But the most important thing I learned, I didn't actually learn until yesterday - almost a year later.
I made this film to enter it into a diversity film festival. Encouraging diversity in TV and Film is something that is both so important and so necessary (Hello? #AllWhiteOscars2015?) and I thought, what a great way to get my name out there by submitting my work, as an ethnic woman writing comedy. The festival chose 8 finalists from over 1700 submissions, and the best actor/actress would win a one year talent holding deal with NBC. From Friends to 30 Rock, you could imagine my over-eagerness to be a part of NBC. I gave my producers the deadline, we finished the film 48 hours before, I clicked "submit" and never looked back!
Well, I wish I could say I never looked back.
In the time between the day I submitted the film and the day they notified me of the film's status, I went down a rabbit hole of thoughts. I checked every morning to see if, "just in case they're notifying us early!" I started looking at flights for when I would be asked to go New York and present the film, I thought about getting recognized by NBC and my life changing. I allowed myself to get carried away, and I don't completely blame myself for that. I was happy! I felt that I had a great shot and was proud of my little film and all the work I put into it.
I got notification that I was unfortunately not one of the eight films chosen about a month later. And all of a sudden, everything that I had felt - all the joy and excitement - was immediately replaced with shame and disappointment. I was no longer proud of the film, I resented it. I thought my work wasn't good enough, and thus, I wasn't good enough. I felt as though I'd let down everyone who worked on it and moreover, everyone who donated to my campaign. I thought I wasn't funny, I thought I wasn't a good writer, nor a good actor, and I thought, "maybe, hopefully, if I hide this failure under the rug, no one will ask me about it and no one will remember."
This might sound overdramatic, but I know there are actors and filmmakers that completely understand these feelings. To be so high and then to be so low. To feel so confident and to feel so foolish.
But to call the film a failure? Why? Where did I fail, exactly? I wrote something I thought was honest, funny, and from my point of view. I got to hire and work with my friends, goofing around for 12 hours making a movie. My movie.
Isn't the point of being a creative to create? Don't they tell us over and over again that it's not about the destination, but the journey? Where in the journey did I allow myself to be consumed with others' stamp of approval?
Why do I often find myself waiting for and focused on the results?
We work in a business, by nature, that is propelled by validation. Where we need the network's approval before getting cast, where a critic's review can make or break a career, and where the cherished Oscar is the pinnacle of achievement, the dream of all the dreams. That is why so many people create their own work, so they can call the shots and feel in control of their careers. To give themselves the chance they aren't getting and believe they deserve.
To do that, take control and then relinquish it completely to others' acceptance - or in this case, rejection - that is where I failed.
Why am I and my work only of worth when someone else says so, more importantly why am I deeming their opinions more valuable than my own? Beating myself up, letting it crush me. Creating these elaborate and often untrue stories as to why it wasn't me. It's not like they emailed me and said, "Your film was terrible and a waste of time." It was simply, we had many submissions, unfortunately yours wasn't chosen but thank you so much and better luck next time. The same way I look at award shows and think, how can you judge one performance against another they were all good in their own way - I must, we must, learn to apply to our own work. Art is subjective. I simply was not one of the 8 chosen. Technically, I shared that company with 1691 other submitted films.
Yesterday, my film was screened amongst other short films at the Laemmle Theater. It was the first time I had watched it since getting the rejection letter, and I shrunk down in my seat during the opening credits. To my surprise and delight, the film was a hit. It received big laughs and even bigger applause. When the screening was over, people came up to me and hadn't realized I also wrote it. I was asked, "what's your next project?" and given info from people wanting to get involved. It was more well-received than I could have ever imagined.
Here's an email my producer sent me today:
When the film was over, I really felt so many emotions. I felt embarrassed at myself for allowing myself to judge myself so harshly. I felt overwhelmed watching the end credits naming everyone who, in being a part of this film, had declared their belief in me. I felt overjoyed that I had written a film, shot it, and was watching my face, my story, in an actual movie theater.
I try very hard to always be optimistic and grateful for the opportunity to do this work. I am not good at being cynical or negative, but I am not perfect. But "experience is what you get when you don't get what you wanted," and last night I made myself reflect on the experience.
What I learned is, we should always value ourselves and our voices. We should cherish the compliments of our peers. We should do work that challenges us and makes us grow as artists and as humans. And we should always create. For the sake of creating.
I look forward to my next project, whatever that may be. But for now, I'll cherish this photo I took yesterday, sitting in a movie theater, watching myself on the screen.
