m done letting fear dictate my orbit.