In the summer of 2008, I sat outside a coffee shop and listened to a friend describe an idea for a short film. I was fresh out film school and quickly said, “Let’s make it!” That simple sentence started a journey that lasted four years, resulting in the short film Flower.
The thing is, it could have been made a lot faster. The co-creator was great to work with and final script was only fifteen pages, but I dragged my feet for three years on the project. It wasn’t until recently that I finally realized why: from the characters to the story to the message, I wanted everything to perfect.
I do this a lot in life. I once prayed a year and a half about whether to ask a girl out or not; I made another short film two years ago that no one has seen because I haven’t found the best way to release it; a short story I’m writing is on its seventh rewrite; and I just debated two weeks on which camera bag to buy. I analyze, critique, rethink, question, and stress over what is the best decision. Because if there’s anything I don’t want to be, it’s flawed.
There is a place for excellence, but I think the question is, what’s driving it? Is it to present the best thing I can, or to keep others from laughing? Too often I think my motivations fall under the latter. That is not perfectionism, but fear.
And when you think about it, what is more central to the human experience than mistakes? From our first breath we do things imperfectly—yet our parents don’t trade us in for a better model. We all fall, we all come up short, we all make mistakes, and what I’m learning to accept is that it’s okay.
Three years after starting the script, the co-creator and I decided to finally just make the film. We held auditions for the cast and ended up with two phenomenal lead actors, ages 16 and 18. The film went on to be accepted to two festivals, win second place in one, and be offered a small distribution deal. More importantly, we still hear stories to this day about people who have been impacted by it.
All of this is due in no small part to our cast, and if we had made the film earlier they would have been too young.
It’s to the glory of our Storyteller that he not only allows us to make mistakes and learn, but he then weaves something beautiful from our worn and broken threads. As I toil over a project or anxiously debate about a decision, I hear him say over and over:
“It’ll be okay. I won’t trade you in. Just do your best, and I’ll take it from there.”