Eight years ago, I made a short film. I had been saying for years that I wanted to make movies, but I hadn’t done anything about it. I was scared and I found every excuse under the sun not to do anything other than talk about it.
Then I met a woman. She was interested in film. She was interested in me. I was intensely interested in her and I wanted her to fall in love with me. I wanted to impress her and I wanted her to be proud of me.
So I put aside my fear and my insecurity and my ignorance. I made a film. It wasn’t a perfect film, but it was good enough to get into 20 smaller film festivals and win five awards.
The woman and I did fall in love. In a very real sense, my film was a love letter to her. It never would have been made without her in my life.
I think about this a lot lately when I think about why I haven’t made any more films and why I’m not turning out the kind of art I’d like to be making. I have several scripts in various stages of pre-production. I have a documentary that I’m working with a producer to try to bring to life. I even wrote half of a book last year that I ended up deleting in despair because I didn’t love it enough.
But I’m not finishing things. I don’t have enough enthusiasm for anything. I’m not using the talent that I know I have. Why not?

There’s little unity to be found in our supposedly United States
Without God, my unloving heart can’t truly love unlovable people
AUDIO: I might not love you if I don’t imagine that you’re perfect
Hearing what your gut whispers might save you from wrong path
I feel despair about evil tonight, but my cats offer some comfort
People who invoke ‘fairness’ generally just mean, ‘Do things my way — or else’
Unmet childhood needs trigger addiction as I try to fill inner hole
Storms can end without warning, bringing hope of blue skies ahead
We often value a love only after we’ve carelessly thrown it away