dark before dawn
I want you to picture me as I was at 3 o'clock this morning, bent over my toilet in my underwear, dry-heaving. Not because I'm particularly proud of the fact that the only reason I was up at all was that I'd jolted out of bed to write an email to the director of the film I'm working on (PINK) detailing all the reasons why the sky was falling, but rather because I want you to know that it's going to be all right.
When I was finished with my toilet-time, Austin-the-director (who'd read my email) called and basically grabbed me by the shoulders, slapped my face, and told me he loved me. That we'd get through it. That we were going to make a great movie, and that I should suck it up and go hum in the woods or whatever, because I needed to start focusing on the solutions instead of the problems.
This is what we're like, we humans.
We endlessly self-sabotage because, hey, the Cowardice of Fear feels easier than teeth-gritting determination. It's easier, sometimes, to ignore the fact that we have locked locations, a whole lot of in-kind investment from people committed to the story, an ever-growing pile of props, and money enough to do the job right—even if we do have to do it without some of the bells and whistles.
There are still a lot of challenges.
I still have zero idea exactly how we're going to make it work.
But somehow the morning feels different.
The sun is up, and I am moving ahead.
Here's why I wanted to tell you all this—about me and the toilet:
Maybe you know how it feels to dry-heave in fear, so scared that you'd do almost anything to make the feelings stop. Here is a WHOOSH of courage, my friend. It's going to be all right. You won't always feel like this. You will tell a beautiful story, with courage and with grace.
- - -
By the way... We are (at the time of this posting) just launching a friends-and-family fundraising-drive for this film. If you go to THIS LINK RIGHT HERE, you'll have the opportunity to show support for my cowardly, dry-heaving self by basically pre-buying your copy of the movie, for anything from ten to a bajillion dollars—whatever you can manage.
When I was finished with my toilet-time, Austin-the-director (who'd read my email) called and basically grabbed me by the shoulders, slapped my face, and told me he loved me. That we'd get through it. That we were going to make a great movie, and that I should suck it up and go hum in the woods or whatever, because I needed to start focusing on the solutions instead of the problems.
This is what we're like, we humans.
We endlessly self-sabotage because, hey, the Cowardice of Fear feels easier than teeth-gritting determination. It's easier, sometimes, to ignore the fact that we have locked locations, a whole lot of in-kind investment from people committed to the story, an ever-growing pile of props, and money enough to do the job right—even if we do have to do it without some of the bells and whistles.
There are still a lot of challenges.
I still have zero idea exactly how we're going to make it work.
But somehow the morning feels different.
The sun is up, and I am moving ahead.
Here's why I wanted to tell you all this—about me and the toilet:
Maybe you know how it feels to dry-heave in fear, so scared that you'd do almost anything to make the feelings stop. Here is a WHOOSH of courage, my friend. It's going to be all right. You won't always feel like this. You will tell a beautiful story, with courage and with grace.
- - -
By the way... We are (at the time of this posting) just launching a friends-and-family fundraising-drive for this film. If you go to THIS LINK RIGHT HERE, you'll have the opportunity to show support for my cowardly, dry-heaving self by basically pre-buying your copy of the movie, for anything from ten to a bajillion dollars—whatever you can manage.
