Summer's Coming!

From summer of 2014 to January of 2017, all I did was work. Film after film after film. Travel. Saturdays. Nights. Weekends. Holidays. Nothing but non-stop cinema.

Finally, in January, 2017, after working through yet another Christmas holiday, I flamed out a bit. Somehow, at only 35 years old, I hit some sort of "20 years in the business thing" and finally fell apart. Physically. Mentally. The whole nine yards. The thought of doing another film made me want to buy a run-down cabin and hide away in the woods.

And so I made a resolution. I committed to working only 40-hour weeks for awhile. Directing less and producing more. Going to bed at 9pm. Eating better. Reading more. It was great. 

Well, that worked until about February. And here I am, sometime in May, at 3:33 am, writing a blog post.

I know a lot of jobs are hard. But there's something especially brutal about filmmaking. Something very addicting, yes, but something also very crushing. 

I've tried this year to reflect over why I make films and why I should continue. And as I've done that, I keep coming back to the magic that happens when people sit in a dark room and get emotional about something you've made. When I made my first film 20 years ago, it was all about making people laugh. And as the years passed, and as I matured as a filmmaker, I started making people cry.

And therein lies the addicting part. That something you made mattered. Even if for a moment. To someone. Somewhere. It's powerful.

And maybe most jobs just don't allow you even that fleeting glory. That release. That satisfaction. That thing. And maybe that's why most jobs are hard, yes, but not brutal. It's that brutal extra 30% that helps create something powerful enough to affect another human being. 

When summer ends, a manic fourth quarter will surely begin. And sometime, after Christmas, which I'll undoubtedly work through, I'll sit by a window thinking about new year's resolutions and wonder for days why I'm still here. 

But then I'll likely remember that moving people, in whatever way, never gets old. It's always challenging, but it's also always fresh. Renewing. Special.

And I guess that's why I'm still here. And I guess that's a pretty dang, good reason.

-b